


A Dornish Wolf

by Russell_Craig



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-01-30 05:24:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 552,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21422893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Russell_Craig/pseuds/Russell_Craig
Summary: To punish her father for his role in Robert’s Rebellion, Arya Stark is sent to Dorne as a foster. After years as a servant in the Water Gardens she is finally starting to make a life for herself.  When the Targaryens arrive for a meeting with Prince Doran will it change Arya’s future?
Relationships: Arya Stark/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 783
Kudos: 1912





	1. Chapter 1

When the city came into view, she felt both relief and dread in equal measure. They’d finally arrived, after weeks of travel. Daenerys yearned for a hot bath and a soft bed but as it was with most things, she didn’t get to do as she pleased. If she’d gotten a say she would still be at home. The fact that she’d been dragged along on a trip that didn’t concern her showed just how little her opinion mattered to those around her. 

Sitting on the horse next to her Missandei leaned in and whispered to her friend. “This must be Sunspear.”

All her life she’d heard tales of Dorne, but this was her first time seeing it for herself. The stories didn’t do it justice. She thought back over her time on the boat, then on horseback, trying to recall the exact moment they crossed into this new, different world. Nothing she saw looked familiar not the walls, the buildings, the farms, the houses, even the people were unique to this region. 

R-C

She woke with a jolt, gasping for the air she apparently wasn’t getting in her dream. Her normally steady hand wavered a bit as she reached to wipe the cold sweat from her skin. It had been months since she’d had a dream like that. She thought she’d gotten past them. 

As quietly as she could she sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She took slow, deliberate breathes in an effort to calm her racing heart. At the same time, she closed her eyes and worked to keep her mind empty. If there was ever a day where she couldn’t afford to be plagued with thoughts of the past, this was it. 

She stayed like that until she felt like herself again. Only then did she risk opening her eyes. It took time to adjust to the darkness. The large room had a high ceiling, small circular windows and rows and rows of beds with barely any space between them. The minimal light came from a series of candles arranged at intervals – one candle for every three beds. 

She wasn’t the first one awake. She heard whispering on her left, snoring and heavy breathing on her right. Still, she did what she could to act as though she had some privacy, as if there weren’t two-hundred and twelve other men and women sharing the room with her. 

The Gods alone knew how long she sat there, doing everything in her power to avoid thinking about the dream that unsettled her. Eventually she decided that attempting to get back to sleep would be either pointless or too potentially dangerous. She couldn’t risk another dream like her last. Taking advantage of the fact that almost everyone else was occupied, she collected her things and headed off down the hall toward the bath. 

R-C

Her smile was fake, and she was certain anyone who paid it enough attention could tell. That said, it never faltered, not once as she moved from one person to the next, down the never-ending line. This was what was expected of her and so she’d endure. 

It was always the same. Introductions accompanied by insincere smiles and trivial, repetitive compliments. They praised her hair, her dress or her beauty as if she had control over any of the three. After years of painstaking practice, she developed a pattern that worked. She’d forgot the name as soon as she heard it, wait for the person’s lips to stop moving and then thank them. They’d engage in meaningless conversation for a few torturous seconds and then she’d get a nudge from her guard to move along. Two shuffled steps later, she’d be in front of someone else and it would begin again. 

After a particularly painful thirty seconds with a distant member of Prince Doran’s family Daenerys was thrilled that Jorah urged her to move along. Her excuse for needing to go was as fake as her smile but the woman didn’t seem to notice. ‘Thank the Gods for small mercies,’ she thought privately as she prepared for the next encounter. 

The laughter was so out of place that Daenerys couldn’t help but seek out the source. A man and women stood together, their eyes very clearly on the Targaryen. They didn’t look away when Daenerys spotted them, rather they smiled openly and laughed louder. In a moment of panic Daenerys feared that she’d accidentally shared her personal opinions aloud. Had she spoken what was meant for only her? Had that woman heard what Daenerys thought of her? Had everyone? Her cheeks and neck showed her embarrassment and her eyes snapped back to the woman she left, expecting to see an offended glare. She was oblivious to Daenerys’s internal turmoil, already locked in conversation with one of her father’s advisors. 

Why had those people been laughing at her? Was it something she did or said? She looked down at her red dress and compared it to those worn by the locals, a little different perhaps, but not extreme enough to prompt such ridicule. She went over her entire conversation with the annoying woman in her mind looking for something that might be humorous, and she came away with nothing. She didn’t know why they were laughing, but she supposed it didn’t matter. With a determined shake of her head she squared her shoulders and prepared to forget it. There was a lot of people she needed to address. 

It was Jorah who brought it to her attention first. He was behind her, as he always was, within arms reach in case of trouble. He’d been silently observing, moving when she did, until he was suddenly there, standing between Daenerys and the couple that had laughed at her. “We mean your Princess no harm,” the man said in the common tongue, albeit with a thick accent. “I am Prince Oberyn Martell and this is my woman Ellaria Sand.” 

So, the man who had taunted her was a Prince? She didn’t know if that was better or worse. After ensuring her smile was firmly in place, she laid her hand on Jorah’s arm. “It’s alright Ser,” she said, stepping around him to greet the Dornish Prince directly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, I am Daenerys Targaryen.”

He smiled and unlike hers, it was natural, easy and comfortable on his face. “The Dragon Princess,” he acknowledged with a formal bow. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you.” When he reached for her hand she didn’t refuse, she was used to it. He raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles gently. “It’s rare that someone is actually more beautiful than the stories we hear.” He released her hand and shrugged his shoulder as if he were commenting on the weather. “I suppose there is a first time for everything.” 

She blushed under his compliment, though she couldn’t say why. She had lost count of the number of times she’d been called beautiful that day and yet something about his words felt real, as if he truly meant them. “That is very kind, Prince.”

“Don’t you think she’s beautiful love?” Oberyn asked the woman with him. Daenerys’s blush burned even brighter when she realized this man had been commenting on her looks in front of his wife. What should she say? Should she apologize or was it more proper to act as if nothing was wrong? She didn’t know! She’d never been in this particular situation before. 

“You’re right my love,” she agreed without hesitation, “even better than the stories.”

When she was brave enough to look, she sought out Ellaria. She was an attractive woman with bronze skin, and a curtain of dark hair hanging to her shoulders. Her dress was expensive and colored to match the Martell sigil. She didn’t appear annoyed by her husband’s words, in fact if Daenerys was reading her correctly, she was amused. 

Oberyn looked to Ellaria and when their eyes met, they both smiled. He stepped back and waved her forward with an exaggerated movement of his hand. “Meet the Princess, my dear,” he urged, “she’s come all the way from King’s Landing.” With her focus almost entirely on the approaching Ellaria, Daenerys nearly didn’t hear Oberyn say, “I’ll find us some wine.” 

“Wine?” she repeated back idiotically, hating the way her voice sounded unsteady. She was a Princess and a Dragon. 

Clutching her hand Ellaria smiled. “Of course,” she said with a roll of her dark eyes. “You’ve already endured the worst,” she said, looking suggestively toward the small portion of the receiving line that Daenerys had passed through. “The rest will be better, but you’ll definitely need wine.” 

Maybe it was an after effect from weeks of travel, maybe she could blame the lack of sleep she received in recent nights, or perhaps it was just the strangeness of everything that was happening, whatever the cause, she couldn’t contain her chuckle. “That is very kind of you Lady Martell.” 

“Sand,” Ellaria corrected without malice. 

“I don’t understand,” Daenerys admitted weakly. 

“I am a Sand, Oberyn and I are not married,” she clarified. 

Daenerys was immediately repentant, trying to remove her foot from her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry…”

Once again Ellaria’s soft hand touched hers. “Don’t worry child, it happens all the time. It is no problem.” 

She said it so convincingly that Daenerys almost believed her. Luckily for the awkward Princess Oberyn returned with wine for the women and a kiss for his lover. “Thank you, Prince.”

“Call me Oberyn,” he insisted. “Your visit will be boring enough without getting drowned in formality.”

She appreciated the sentiment. “Thank you,” she said after she finally took the offered glass. With one of his hands now free he snaked his arm around Ellaria’s waist and pulled her to his side. She went willingly. 

Ellaria leaned closer to Daenerys so they could whisper together. “You looked like you needed that earlier.”

She blushed again, this time because she understood why they had been laughing. “Was it that obvious?” she wondered before she could stop herself. 

The seconds she waited for an answer felt far longer than they really were. “Only to me,” Ellaria assured her kindly. “I remember thinking I could use a drink the first time I had to meet everyone too.” 

Her smile became just a little bit more genuine all the sudden. She hadn’t wanted to come along, she would have been content to stay in the Red Keep, or to visit Dragonstone. It was only because her father demanded she join him, that she did. Now though, after meeting Oberyn and Ellaria, Daenerys held out a small flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, the trip wouldn’t be as bad as she feared. 

“I’m sorry Princess,” Jorah said, “but we really should move along.” 

She didn’t want to. She wanted to remain with Oberyn and Ellaria and have a real conversation, but she was the King’s daughter and that meant she didn’t get to do what she wanted very often. Obligations to the Realm came first. “Of course,” she said to Jorah formally, before she addressed her new acquaintances. “Thank you for the wine, and the company.”

“We shall see you again,” Oberyn promised. 

He backed away to allow her to pass, but Ellaria remained. “Good luck,” she said to Daenerys when it was just the two of them. 

Before she picked up where she’d left off, she paused and looked over her shoulder at Jorah. No words were exchanged, but she told him with an expression how displeased she was to be rushed. She was the Princess, not him. It was up to her to decide who she spoke to and for how long. He got the message, ducking his head in submission and talking a half a step back. Honestly, she liked the old knight but that didn’t mean she didn’t wish she could have a tiny measure of independence. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been allowed to do anything outside of her bedchamber without Jorah or someone like him standing in her shadow. 

As far back as she could go in her memory, the guards were always there. Barristan for Rhaegar, Trant for Viserys and Jorah for her. The King’s safety was left in the hands of the Lannister, Tywin’s son. It didn’t seem strange when she was young, but as she grew, she began to hear more and more things that weren’t necessarily meant for her ears. Once she had all the information, she began trying to fit the pieces together in a way that made sense. Jorah had one of the most interesting stories. He was born and raised in the North. When Robert’s rebellion took root and Ned Stark rallied the Northmen for his friend, House Mormont joined with them. After many battles fighting next to Robert and his rebels Jorah had a change of heart. He deserted just days before the Battle of the Trident and rode for the capital to switch sides. It was chance that a young Daenerys happened to be in the throne room that day. She saw the exhausted soldier, kneeling before her father with many of his recent wounds still in need of tending. In addition to the standard pledge of loyalty, service and sword, Jorah brought stolen documents detailing the size of Robert’s army, maps showing what troops were stationed where, their strengths, their weaknesses, he gave her father everything. As part of Robert’s War Council, he was privy to how the rebels planned to defeat the larger, stronger, better equipped Targaryens. She was only a child when she listened in on Jorah’s betrayal, too young to truly understand the importance. It would be years before she realized Jorah’s true contribution to their victory. The man from Bear Island could have murdered Robert Baratheon single-handed and his efforts would have paled in comparison to the crumpled pages he carried under his dented armor. 

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say the war was won because of Jorah’s shift in allegiance. Within weeks of Jorah bending the knee, Robert was dead, and her father had proclaimed the traitor a knight. Months later, he was assigned to guard the Princess, a prestigious post, given to the man as a reward for betraying his people in a way that led to thousands of deaths. 

R-C

The castle and the city were abuzz with the arrival of the Targaryens. It affected almost everyone in Sunspear, except perhaps her. For her, where she was, her day was just like any other. The fact that the King and his family were nearby didn’t matter in the slightest. 

Since she couldn’t sleep, she got an early start and had more than an hour of practice under her belt by the time the sun was making its appearance. She stayed in the yard training alone until slowly men and women like her, began tricking out. By the time the bulk of the others joined her, she could tell they’d eaten breakfast, some were still chewing, and others were cleaning crumbs from the corners of their mouths. 

By midday, the heat was intense, deepening the tan she already had. After a morning working on her sword-skills, she moved on to a favored weapon of the Dornish, the spear. She’d been practicing for years and still had much more to do if she wanted to be as talented as some of the experts. 

While not worldly, she had seen several distinct regions of Westeros in her lifetime and none of them prepared her for what was waiting in Dorne. It was special, not just the colors, smells and flavors she’d never experienced elsewhere, it went deeper than that. Their individuality was at the core of what separated the Dornishmen from everyone else and they liked it that way. It was a source of pride. Their laws, their views, their beliefs, all affected every aspect of their day to day lives, from how they spoke to one another, to how they interacted with outsiders. Although sworn to the King, there was no love lost between the nobles in Sunspear and their King’s Landing counterparts. There was deep distrust on both sides. Dorne it seemed was perfectly content to remain on the fringes of the Realm’s politics, involving itself in affairs only when absolutely necessary. 

Dorne had a long list of quirks that provided constant proof that it and the people who called it home, were different from all others. This was never more evident than when discussing the subjects of sex. Generally speaking, as long as it took place between willing participants, no one really paid it much attention. Dorne’s many brothels were visited by men and women alike and offered just as many men for sale as women. Nobles were just as likely to frequent such establishments as the lowborn. In fact, it was not uncommon for a Dornish nobleman to have a male lover in addition to his wife and children. It was simply accepted as reality. Contrary to anywhere else in Westeros, the Dornish didn’t worry about the embarrassment of being caught, or the threat of potential blackmail, because everything was done out in the open. If you never hid your actions, then you didn’t need to fear them being exposed. 

The opinion of bastards was equally unique. Named ‘Sand’ in this part of the world, they weren’t looked down on or mocked because of how they came to be. In fact, she knew plenty of Sands who held significant and important positions throughout the city. They were appointed on their merits, and not dismissed outright because of their parentage. Such things, she knew, would be almost unheard of in any other kingdom. 

Another quirk, and one that drastically altered the course of her life was the Dornish people’s views on war. Unlike anywhere else she’d been, or heard about for that matter, the Dornish didn’t immediately disqualify half their population from military service just because they didn’t have a cock between their legs. If a woman wanted to train to fight, they were welcome. Few were willing to even consider it, fewer still could meet the rigorous requirements, but each time a group of recruits finished their training, there was usually one or two women among them. Was it fate or something else that brought her to the one place in the world where she’d be allowed to follow her dreams? 

A shrill whistle commanded her focus. She continued the turn she was in the middle of and buried the tip of her spear into the center of the man-shaped target. As soon as the strike landed, she pulled the spear free and hurried into formation. All around her men panted and tried to gather themselves as they waited to be addressed by their instructor. She slipped into the second row, between two much larger men, exactly where she belonged. After almost a year of lining up in exactly this way, it was second nature. 

On her first day, before their first lesson or drill, they had been lined up just like this. On that day they chose their own spots at random, but were told to remember them, because they would be expected to be in the same place each time they were called to order. There had been over three hundred of them that day. There were fewer now, some failed to reach the necessary goals and others quit. Regardless she remained in the designated spot between the sixteenth and eighteenth recruits. This was more than just where she was required to stand, it was also a way to be distinguished from the rest without anyone needing to learn her name. The abuse was near constant at the beginning. During the day it came from the instructor, trying to break her so she’d quit. “Seventeen, run until I get tired,” he’d call. “Seventeen, I know you weren’t born here but you could at least pretend, put down that sword and pick up a fucking spear.” Weeks later when she’d made vast improvements with the traditional Dornish weapon she was ridiculed for that too. “Seventeen are you trying to compensate for not having a prick?” All around her the others laughed, but she kept her head high and her back straight. His words didn’t offend her, they didn’t make her uncomfortable and they certainly didn’t create the slightest hint of doubt. She survived much worse than taunts and teasing. 

When they were dismissed the abuse didn’t stop. In fact, without the instructor to oversee, it grew worse. Their barrack was one massive room with rows and rows of beds arranged in neat lines. Each bed was small, uncomfortable and accompanied by a single box to store a recruit’s personal belongings. She had to purchase a lock to ensure her few possessions weren’t stolen. It was money she didn’t have to spend, but in the end was worth a few hungry nights. 

In those early days she was constantly being propositioned, sometimes politely, other times less so. She never said a word to any of the men who asked, regardless of their manners. It progressed beyond words less than two months after the start of her training. One night as she tried to get a few hours of sleep a pair of recruits joined her on her bed. One tried to hold her down, while the other tried to force her legs apart. If she hadn’t been expecting this, if she hadn’t prepared herself for it, she might have been overwhelmed. A small knife was hidden inside the case of her pillow, if only she could get it. Two sets of lips descended on her, one starting on her mouth and working down, the other on her knee and inching up. “Let my hands go, and I’ll make it feel even better,” she promised. 

Why he let her go, she never learned. Maybe he was an idiot, maybe he already thought he’d won, or maybe he was too aroused to think clearly. He released his grip on her wrists and she immediately reached for the hidden weapon. While the man working on her top half was tasting her breasts for the first time, she produced the blade and jammed it into his neck. His partner, too distracted by what was in front of him to notice his dying friend, pushed harder on her thighs to widen her legs. She responded by slamming them closed as hard as she could against his ears. He groaned and staggered back, momentarily dazed. Unbothered by her nudity, she jumped off the bed and onto her opponent. He was beaten but alive. She could have subdued him, but the thought didn’t even occur to her. She slit his throat slowly, ensuring he’d feel it, wanting it to take a bit of time for him to die. 

When it was over, she returned the knife to its place and laid back on her bed with her bloody hands folded behind her head. She watched just long enough to ensure both would-be rapers were dead and then she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. They had a long-distance run in the morning, and she’d need her energy. 

At daybreak when the instructor came in to rouse them, he found two of his recruits dead while their murderer sat on the end of her bed, fully dressed, wide awake, and ready for the upcoming run. She watched as he squatted down and checked the wounds she left on her victims. When the instructor was done, he stood tall, gave her a firm nod and then went back to his task of waking the others. From then on, she was free to sleep alone. 

R-C

With her father and brother in meetings Daenerys was left to occupy herself. She found a stone bench outside the Water Gardens and Missandei joined her. In addition to being her handmaiden, the woman from Naath had also grown to become Daenerys’s dearest, and only real friend. 

Her arrival in Westeros, and her addition to Daenerys’s service hadn’t been something either girl planned. Several years ago, during a Small Council meeting her father heard a tale of the Unsullied from his spymaster. The erratic King insisted on going to see them for himself and took off the following day. According to what she’d learned from Missandei and others since their return, her father was impressed with their skills, commitment and obedience. He purchased eight thousand men from the slave master and then before leaving asked for a woman, claiming he needed a handmaiden for his daughter. Unprepared for this turn of events, Missandei his translator, was the only female slave he had on hand. Unwilling to risk angering the King and potentially upsetting their agreement the Master sold Missandei too. 

She’d been stunned when her father told her he brought her a gift from his journey. It had been years since he bothered to remember her nameday. Any pleasure she felt vanished when she realized the gift he brought her was a person, purchased for a handful of gold dragons. Daenerys wanted to refuse but she couldn’t. There was no telling how her father would respond to such opposition. Would he yell or would she end up in the throne room while his pyromancer carted in a barrel of wildfire? What would happen to Missandei if she rejected the gesture? She didn’t know, but she didn’t think the King would simply dismiss her and set her free. 

More than once she offered to help Missandei escape, so she could go and begin a life of her own, but each time she refused. At first, she thought Missandei was too frightened to run, but as time passed and she got to know the other woman better, she began to doubt that assessment. When pressed Missandei would say, “I’ll go when the time is right,” but never said when that would be. 

Selfishly Daenerys hadn’t suggested it in a while. When she was being ignored by her father, harassed by Viserys, and overlooked by Rhaegar, Missandei was always there to comfort her. When advisors, guards and nobles made her feel like an object, Missandei made her smile. Never in her life had she done anything to be worthy of a friend like Missandei, yet she was smart enough to be grateful. 

Regardless of the disgusting route she took to reach Daenerys’s service, the Princess couldn’t imagine her life without Missandei in it. She was the one person Daenerys could relax with, be honest with, share her true feelings with. That was a commodity rarer and more precious than any gem.

She was pulled from her thoughts by Missandei’s voice. “It’s tense here,” she said quietly, speaking in High Valyrian. 

As casually as she could, Daenerys took a look around. It didn’t take long for her to see what Missandei did. She could feel the eyes on them. As always, Jorah was there with her, along with a pair of Targaryen guards she couldn’t identify through their helmets. 

Daenerys smiled at the vast understatement. “Things between my family and the Martells are strained,” she said diplomatically. 

After a quick look at their surroundings to make certain they wouldn’t be overheard, Missandei sought clarification. “What happened?”

She didn’t mind the question. The rift between the Martells and the Targaryens began years before Missandei joined them. Now it was a subject rarely discussed, so it wasn’t surprising that she didn’t understand. It wasn’t exactly her story to tell, but she felt Missandei deserved the truth. Like Daenerys, she’d been dragged along and now they’d been left behind while her father and brother negotiated with Prince Doran and his family. The tension was thick enough to cut and Missandei was owed an explanation. Daenerys knew she could keep a secret. 

“Rhaegar was married years ago to one of the Martells,” Daenerys explained, avoiding the common tongue even though they were whispering. “They had children.” 

It was obvious Missandei hadn’t been expecting that. Since the day they met, there had been so much Missandei needed to learn, about her new home. Any extra time was devoted to ensuring Missandei knew how to avoid the King’s volatile temper, and Viserys’s petty vindictiveness. She simply hadn’t had the chance to delve into the history between the two families, though in hindsight perhaps she should have. “Really?”

She nodded to confirm that she’d heard it correctly. “Yes,” she admitted after a brief delay. “I don’t know all the details myself, I was very young, but something happened and now the Martells are upset.” 

“Is that why Rhaegar didn’t come?” Missandei asked, wisely making sense of the new information. 

“It took months to negotiate this meeting,” Daenerys acknowledged. “According to what I heard, the Martells threatened to bar the gates and refuse us entry if Rhaegar made the trip.” 

“Can they really refuse your father?” she wondered, lowering her voice even further. “He is there King!”

She admitted her lack of understanding with a dainty shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t know. The children are my family, but I’ve never seen them. I don’t know what happened, but can it really be worth keeping a father from his children?” 

Missandei decided to try and brighten the mood with a change in the conversation. “If the meeting goes well, Viserys will wed the Martell girl and then maybe you’ll get to meet them.” Daenerys appreciated her friend’s effort. “If nothing else, your brother will need to remain in Dorne for a time, won’t he?” 

The statement was so innocent that it took Daenerys a moment to comprehend the meaning hidden inside. She felt her lips curling into a smile and next to her the handmaiden did the same. That was why she liked Missandei, she found the best in any situation. If there was a bright spot to this, it was that Viserys would likely be too busy to cause trouble, at least for the time being. 

R-C

Sweat soaked her clothes and her skin while each panting breath she pulled into her burning lungs felt as if it had glass in it. They had been running for hours with no water or rest. It was the final day of her training and the last chance for the instructor to weed out the weakest of them. She was determined to survive. 

As the destination appeared in her blurred eyeline she noticed the instructor standing there with his arms folded over his chest. He didn’t look impressed. “Come on, Seventeen, you can do better than that. Don’t tell me those little legs can’t move any faster!” 

Was it his taunt, or the sound of footsteps and heavy breathing at her back that propelled her forward? She didn’t know or care, whatever the reason she found a reserve of energy and used it to push herself past the spot where her tormentor was standing. As she passed, she could have sworn she heard him mutter, “Not bad,” but it was likely an illusion caused by exhaustion and heat sickness. 

All she wanted was to sit and rest for a few minutes, but she didn’t get the chance. Immediately upon ending the run, she was directed to another instructor for a combat lesson. She limped her way over on unsteady legs.

“I hope you didn’t forget how to fight,” he said with a dark, predatory laugh. “Win and you might finish your training, lose and you’ll have wasted the last year of your life!”

Tired and thirsty or not, he suddenly had her full attention. As he spoke more recruits were finishing their runs and staggering over. Was he being serious? They’d just run for miles and now if they lost a sparring match they’d be forced to leave, on the last day? If that was true, half of them would be failing the final test. 

Silently she hoped she wouldn’t be chosen to go first. Every match she got to watch from the side would allow her muscles a chance to recover and increase the probability she’d succeed. She should have known better than to think she’d be that lucky. After drawing a circle in the dirt with his spear the instructor called the first two forward. “Seventeen and Fifty-Two!”

This wasn’t accidental. Fifty-Two was one of the strongest recruits. He won almost all his bouts and scored top ranks in nearly every category. He was one of the few who beat her in the morning’s race, meaning he had more time to rest than she did. Someone wanted her to lose and they were pitting her against the best recruit to try and make it happen. They called her a foster, but that was just a pretty lie. People with power use words like ‘foster’ because it sounded better, cleaner than calling her what she was, a highborn hostage. The custom of fostering children in other houses was meant to be a barbaric deterrent. She was sent to Dorne at the age of eight, to punish her family, specifically her father for crimes he committed against the Iron Throne long before she was ever born. It had nothing to do with her, and yet she was paying the price for it everyday. Stripped of her name and title she was forced to leave her home and family behind to go to a new land to serve people who thought so little of her she could often go days without speaking. She spent years as a servant, sweeping floors, scrubbing pots, shovelling shit and emptying chamber pots. She did everything and anything they asked, because she didn’t have a choice. When she saw the army was looking for recruits, she jumped at the chance to be considered. Life as a soldier may be dramatically shorter than life as a servant but they both killed you eventually in their own way. She preferred the quick slash of sharp blade to sixty years spent cleaning up after smug pricks who never bothered to learn her name. 

As she approached the circle, she could see her opponent was pleased with his draw. He thought she’d be easy to defeat and although she knew her odds were slim, she refused to go down without a fight. 

A chest of weapons was open and waiting, giving each recruit the chance to pick whatever tool they wished. Not surprisingly Fifty-Two took a spear. He’d likely been training with that weapon since he was old enough to stand. She’d improved but knew better than to do battle with him spear to spear. The sword was tempting, and the hatchet too. She’d spent hours practicing with each and thought they’d suit her well. At the last moment she found a small curved dagger with a golden handle. She twirled it in her hand and pretended not to hear the snickering laughter of some of the onlookers when they noticed her selection. 

“You’re going to best me with that?” Fifty-Two asked. With a grunt he stabbed his spear into the dirt and then peeled his shirt over his head, exposing his broad chest of well-defined muscles. She rolled her eyes in response. Was that meant to intimidate her? He pulled the spear from the ground and raised it over his head. 

His comment got a reaction from the others but not her. She was confident in her choice. Using the spear properly required the one wielding it to take advantage of the distance it provided and keep the enemy back. With his feet planted he could thrust the spear through her chest before she and her dagger got close. On defence the spear’s best attribute was the thick shaft that could be used to block or deflect incoming strikes. She’d watched as Fifty-Two and countless others worked tirelessly to perfect this skill and she thought she could exploit it. The tactic they were taught was to put the shaft against the blades edge and then use the momentum to push your opponent one way or the other. She hoped that Fifty-Two would have trouble getting direct contact with the dagger’s small surface. If he missed just once, he’d leave himself vulnerable and she could capitalize on his error. 

The match started without fanfare and slowly they began circling one another. She watched him closely, on guard in case that long spear came at her. She studied his steps, noticing he seemed steadier on his legs than she felt on hers. Still, she was determined to give this her all. If she failed, she’d be going back to the life of a servant. That was more than enough reason to push past her exhaustion and pain. 

After three passes neither one had struck but that was about to change, she could feel it. Just as Fifty-Two pulled back his spear, her grip on the dagger tightened in anticipation. Before the blow came however the instructor raised his hands. “Stop!” he demanded. 

Both of the recruits did without delay. The spear fell to the ground at Fifty-Two’s feet and she turned her dagger over, so the blade wasn’t pointed at him any longer. 

“Drop the blade,” he ordered. She did and then he bent down to retrieve it. Without explaining what was happening he walked to the spear and took it. Before he turned away from Fifty-Two, the instructor handed him the dagger she’d chosen. He brought the spear back to her. “You don’t always get to choose the weapon you’re best suited for,” he said, speaking to all of them now. “Sometimes you must fight with any weapon available. For your final test, you must fight your opponent, using his or her selection.” 

“I can’t use this!” Fifty-Two protested, looking at the small blade with contempt. 

“Why not?” the instructor challenged. “She was going to.” 

She picked up the spear and threw it back and forth from one hand to the other, testing its weight. She didn’t like the idea of being forced to use a spear, but she acknowledged she’d rather be in her place right now, than his. Her opponent looked furious and she could tell he was going to rush her with all the finesse of a charging bull. She doubted he saw the same benefits in the dagger that she did, and suspected he’d be too aggressive to wait for the right moment. That said, she’d need to be careful. 

When the fight started Fifty-Two didn’t disappoint. He rushed straight at her, holding the dagger like an extension of his large fist. She used the spear to keep him back, twisting it and then giving a thrust to force him to retreat. 

He was quick, but angry and his anger clouded his mind. He took wide sweeping arcs with the dagger, trying to use brute force to break her guard. She kept moving, stopping only when necessary to push the spear in his direction. 

Years of mastering the spear had taught Fifty-Two how to defend against it as well, and he did that well. Again, and again they traded attempts, causing the match to drag on longer than anyone thought it would. No one looked away, the size of the crowd watching increasing as more recruits finished the run. 

She knocked him off balance several times, but he was always quick to recover. When she became too predictable and attempted the same move a second time he was waiting, his dagger lined up with her throat. Jerking back wildly she pushed the spear up toward the underside of his wrist. He saw it coming and leapt back too, providing her with the necessary space to compose herself. She expected he'd be ready for her when she moved forward but he wasn’t. For the first time, he was showing signs of fatigue. Sensing an opening she pointed the spear’s tip at him and approached hard and fast. She aimed for the upper part of his chest, and he dodged it, as she expected he would. She moved right, and pushed him left, trusting him to do exactly as they’d been taught. He did. With another quick attempt, she had him shifting his body weight from one foot to the other. As he was doing that, she twirled the spear in a circle and brought the shaft down hard against the side of his knee. He cursed as he staggered but she barely heard it. She continued rotating the spear and used it to knock his legs out from under him. When the move was finished, Fifty-Two was flat on his back and the tip of her spear was pressed against his throat. 

Beneath her the beaten man refused to blink. She knew what he was doing, he was waiting for an opening so he could get back into the fight. She wasn’t going to give him one. If he raised that dagger at her again, she’d push the spear into his neck, and he’d be dead before his blood wet the sand. 

The instructor likely saw the same thing she did. “It’s done,” he declared loudly, looking pointedly toward the man who’d lost. To the victor he said, “Return your spear to the chest and take your leave. Return to the barracks and prepare for tonight’s celebration. The others will join you if they too can pass the test.”

She couldn’t believe it. It was a long walk back to the city, but she didn’t mind. Her legs were screaming for a rest but there would be plenty of time for that later. She’d done it. She’d gone from being a foster to becoming a soldier for Dorne. She couldn’t control the smile that crossed her face, she didn’t even try. 

R-C

She’d just climbed out of the bath when she heard the footsteps. She expected to see another recruit, the next winner of the afternoon, but it wasn’t a recruit or any soldier for that matter, it was a member of the ruling family. Prince Oberyn Martell stood before her in his fancy clothes, with a sword on his hip. He had his hands behind his back and a smirk on his face. In contrast she was naked, covered in only a towel, and still recovering from the shock of seeing him there. “I hear you did well,” he said. 

She bowed her head. “Thank you, Prince.” 

He laughed and she felt herself smiling in return. “None of that. We are alone here, no stuffy nobles or arrogant asses, just friends. How are you?”

She smiled at him more sincerely. Her trip to Dorne wasn’t her choice. She went because she had to, not because she wanted to. As such, she didn’t expect that she’d grow to like it or any of the people she met, but without her knowledge or permission that was exactly what happened, at least with Oberyn. If she was going to choose her first friend in years, she likely wouldn’t have picked a son from Dorne’s most prominent family. More shocking than even that, was the realization that under all that power, the titles, the money and the fame, he was a good man. 

They met when in her duties as a servant she was tasked with bringing items to him and his lover Ellaria. Over time they got to know a little bit about one another. Eventually he’d ask for her by name when he needed something and once the job was done, they’d spend time together as equals. Their friendship was real, and it was one of the few good things in her life. 

It was Oberyn who made it possible for her to serve in a way that didn’t involve chamber pots. He practiced with her, early in the morning or late at night to help her prepare and when Doran refused to allow his foster to join the army, Oberyn spoke up for her and convinced his brother to allow it. It was because of him and him alone, that she’d have a life that was closer to the one she wanted. “I’m finished,” she confessed. 

“The last test is difficult,” he remembered. “I almost lost.” She thought he was thinking back to his own training and perhaps he was but slowly his eyes returned to the present and he reviewed the empty room. “How many fought before you?”

She didn’t understand his question, or its significance, but she answered anyway. “None,” she said. “When the run was over, I barely had a chance to catch my breath before I needed to fight.”

“And you won?” he confirmed. 

“Yes.”

He was grinning when he spoke. “You don’t know what that means do you?”

She felt as if she was being led into a trap. “It means I’m finished training?” she replied. The uncertainty he was making her feel had it coming out more like a question and not the firm statement she intended. 

“Yes, but it also means you were the best in the group.” In any other situation his smug superiority would have annoyed her, but she couldn’t worry about that now. 

She was speechless. Surely that couldn’t be possible. She could think of a half dozen men who were better at almost every skill than she was. Fifty-Two was one of them, but he wasn’t alone. “That can’t be…”

“In the final match you’re pitted against the recruit who is closest to your skill level. As soon as the first pair are finished running, the fighting begins while the others catch up.” 

“He was faster than me,” she recalled, “and better at everything. I must have been second,” she realized, speaking more to herself than him. 

“Not anymore,” Oberyn chimed in from the background. “Now he’s nothing and you are a soldier of Dorne.” 

“Thank you,” she said, knowing the words weren’t enough to convey her feelings. “I know they wouldn’t have let me train if you hadn’t fought for me.” 

“I just told them the truth,” he explained. “I said you’d be an asset, and I was right, as I usually am.” 

They laughed together for a moment. “Don’t let Ellaria hear you say such a thing.” 

His posture changed at the mention of his woman. “She knows it’s true, even if she won’t admit it.” 

She chuckled darkly and layered her words with obvious sarcasm. “Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what she would say if she were here.” 

For the first time since he entered, he moved his hands from behind his back and revealed what he’d been holding all along. “I was coming to leave this on your bed, but my meeting ran long, and I was delayed.” He held out the gift. “Since you’re here, I can give it to you personally.” 

Her hands shook as she reached for the armor. She was grateful Oberyn didn’t comment on it. “This is for me?”

He said nothing until she took the impressive armor in her hands. It was light, but strong. It had been many years since she owned something so finely made. She wasn’t carrying it for someone else now, this was hers. Unshed tears burned the back of her eyes. “The instructor usually passes out the armor once the final match is complete but why wait?” he asked with a cocky smirk. “He can give you your boots and your helmet.” 

“You didn’t have to…” she started but she was quickly cut off by the Prince. 

“Whoever you were before, whatever you had to do to survive, forget it. Today, and every day forward you are a daughter of Dorne, a soldier, a warrior, a hero. I’m proud of you.” 

She threw the armor carelessly onto the nearest bed and leapt into Oberyn’s arms, hugging him tight. She’d grown up thinking she had no future and now everything was changing. She’d never have to worry about emptying a noble’s chamber pot or scrubbing a stain from his clothes again. She was on a different path now and she owed that to Oberyn. “Thank you so much,” she said, hoping he could tell she meant it. “Thank you.” 

R-C

A servant escorted Missandei, Daenerys and Jorah toward the hall where they would be dining. Dozens of people were there already, clustered in small groups discussing Gods knew what. Passing a group of middle-aged soldiers, or commanders she heard one say. “There was some real talent in the last batch. Some of the finest we’ve produced since Prince Oberyn himself.” 

As she did with all matters of warfare she turned to Jorah for an opinion. “Did the Dornish just finish training new men Ser?”

“I believe so Princess,” he said with a kind smile. “It’s a common practice in every kingdom. King’s Landing would be training now had your father not chosen to bring the Unsullied from Astapor.” 

She ignored the majority of what Jorah said, dismissing it as unimportant. What she was much more interested in was the name she heard one of the soldiers say. “I met Prince Martell earlier, do you recall?”

“Yes, Princess.”

“That man suggested he was a fine fighter, is that true?” she asked, while her eyes searched for the noble in question. They’d been required to cut their conversation short, but he was the only Dornishman who seemed genuinely pleased to see her, and as such she wasn’t opposed to another opportunity to talk with him. 

“One of the best,” Jorah admitted, “they call him the Red Viper of Dorne.” 

While she conversed with Jorah about Oberyn the servant led them to the head table. Her brother and father were already there, along with Tywin Lannister, Jaime Lannister and a handful of her father’s most essential advisors. She didn’t know what they did, or how vital their assistance. All that was asked of her was that she remember their names and smile at the appropriate times. 

Opposite them were the Martells, including Oberyn and Ellaria. Doran and Tristan were there, along with many more she didn’t know. She assumed one was to be her brother’s wife, though she couldn’t say which. 

In the heat of a negotiation or discussion of some kind neither side addressed her as she took her seat. Missandei and Jorah stepped back once she was settled, retiring to a respectable distance. They were close enough to aid or protect their charge if necessary, without being in the way. She wanted to call them back and ask someone to find chairs for them, but she couldn’t. Apparently, the fact that they were her friends as well as being her guard and her handmaiden mattered little. Making things worse was the fact that on this trip to strengthen the relationship between the Targaryens and the Martells, Daenerys was little more than a prop. She didn’t have the authority to make a request of anyone and if she tried it would likely infuriate both sides. The Dornish wouldn’t approve of her demands and her family would be enraged that she interrupted their important business with her trivial concerns. It made her sick that Missandei’s welfare wasn’t classified as important by her own father. 

Relaxing into her padded chair she took a moment to look at the faces of both the King and his son, neither looked pleased. Aerys seemed to his daughter’s trained eye to be annoyed, Viserys on the other hand was angry. Having spent years suffering the brunt of Viserys’s outbursts, she learned how to spot the warning signs and she could see all of them now. The vein in his neck was throbbing as he clenched his jaw to keep from saying something. His hands were under the table, likely in his lap, but she guessed if she could see through the wood, she’d find them balled into fists. Most telling however was the arrogant smirk, or more accurately the lack of it. From experience she knew that Viserys wasn’t the type to keep his opinions to himself. He was entitled and outspoken, a poor combination for anyone, let alone a Prince. He demanded rather than asked and was used to getting his way. She leaned forward and listened a little closer to the marriage negotiation. 

“… that seems agreeable, Prince Doran,” Tywin was saying on behalf of the King. “I think they make a fine pair.” 

Her eyes flashed to Viserys to witness his response. Regardless of the Hand’s contention, she could see her brother disagreed vehemently. What was more surprising was that he didn’t say so out loud. It made her wonder what she missed. 

She listened while the logistics were hammered out and although Viserys’s face heated with obvious rage more than once he said nothing. Daenerys kept waiting for an outburst that didn’t come. While she tried to understand what could have happened to silence her brother, she could come up with only one potential explanation, and it fit all the facts. 

The meeting was little more than a formality. Emissaries and representatives from both families had been working out the details for months. This was supposed to be just a finalization of all their hard work. If Viserys was unhappy with the bride chosen for him, he wouldn’t hesitate to say so, in front of the Dornish, their father, and his future wife. If he’d done so frequently enough to spark their father’s ire, it was possible he reprimanded Viserys for his behavior. If he did so vigorously enough it might have forced the middle child to mind his manners. 

Logical as the theory was, her father wasn’t known for being a concerned parent. Usually she and Viserys were free to do whatever they wanted, as long as they stayed out of Aerys’s way. There were more restrictions on Rhaegar since he was the heir and actively working to help their father rule. When her father locked himself in his room whispering about fires, betrayals and dragons, the business of the Realm was left to Rhaegar and Tywin. Sometimes the King’s isolation lasted hours, sometimes days, it was impossible to predict. 

Having missed a large portion of what was being proposed, she rejoined the conversation in the middle. “… that is non-negotiable,” Doran was saying. “We have customs, and they require the outsider to live in the city until the wedding. It will give the Young Dragon a chance to experience the life his wife will be giving up when she returns with him to King’s Landing.” 

Finally, Viserys found his voice. “I am not an outsider,” he protested with acid in his words. “I am a son of the King. Dorne is one of my father’s kingdoms. I already know it.” 

Doran was diplomatic and quick to mediate. “Of course, Prince Viserys, I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, it is merely a tradition. The custom exists so that before you and your wife leave to begin your new life together, you may get a brief taste of what her life was like for her here.” 

Privately Daenerys thought the custom was rather sweet. Men rarely considered how difficult it was for their wives to uproot their lives and move to a new city, a new kingdom, often to marry a man she barely knew. This practice gave the future husband, Viserys in this case, the chance to see the world his wife would be leaving behind. If only he was smart enough to appreciate the experience. She knew better than to say that though. Viserys lacked the ability to empathize with anyone. He didn’t care how difficult it would be for his potential wife to leave her home and family. All he cared about was the inconvenience to him if he was required to stay. 

Tywin was putting up a fight on this. He laid out a series of articulate, reasonable arguments explaining how important Viserys was to the continued success of King’s Landing. It was all shit, of course, Viserys was a spoiled ass who spent his days tormenting the staff, belittling her and fighting with Rhaegar. He whined like a child every time he didn’t get his way, but to hear Tywin tell it, the Capital would crumble without Viserys’s valiant and wide-ranging contributions. Aware that someone might be watching her she resisted the urge to roll her eyes and scoff. 

The decision came from someone Daenerys suspected wasn’t even paying attention. The King undercut all of his Hand’s arguments with a single sentence. “He should stay.” 

Suddenly all eyes were on Aerys and none found him faster than Viserys who was sitting right beside him. “Father, I have business at the Red Keep…”

“It can wait,” he replied dismissively. Daenerys was surprised and she wasn’t the only one. Apparently, her father was having a good day. He was lucid enough to reprimand Viserys when he needed it, made a logical ruling to settle a real dispute and hadn’t started mumbling about the voices only he could hear. 

In typical Lannister fashion Tywin wasn’t willing to let the Dornish have a win, without getting some form of compensation. “Your Grace Viserys has many obligations back in King’s Landing. His duties as a commander…”

This time Daenerys’s eyes may have rolled a little. Viserys didn’t have a role within their father’s army, unless you counted ordering anyone in a uniform around. He’d been trained to fight but felt it beneath him to actually do the job. Tywin was a skilled negotiator and a better liar, and those two traits together had Doran offering a concession. “It is only temporary of course. After the wedding both Viserys and his wife will return to the Capital permanently. In the meantime, perhaps a compromise is in order.”

“What compromise?” Tywin asked. Daenerys noted he didn’t sound too eager, almost like he was forcing himself to wait a respectable amount of time before accepting. 

“A new class of recruits just finished their training earlier today,” Doran said. “I’ll let you have your pick of a soldier. He can assist with things in King’s Landing until Viserys returns.” 

It was a fair offer, one Daenerys would have accepted but Tywin wanted more. “Three men!” he countered. 

“Two.” 

“Agreed.” 

Tywin kept pushing, trying to milk their arrangement as much as he could. “I want the best two.”

Based on his facial expression alone, Daenerys expected Prince Doran would have accepted the terms. Before he could Oberyn spoke up in opposition to Tywin’s proposal. “Brother,” he said, “don’t do this. I’ve seen the recruits. I know the recruits you are giving away. They are the future commanders that will lead all of Dorne’s armies.”

Daenerys was riveted by the drama playing out in front of her. It was strange seeing the jovial, funny, smiling man she met on the receiving line suddenly so serious. It made her wonder just who had finished first and second in the training? Was it one of Oberyn’s sons? Was that why he didn’t want his brother to do this? 

“It’s only until the wedding,” Doran reminded him. “The men will return and be available to lead Dorne’s troops just as you want. Only now they’ll have more experience when they do. This is good for all of us.”

Oberyn appeared to have more to say on the subject, at least until Ellaria leaned over and whispered into his ear. She couldn’t hear what was being said but it calmed him considerably. “Very well,” he said turning in his chair to face Ellaria more directly. 

“I’ll send for the recruits as soon as we’ve finished eating,” Doran said, earning a nod of agreement from the Hand of the King. 

R-C

The newest soldiers and guards in Dorne’s formidable army were dressed in their armor, preparing to celebrate their success. The final test had cut the number of recruits by half, trimming many from the final tally. 

After months of only training, everyone was eager to go out. Half the group wanted to start with drinking and a decent meal, the others wanted to hurry straight for the nearest brothel. Decisions had yet to be made, and the girl who finished first was sitting on her bed with her helmet in her lap, adjusting her breastplate as she listened to the spirited debate half-heartedly. 

Suddenly the yelling stopped and those nearest the door stood at attention. Knowing only one cause for such a response she jumped off the bed and onto her feet, setting the helmet in place as she did. 

A brave man spoke for the room. “Prince Oberyn, how can we be of service?”

“Congratulations one and all!” he yelled loudly, clearly wanting to ensure everyone heard. “I remember my training and I remember how relieved I was when it was finally over. Go and have a good time tonight.” To emphasize his point, he retrieved a pouch of gold from his belt and set It into the man’s hand. “The first drink is on me.” 

“That… that is very kind. Thank you, Pr…”

All around her, the soldiers were looking at one another, questioning their luck. Was it possible that a Prince had shown up to give them gold? It didn’t seem likely, but she knew Oberyn Martell better than they did, and she knew that was just the sort of thing he’d do. 

Oberyn didn’t let him finish. “Unfortunately,” he said, “not all of you will be able to celebrate quite yet.” He walked down the aisle between two beds and stopped when his eyes found her. “The two recruits who finished their final test first need to come with me. Prince Doran requests your presence.” 

His smile didn’t falter but his disapproval was in his dark eyes. He didn’t want to do this. She stepped forward, again adjusting the armor she was still getting used to. She didn’t know who fought second, all she knew was who was the second to arrive back. Ninety-Four, met her and Oberyn outside. He was a beast of a man with a bald head and thick black beard. He easily weighed more than twice what the girl did and had an extra foot in length. He was imposing and skilled, it wasn’t hard to believe that he finished right after her. 

They were more than halfway between the barracks and the castle when Oberyn slowed his steps and fell back to walk beside her. “When we get there,” he said quietly, barely moving his lips, “don’t speak unless necessary, keep your helmet on and under no circumstances are you to tell anyone your name.” 

In the years they’d known one another she couldn’t recall seeing Oberyn uneasy or nervous, not once. It made her wary about where she was going and why. “They know who I am already,” she pointed out. It was true, she’d been presented to Prince Doran when she arrived at Sunspear, she served in and out of the castle at his instruction and it was Doran who allowed her to leave for training. Even with the helmet covering part of her face she didn’t think it would take him long to realize who she was. 

“It’s not my brother I’m worried about,” Oberyn said seriously, before he once again took the lead. 

R-C

Her stomach dropped when they reached their destination and she saw the Mad King waiting. He was beside Prince Doran with two of his children. The male seemed annoyed and his sister bored. She took a small measure of comfort from the fact that Rhaegar wasn’t there. It wasn’t much of a relief, but it was something. It had been a long time since she’d seen any of the Targaryens, but they didn’t look all that different, older of course, in each case, but still very much the way she remembered them, in her memories and her nightmares. 

She stood at attention, next to Ninety-Four and waited to be noticed. She purposely avoided meeting Oberyn’s eye, not wanting to know what she’d find there. 

“These are them?” Aerys asked, holding out one of his wrinkled hands in the direction of the young soldiers. 

“Yes, your Grace,” Doran said. “These are the two recruits who performed best in their training.”

Aerys got up from his seat and approached them. Her heart was pounding in her chest. The Mad King was standing in front of her. Everything that had happened, not only to her, but her entire family was his fault. Suddenly the sword on her hip felt heavier than usual, as if it was reminding her it was there. She could kill him. She could end his reign with one swing of her sword. She’d be murdered instantly, but that felt like a small price to pay for ridding the world of the Targaryen.

“They’re not good enough,” the Prince decided. “End this nonsense father. Call off the marriage and let us return home.” 

She didn’t know what marriage was being arranged, nor did she care. The sooner the Dragons went back to King’s Landing the better it would be for all of them. 

“My boy may be right,” Aerys noted. “This one, I understand,” he said, holding out a hand in front of Ninety-Four, “but this one,” he said gesturing to her, “did you forget to feed her?”

The annoyed son laughed at his insane father’s joke, but she noticed from the corner of her eye that the Princess looked almost sad. Oberyn rushed to her defense. “Actually, your Grace, Seventeen finished first, over those who were bigger, stronger and more experienced.”

“Seventeen?” the King repeated, seeking clarification. 

“We number the recruits, your Grace,” Doran explained. “It’s easier than remembering their names.”

He laughed, as if something about reducing people to numbers amused him. It was the same laugh she heard in the Red Keep’s throne room as the King sentenced a terrified girl to a life in Dorne. This time it was louder, without the cries of her family members to dull the sound. “Clever.” There was an awkward silence in the room for a time, before Aerys spoke to her directly. “Are you truly better than him?” 

For the second time since she saw him, she considered killing him, consequences be damned. Her hand twitched as it itched to draw the steel. The King kept looking at her expectantly, awaiting an answer. Remembering Oberyn’s instructions she replied with a nod. The Targaryen watched her for a moment, staring straight at her partially covered face. She wondered if he could see past the steel of her newly acquired helmet, right through to the truth of who she really was. The helmet provided cover, hiding her hair, and stretching down past her ears on both sides. The center of her face was obscured by a protective strip down the middle that fell between her eyes and stopped at her nose. 

“Prove it,” he demanded, “if you can.” 

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He wanted her to fight, for him? That was never going to happen. She wouldn’t risk her neck to entertain the man who destroyed her family. This time when her hand twitched, she shifted it closer to her weapon. She could kill him before any of his lazy guards could interfere. She didn’t doubt that -- her concerns were about what came after. Not for her, she’d be killed, and if she wasn’t, she’d be tortured for weeks before her execution, she was okay with that. Her worry was for the remaining members of her family. What would become of them if she murdered the King? Would they be punished for her crimes? She didn’t want to be the reason any of them suffered, they’d already been through too much. She didn’t even know how many of her siblings were still alive, she could be the only one left, but if she wasn’t, she didn’t want to condemn the others. She’d get her revenge, but not like this, not today. 

With little in the way of choices she drew her sword and backed away from Ninety-Four. He didn’t look any more pleased by this turn of events than she was but had just as few options. 

He took the first swing and as she danced away, she noticed the armor that she wore made her a touch slower than she was used to. She shifted her sword from one hand to the other and shook out her legs one at a time, getting a feel for the boots. 

Ninety-Four came at her again and again she dodged his strike. This time as she slipped around him, she took a swipe at his outer leg. He got his blade down in time and used his superior size to push her away. 

While preparing for the next attack her eyes landed on the trio of Targaryens. The smug Prince was sitting on the edge of his seat, leaning forward, eagerly anticipating the violence. The King had returned to his chair and was watching, albeit with less enthusiasm than his son. His daughter sat at his side, looking horrified. The soldier didn’t need to know the Dragon Princess to see she was bothered by the idea of men fighting for sport. She said nothing but held her breath each time their swords came together. At least one of the royals didn’t want to be there. She could relate. 

Each time she tried to seize the victory she failed. She couldn’t put him on his back or even knock him off balance because Ninety-Four was too heavy. In contrast each time he swung at her, she felt like she was being hit by the trunk of a tree. If she was going to have any hope of winning, she would need to use his size against him. She’d need to capitalize on the fact that she was quicker and more accurate than he was. It also occurred to that this would not a be a match decided by one decisive blow. If she was going to win, she’d need to take him apart one piece at a time. 

They danced together for the entertainment of people who didn’t care if they lived or died. Around and around they tested one another without either of them making progress and then finally she saw her opening. It was almost identical to her first attempt at his outside leg. She slipped past him as his momentum carried him in the opposite direction and she took a swipe. The difference this time was that she made contact. She cut into his leg, just above the knee. It wasn’t deep but drops of blood spilled onto the stones beneath them. The injury staggered him just as Ninety-Four twisted to try and face her. She hurried away hoping to force him to limp after her. 

They continued on this way and she verified firsthand that Ninety-Four earned every bit of the high rank he received. He was second among the recruits for a reason. Wounded as he was, he kept coming. She managed to give him a matching cut on his other leg, and another on his upper arm but they weren’t all successes. One of Ninety-Four’s slashes struck her breastplate and got through. She could feel the slow, steady stream of blood warming her skin. Another time, when she strayed too close to her opponent, he delivered a punch to her face, denting the divider between her eyes and pushing the steel back against the bridge of her nose with enough power to break the skin. 

The end came when her sword cut into Ninety-Four’s right leg for the second time. This cut was deeper, and she immediately regretted how hard she swung. With a grunt of pain, he dropped to a knee and she pounced, eager to end this senseless spectacle. She brought her sword down directly on the bracer he wore. She only struck hard enough to make him release the weapon, not hard enough to create another injury. The sound of the sword clanking off the floor was echoed by the Mad King’s applause. “You did it,” he said in a sick gleeful tone. “Kill him, you’ve proven your worth.”

There were several gasps, one she was sure came from her, and another from the man she’d beaten. The third, if she had to guess was from the Princess who wanted to be somewhere else. 

All at once many voices tried to quell their King’s murderous impulses. “Your Grace,” Doran said with a sliver of authority, “that is not what we agreed.” 

“Agreements change,” Aerys replied coldly. “He’s too injured to be of any use to me now anyway.” 

“He’ll recover,” Oberyn pointed out accurately. She couldn’t help looking down into Ninety-Four’s eyes. He was a brave warrior and a good soldier, but she could see the fear there. She understood it, she too had once been at the Mad King’s mercy, and it was a horrible place to find one’s self. 

“Your Grace,” Tywin Lannister tried, approaching the King’s seat from where he’d been standing, “although he lost the boy is still of value.” 

“Kill him,” the King said again. 

Oberyn had moved closer to her but was still several feet away. She asked him wordlessly for advice and he gave her a subtle nod, approving of what she’d have to do. His smile was gone, replaced by a grim look of resignation. She didn’t even consider it. She wouldn’t kill for him. If that meant she had to forfeit her life, then so be it. She gave Oberyn a sad smile and then turned her gaze on Ninety-Four who was still kneeling in front of her. He too got a smile from the woman who defeated him. Lastly her grey eyes landed on the Targaryens. If this was going to be her final act of defiance, she wasn’t going to die cowering. 

The Princess looked ill as she waited to see what would happen next, her brother was perversely pleased and between them their father was impatient, waiting for his order to be carried out. “No!” she said flatly. 

There were more gasps now, from all quarters of the room. Several of the Targaryen guards approached from various angles. She paid them no mind. “What did you say!?” the King shouted with fire burning in his eyes. Oberyn took another step toward her, as if he was preparing to intervene. She shook her head at him, not wanting him to join her in death. This was her choice and she was at peace with it. 

Her mouth was dry, and it took an extra second to wet it. The entire time she was trying to coax her tongue to work she was expecting a sword to fall. Several of the Kingsguard were standing around her now, anticipating the kill order. “This man is a solider of Dorne,” she said as steadily as she could manage. “He is my brother and I won’t kill him for coming in second.” 

All around her mouths hung open, stunned by her audacity. She used all her energy to remain still, to keep her back straight and her eyes on the tyrant in front of her. “Who are you?”

That question, so simple and so complicated brought Prince Oberyn another step closer. She remembered his advice and understood now what she didn’t then. If the King was willing to kill Ninety-Four for losing a sparing match, he wouldn’t hesitate to have her executed for being her father’s daughter. She reached up and removed her damaged helmet, revealing her bloody face for the first time. “I am a Sand,” she said, lying without guilt. “Arya Sand.”

R-C

Daenerys didn’t know what she was expecting when the winner of the pointless game addressed her father, but it wasn’t this. No one who valued life defied the Targaryen King. Friend or foe, loyal or traitorous he was as likely to burn you as speak to you and everyone knew it, including her. They called him the Mad King behind his back, when they thought she couldn’t hear. It was a title that used to upset her. As a girl she’d been offended on her father’s behalf but now she was older and wiser. She sat in a chair near the throne and watched as her father ordered men killed by the dozen for one perceived slight or another. She heard their pleas before they died, she heard their screams as they died, and she heard her father’s laughter after it was over. Each sound was haunting in its own way and all three together plagued her. 

She no longer got angry when she heard the staff discussing who was burned or why. in those moments all the Princess felt was shame. It was shame she was feeling when her father ordered one soldier to kill his partner for no reason, at least it had been until the King was refused, then she was overcome by surprise. 

Her emotions only multiplied when the solider removed his helmet. It was only then that Daenerys realized it wasn’t a man she’d been watching at all. Recruit Seventeen, the person they just watched defeat a man who was both bigger and stronger, was a woman. Daenerys studied her with genuine curiosity. Her eyes were dark and intense, and her face was angular and long but still distinctly feminine. Not even the blood from her damaged nose could take away from her unique attractiveness. Now it made sense, why she was so much smaller than the man she’d beaten. Her eyes slid down the woman’s body. Her armor did a good job of hiding her curves, even when Daenerys knew what to look for. Still, she couldn’t believe she’d missed such a critical detail. 

Viserys arrived at the obvious conclusion several seconds behind his younger sister. “It’s a woman,” he stated idiotically. “She can’t possibly serve you while I’m away father, end this,” he implored. 

Aerys ignored his son and turned to the leader of Dorne. “Explain this!” he demanded. 

Prince Doran was diplomatic but firm. “In Dorne we do not forbid women from fighting.”

“It’s not their place,” Viserys added. “They do not…”

“You let them fight?” Aerys asked Doran. 

“Why not?” Oberyn inquired. “If a woman is holding the sword that cuts you, the wound still bleeds.” As proof he tilts his chin toward the kneeling man, who was indeed bleeding onto the floor. 

“She can not replace me!” Viserys roared. “I am a Prince, a Dragon, she’s a bastard.” 

Daenerys was embarrassed. Her brother was acting like a child. She watched the woman in question carefully and noticed she didn’t flinch under her brother’s fury. She didn’t even look at him. If she didn’t know how difficult it was to ignore Viserys she might think the soldier hadn’t heard him at all. Secretly it made Daenerys like this stranger more. 

Whether his motivation came from a desire to prove he was more important than a woman or if he was just determined to oppose this wedding at every turn, she didn’t know. Either way she had never hated her brother’s exaggerated sense of self worth more than she did right then. She also felt empathy for the woman who unknowingly got caught in the center of it. 

“Viserys may be right,” the King started. “You can train all the women you like, if you want, but I’m not sure this one can fulfill the duties of my son while he is preparing for the wedding.”

Doran bowed his head in submission to Aerys’s point and Viserys looked entirely too proud of himself. She couldn’t say why she did it; maybe she was still impressed that someone had the courage to stand up to her father, maybe it was a desire to see that smirk wiped off her brother’s face, maybe it was the fact that she’d been completely ignored all day by almost everyone, or maybe she was seizing on the opportunity to show Viserys, her father and every other arrogant man in the room that women were their equals. Whatever the reason she lifted up out of her chair and spoke for the first time since dinner. She cleared her throat and then summoned all the confidence she could. “She can serve me!”

Everyone was watching her with a wide variety of expressions. “What’s this now Daenerys?”

She tried to give her father her most innocent smile. “She can serve as my guard,” she said to justify her interruption. “I don’t mind that she’s a woman, and she’s clearly capable.”

“Mormont is your guard,” Viserys pointed out. He looked furious, glaring at her with his jaw held so tightly she wondered how it didn’t crack. His reaction was worth whatever punishment he’d devise later. She chose to relish the moment and enjoyed putting him in his place for once. 

“Jorah is one of our most experienced guards,” Daenerys reminded them. “He is surely capable of filling in for Viserys until the wedding.” She turned away from her brother and found the woman who was being overlooked by almost everyone. She was watching the Princess with an unreadable expression. Her mouth said nothing, but her eyes were a stormy mix of confusion, gratitude and frustration. “In the meantime, Arya can serve as my personal guard.” 

Jorah moved until he was at Daenerys’s side. “Princess, please…” 

She placed her small hands on his larger, rougher one. “It’s only for a little while.” 

It was obvious he didn’t agree with her suggestion but there were too many people nearby for him to openly question her. In the end, his loyalty to her won out. “As you wish.” 

Like all aspects of her life, the final say didn’t belong to her. It was her idea, but the choice was her father’s. If he didn’t approve, it wouldn’t happen. Arya may have been willing to do the exact opposite of what he wanted, but Daenerys wasn’t that strong.

“Pack your things,” the King announced, “you’ll be joining us when we depart for King’s Landing.” 

Daenerys quietly thanked her father before she went to meet her newly appointed protector. Instead of gratitude for her position, or relief that she’d been spared, Arya Sand appeared furious and for reasons the Princess couldn’t understand, that rage was aimed at her. 

R-C


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I’ve decided to try this as a full story. Fair warning, it’s going to be a long one. This will probably be the most ambitious and complicated story I’ve ever attempted. I’m going to try and include some of the characters we know the least about. Feel free to let me know how you think I’m doing. 
> 
> Here’s Chapter Two. 
> 
> R-C

She paced the room’s length like a caged animal. “Can you believe her!” she raged. Her hands flew up in a physical manifestation of her frustrations. “Looking at me, like I should fucking thank her for taking my life from me, again!”

How was it possible for things to change so drastically and so suddenly? Her final test and the pride at completing it felt separated by a century from what she was experiencing now. History was repeating itself. First, she’d been forced to leave Winterfell for Dorne and now, as soon as she accomplished something and is happy, that was snatched away from her too. She’d need to give up everything again, as if once wasn’t enough. Her pains and sacrifices weren’t even for something noble. She wasn’t suffering hardship to become a Maester, a Septa or a member of the Night’s Watch, she was doing it to please the man who destroyed her once already. As she walked, her shaking hand skimmed the grip of her sword and she briefly considered drawing the blade and falling on it. Was that the only choice she truly had, to live as a slave or die on her own terms? 

“You need to remain calm,” Oberyn cautioned. 

“Calm?!” she screamed. “Are you fucking serious?! They’d have me guard the Princess, walking her from appointment to appointment, standing outside her bedchamber and listening to her whine.” 

“Lower your voice!” the Dornishman insisted, “the Targaryens do not realize who you are.” 

His words reminded her of another problem. The King didn’t realize who she was, but how long could that be relied on to last? Once he discovered the truth, she’d be summoned to the throne room where an accusation and a barrel of wildfire would be waiting. “Yet,” she amended. “It was one thing to be Arya Sand when he was staying for a few days or weeks, but in King’s Landing it will be harder to maintain the lie.” 

He stepped up and grabbed her shoulders roughly, finally putting an end to her pacing. “They mustn’t ever learn who you are.”

There was genuine concern in his eyes, and in the way he implored her to take this threat seriously. It softened her fury to see there was one person in the world who would notice if she was gone. “I can’t do this.” 

In a blink the worry on Oberyn’s face was replaced by something grim and severe. “You are a Wolf!” he proclaimed intently. “You were but a girl when you came here, alone and so far from home. Most in that situation have two choices, they become angry and bitter or meek and compliant. You chose neither. You did not let what was done to you and your family break you, you remained strong, you grew and made your own life here.” 

Under other circumstances she might have been touched by the sentiment Oberyn was trying to convey but her anger burned too fiercely for her to think of anything else. “It was fucking pointless! I never should have asked to be a soldier, if I were a servant in the Water Gardens the Mad King wouldn’t have bothered to ask for me.”

“It isn’t forever,” Oberyn promised. “Before long the Prince and his new wife will go to King’s Landing and you will return.” After a brief pause, he added, “When you do, you’ll take the place you earned, in our army.”

For the first time since he followed her away from the royalty his words reached her. “Can I really do this?” she asked, working to keep her voice steady. 

“You are strong, to them you are a fatherless girl from Dorne. No one will ask for your past, they won’t care. Keep the Princess safe and your secrets will stay hidden.” 

“Let’s hope so, I won’t leave the Capital alive if the truth is revealed.”

R-C

“Why did you do that?” Missandei asked her gently. 

They were in her the chambers she’d been assigned. The room was nice and well maintained but Daenerys paid it little attention. She and her handmaiden sat together at a small table. She didn’t know how to explain exactly. She hadn’t intended to cause a commotion, things just got away from her and by the time it was done, she’d invited a woman she didn’t know into her service. “I don’t…” she started before she stopped and tried a different route. “They were so dismissive of her, acting like her talents were meaningless, just because she’s a woman.” 

Missandei nodded along with Daenerys’s point. “Woman or not, she bested that man.” 

She felt herself smile as she recalled the elegant way she moved. “She did, and my brother still acted as if she wasn’t worthy of dying for him. It made me so angry, I don’t know, I just wanted to show them that not everyone felt that way.” 

Missandei offered up a smile. “I’d say you did that.” 

Although she appreciated her friend’s efforts the Princess wasn’t sure how to feel. She was proud that she spoke up to defend a stranger in need, she was confident that was the right thing to do. That she voiced her opinion to an audience that included her father and brother made the accomplishment all the more significant in Daenerys’s mind. Any exhilaration she felt however was quickly dwarfed by the cloud of uncertainty that hung over her. What would happen next? The most immediate concern was Viserys. He’d been trying to convince their father to call off the wedding when she interrupted. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that he would hold her accountable now that the wedding was going forward and his stay in Dorne was extended. It would be months before he returned to the Crownlands, but her spiteful brother was not the sort to forgive or forget. He’d nurse his grudge and bide his time and then at some point in the future he would find a way to punish Daenerys for involving herself in his business. Knowing the retribution wouldn’t come for a while made her more anxious, not less. The delay only ensured the knot in her stomach would remain firmly tied for the foreseeable future. 

Her father’s reaction depended largely on his mood. His temperament was so varied and unpredictable it was almost not worth consideration. He might be angry, but it was just as likely that he’d forget all about the events of their dinner by the next time they saw one another. The longer she could avoid the King, the better the chance something else would catch his attention in the meantime. If that happened, it might distract him from the conduct of his only daughter. 

Unlike her father, there was little chance Tywin would forget what she’d done. She’d involved herself in a negotiation he was having without an invitation. He was too set in his ways, too comfortable as Hand of the King to let that pass. In the coming days, likely before they returned to King’s Landing, he would pull her aside and remind her that her role was to be seen and not heard. He’d say nothing of the fact that her father intended to have an innocent man killed. He wouldn’t acknowledge that his son, the Kingsguard would have carried out the order without hesitation if it came. He’d act like there was nothing unusual about any of it. To him, the deaths of Arya and her fellow soldier were meaningless. If that was what it took to keep the King happy and in favor of the marriage they’d come to arrange, then the Lannister would welcome it. 

Lastly there was Jorah. He’d be less than thrilled with the change in his responsibilities. He took his role as her protector quite seriously. She could count on him not to argue in a crowded hall, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d let the matter drop completely. He’d find her alone and try and sway her from her course. He should be thanking her, though he never would, because of her he’d been temporarily reassigned to do what Viserys normally did. Since Viserys did nothing, Jorah wouldn’t have too many pressing issues to deal with. Whether he acknowledged it or not, Daenerys had arranged a break for the old knight. 

“Have you seen her since?” Missandei asked, ending her worrying for the moment. The awkward conversations she was destined to have couldn’t be avoided. She’d just have to endure them as she did so many other things she didn’t want to do. 

“No,” she admitted quietly, “I wanted to, but she and Prince Oberyn took the injured man to the Maester.” 

Missandei’s constant smile slipped for a moment as they remembered the match they witnessed. “His wounds didn’t look severe,” she noted. 

“No, they didn’t,” Daenerys agreed without much enthusiasm. 

“She was strong, skilled and quick, she’ll make a fine guard.” 

The Princess didn’t doubt that. “She’s brave too,” she said, adding to the list of attributes. “She defied my father.” 

She heard the awe in her words and Missandei must’ve too. “I’ve never seen anyone refuse him before.”

She hadn’t seen it, because it never happened. Most people were too fearful to disobey the Targaryen King. His temper and the cruel methods of punishment he employed were legendary. Daenerys had been there the day a trader was brought before her father’s throne. She didn’t know him, or what he’d done to incite the King’s rage, but the outcome was something that would stay with her until her dying day. After a brief discussion in which the trader denied the accusations against him, the King ordered the man’s wife and child brought to him. Hours later, Daenerys watched in horror as her father gave the man a terrible choice, asking him to pick which would die. In an abrupt change, the trader fell to his knees and pleaded that it should be him, for he was the guilty one. He confessed and begged for a mercy that never came. When he refused to condemn either his wife or his son to death, the King had them both killed, then he sent the man home with the bodies to grieve. 

“I think I spoke for her because I didn’t want her to die,” Daenerys realized all at once. “She was fearless. She wasn’t going to kill that man, not even if the King told her to.”

“Do you think she knew what would happen?” Missandei wondered. 

That was a thought that Daenerys hadn’t considered. Dorne was a long way from the Red Keep, both literally and figuratively. Was it possible that Arya didn’t understand the consequences of her refusal? She wasn’t sure, but she struggled to believe there was any corner of the Seven Kingdoms that didn’t know of the King’s madness. Then she remembered the way Arya had stared defiantly at Aerys when she refused to obey. She couldn’t say for sure, but Daenerys got the sense that she knew the risks and opposed him anyway. “I think she knew. She knew and she still wouldn’t kill her friend.” 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity to ask her in the coming days.” 

Privately the thought unsettled her. She didn’t know how she could discuss her father with a woman who nearly lost her life at his hand. Should she apologize? Were any words enough, even sincere ones? No, they weren’t. Outside of an apology, she had surprisingly little to offer the wronged woman. Since anything she tried would seem fake and hollow, she decided not to broach the subject at all. Unless Arya brought it up, she and Daenerys would not speak about the way they met, regardless of how long Arya guarded her. 

R-C

She put it off for as long as she could, by busying herself with other things. She escorted Ninety-Four to the Maester, raged and complained with Oberyn and then went for a walk to clear her mind. Finally, the time had come, she needed to track down the Targaryen Princess and meet the woman she would pledge to protect. It was all so damn poetic. The Gods had a sense of humor. How else did she end up risking her neck for the daughter of a man who hated her?   
She carried her damaged helmet under one arm. She’d need to find a smith and have the center-piece straightened and reinforced before she travelled. She didn’t care what the Targaryen thought of her, but she could acknowledge that she probably hadn’t made the best first impression, defying her father like that. She took the time to clean herself up, washing her hands and face. She wasn’t a savage and it wouldn’t benefit any of them if she arrived for the introduction still covered in blood. 

If there was a bright spot to all this, it was that both she and Ninety-Four survived. The Maester and Oberyn both predicted he’d make a full recovery. She was pleased by that. She didn’t want there to be any lasting effects from their match. He was a gifted warrior and it would be a waste, if their bout to impress a King prevented him from reaching his potential. 

He wasn’t the only one with injuries. Arya had taken a blow to the chest, though the breastplate prevented the worst of it. She could attest that her new armor was well made, if It wasn’t, she’d be dead. In the end, Ninety-Four’s strike amounted to little more than a scratch. It bled but not enough to cause concern. The damage to her face was equally minimal. She’d have some bruising and swelling in the coming days, but the thin gash across the bridge of her nose had already stopped leaking. 

She stood outside the Princess’s chambers and tried to find the courage to knock. While she delayed the inevitable, she was granted an opportunity to overhear part of the conversation happening inside. “… I don’t think this is a good idea Princess,” a man said. “It is my job to protect you, not some stranger’s. You don’t know her. Your safety is too important to give her this responsibility.” 

They were talking about her. Should she go and come back later? It was a tempting idea. If she knocked now, it would be obvious that she heard them. A grim smile settled on her face. Maybe she should make herself known, she’d get to see the Princess squirm a little when she realized she’d been caught. 

To her surprise, the Princess came to her defense. “I didn’t know you when you were named my guard either,” she replied. “I gave you the chance to prove capable and I’ll do the same for Arya. I won’t assume the worst just because it’s possible. Until she does something to lose my confidence, she will have it.” 

The guard at the door was momentarily speechless. It had been a long time since she heard someone speak about her with such passion. 

“That was different,” the man resisted. “I was sworn to your father before he made me your guard. This woman has barely finished her training, she’s loyal to no one, including you.” 

She didn’t even have time to consider the claims being made against her before the Princess was speaking for her again. “You should have a little faith Ser, I have a good feeling about this.” 

“You see the best in people Daenerys, it’s one of the things…” he caught himself and quickly changed direction. “Don’t allow your good heart to be taken advantage of.” 

“I’m right about this,” she said with confidence, “you’ll see.” Arya thought that was all there was to hear, but the Princess wasn’t done. “I expect you to treat Arya with respect when she joins us.” Without warning there was an authority in the last statement Arya wasn’t anticipating. 

The guard heard it too. “Of course, Princess.” 

Arya slipped back into a shadow and disappeared down the hall. Now was not the right time to present herself to the Targaryen. A few minutes longer wouldn’t make a difference, not to anyone but her. 

R-C

From the moment she opened her mouth to defend Arya, she knew her brother would be upset. No matter the subject or the circumstance he always talked down to her. As if being a few years older and male somehow made him superior to Daenerys in all things. While she waited for the inevitable fight, she reminded herself that Viserys wasn’t a King and he wasn’t the boss of her. He was a Prince, just as she was a Princess. She didn’t need to relent just because her arrogant brother got his feelings hurt. She hadn’t done anything wrong. If there was a mistake made, it was Viserys’s for overlooking Arya just because she was a woman. Daenerys had been in the right. She’d done a good thing. 

All her rehearsed arguments went out the window when Viserys marched in without knocking and slammed the door behind him. She didn’t think it was an accident that he arrived right after Jorah left. The knight’s affection for Daenerys was well known and even Viserys knew he wouldn’t be permitted to disrespect Daenerys in Jorah’s company. 

“What were you thinking?!” he screamed as he took two long strides in her direction. 

Her every instinct was begging for her to retreat, to put some distance between her and Viserys’s anger but she buried those feelings deep and faced her brother with as much courage as she could. “Hello to you too.” 

Her words, with their fake innocence and exaggerated calm only served to make things worse. “Don’t Daenerys!” he demanded, “Father was about to call off this ridiculous wedding and let us return to King’s Landing. He was about to…”

As far back as she could remember Viserys had the habit of only hearing the parts of a conversation he liked. He’d ignore a dozen facts contrary to his own and seize on the lone detail that supported his point of view. It was the same now. He actually thought their father was seconds away from giving him everything he wanted when she got involved. “No, he wasn’t,” she disagreed. “Viserys, be reasonable, Father and Tywin were never going to come thousands of miles and then leave without agreeing to the marriage.”

Her argument was logical but Viserys didn’t care. “Tywin,” he began, saying his name with disgust, “doesn’t decide anything. He serves our father. He’s no different than your slave-girl or the one from the kitchen I take to bed.” 

She was appalled to hear him speak about people so crudely, especially Missandei. She didn’t care much for Tywin Lannister, but she’d never dismiss him or his contributions the way Viserys was doing. “Tywin is the head of a wealthy…”

“This isn’t about him!” Viserys shouted. “This is about you and what you did!”

“I didn’t do anything,” she tried. Despite her best efforts her reply sounded weak and tentative, the opposite of her intention. 

“You spoke up for that woman, just so Father wouldn’t agree with me!” he accused, raising his voice louder than before. “You shouldn’t even be here! I told Father not to bring you along, but he insisted.”

Was he actually suggesting it was her fault for being there? She hadn’t wanted to come anymore than he wanted her to. She hadn’t been given a choice. Her mind filled with a handful of retorts that ranged from witty and clever to sarcastic to downright furious and although she would have happily uttered any one of them, she couldn’t get the words out. The siblings stood opposite one another and Daenerys wilted under Viserys’s stare. When he realized she wasn’t going to justify her actions, he chose to fill the silence. “Are you trying to Wake the Dragon?”

She couldn’t stop her physical reaction to those words. ‘Waking the Dragon’ was what Viserys called it when he lost his temper. Some of her earliest memories were of the pain he inflicted on her in their younger years. As they aged, so did his torments. He progressed from pinching her arm and pulling her hair to techniques far more brutal. The last time she upset him, he twisted her arm so violently she thought the bones might break. 

She saw a sick smile spread across his face. “Rhaegar isn’t here to save you, sweet sister, no one is.” 

There was a sad truth in that taunt. Rhaegar had always protected her, from their father, from Tywin, from Viserys. Daenerys rarely felt safe, but the closest she came was when her eldest brother was nearby. He’d never allow Viserys to speak to her like this. If he were there, he’d demand Viserys stop and if he didn’t, Rhaegar would create the opening Daenerys needed to leave. “I… I… I didn’t do… any…thing.”

Pleased as she was to be able to reply, she was disappointed her words lacked the authority of a Princess. “You invited that woman to King’s Landing, to serve as your guard!” He said the final word like a curse, his face twisting up in a grimace. 

One more time, she took offense on Arya’s behalf. She was a capable woman who finished first amongst her peers. She was due Viserys’s respect and he still refused to give it, even after seeing her best a huge man in combat. With her emotions burning hot, she managed to sound a little more natural. “I was just taking advantage of your mistake. If you hadn’t dismissed her, I wouldn’t have needed to say anything.”

“She’s a woman!” he spat, as if that in and of itself was a disqualifying trait. “You can dress her up anyway you want, you can put a sword in her hand, but she’ll never be good enough.” He was done then chose to push further. “If there was a real threat, she’d die, and you’d follow right after. You’re a fool if you think otherwise.” 

“If there was a threat,” Daenerys rebelled, “I’d rather have Arya there than Trant. When was the last time he used his sword for anything other than beating serving girls?” 

She knew immediately she’d gone too far. By belittling Viserys’s personal guard, she had started the fire that would ultimately burn her. His cheeks heated in embarrassment and he covered the distance between them in a flash. This time when Viserys reached for her she didn’t stand her ground. She backed up and he stalked closer. He forced her into one of the room’s corners and towered over her. Already significantly shorter than him, she squatted down to make herself a smaller target. In a dominant position, he challenged her to repeat her previous insult. “Say it again!” The smirk on his face made it clear he had her exactly where he wanted her, as if she didn’t already know. “Go on, say that that stupid bastard girl could beat my guard!”

The fear that had been sufficiently buried by her outrage was back and stronger than ever. She felt weak and pitiful as she tried to think of a way to escape. She could push him and run, but how far was she likely to get? Her best and quite honestly only hope would be if someone came looking for her and interrupted Viserys. She thought of Jorah first, because she knew he was capable of handling her brother. Unfortunately, he had just left, and before he did, she told him she had no plans to leave for the remainder of the night. Missandei was busy too, she’d gone to wash the Princess’s clothes. Since her father couldn’t be relied on to remember her existence, it seemed she was out of luck. 

Viserys was coming to the same conclusion. “Not so tough now, are you sister?” As he spoke, he reached down and brushed a tendril of silver hair away from her face. The touch was almost gentle, but she knew better than to trust it. Summoning the last of her bravery she steeled herself for what was coming. Whatever he did, she would not to cry or beg. She refused to give him the satisfaction. 

R-C

When she couldn’t think of another reason to postpone, she made her way back to the Princess’s bedchamber. Her wish was that she’d be too busy to talk, then Arya would have a suitable excuse to delay the introduction until the morning. 

Without warning she heard her father in her head. “You’re a Wolf!” he told her with pride. “Wolves don’t run and hide, they face their fears directly, no matter what. That’s what I’ve tried to do, what I taught your brothers to do, and what I hope you’ll do.”

The message from another life served its purpose. Her father was right. Hiding away was beneath her. What did she need to fear? She refused to show weakness to some spoiled Princess. She’d be strong, like her father would want her to be. Arya hadn’t broken when the Mad King sent her to Dorne. She survived years in the Water Gardens, and she could make it through this too. 

The yelling caught her attention first. Was this the same conversation from before? If it was, things had escalated dramatically in her time away. 

It wasn’t her business and she didn’t want to get involved, but something kept her from leaving. She was surprised by the rage she heard. Who was in a position to speak to a Princess so rudely? The King came to the front of her mind, was she listening to a Targaryen family disagreement?

She was standing at the closed door debating the best course of action when she heard the man say, “Not so tough now, are you sister?” 

Sister, the man screaming at her was the Princess’s brother? She had only a few faded memories of life with her siblings, but Arya doubted she had ever done anything to make any of her kin treat her so harshly. A nagging voice pointed out that whatever was happening between the royals wasn’t her business. She was just a guard, and a temporary one at that. Still, leaving felt wrong. How could she look the Princess in the eye tomorrow if she didn’t help her tonight? 

Her instincts were proven right when she opened the door and found the elder Targaryen standing over his terrified sister. He looked to be enjoying her torment. She knocked loudly on the already open door and moved straight into the room without waiting for permission. “Princess, I’m sorry I’m late.”

When he turned on her the Prince’s anger didn’t dull in the slightest. “Get out!” he demanded. 

That was never going to happen. She didn’t need to like the Targaryen to know staying was the right choice. “Apologies Prince,” she said with as much false sincerity as she could manage, “but I’m afraid I need a word with the Princess.”

There was an audible gasp from the corner where the Princess cowered. Arya paid it little attention, keeping her focus on the more immediate danger. “Do you know who I am?”

How typical, as if his name alone could command obedience. She refused to back down from the challenge. “Yes, Prince.”

“Get out!” he shouted again, his face reddening as he struggled to make her yield. “You serve me, so do as I say and leave!”

They were opposites then, him screaming, pointing suggestively and glaring and her calm, and soft-spoken, with her hands tucked neatly behind her back. “I am sworn to your sister, not you,” she reminded him bluntly. 

He faced her fully for the first time, taking a step toward her before he thought better of it. He looked to the Princess for help. “Send her out Daenerys,” he urged. “Send her out!”

She wondered idly what she’d do if the Princess did her brother’s bidding? Would she go? Could she refuse? She didn’t have to worry long. “N…no…” she stammered quietly. Unhappy with the results, she cleared her throat and tried again. “No, Viserys you should leave.”

Already furious, now he was embarrassed as well. First his mouth hung open and he looked at his sister in obvious surprise, then he closed his lips, flexed his jaw and scoffed as he looked between the women. Briefly, he considered taking his anger out on the guard but for one reason or another he decided his sister was a more suitable victim. 

Any progress the Princess had made in standing up for herself vanished when he pulled his hand back to hit her. Without worrying about the consequences, Arya grabbed the Prince by the wrist before he could follow through on his plan. 

Both Targaryens were stunned by how far Arya was willing to go. She could relate, she was shocked too. The Prince tore his arm free, taking a step back as he fought to break her grip. She could have restrained him easily enough but didn’t. As he moved away Arya placed herself in front of the Princess. “How dare you put your hands on me! I am a Prince and you’re a bastard. I’ll have you hung!” 

Not the least bit frightened by the prospect of an execution she kept her eyes locked on the bigger man. “I’m sworn to the Princess,” she said, “I can’t allow anyone to strike her, even you.”

He didn’t respond and she knew why. he didn’t have an argument, at least not a good one. As a guard, it was Arya’s obligation to protect the Princess from any threat, no matter who or what it was. 

With a dissatisfied grunt he threw up his hands. On his way out he took a detour to bump Arya roughly with his shoulder. She swayed slightly but didn’t stumble or fall. She followed him with her eyes, right to the door. When he was gone the mood in the room changed instantly. “Thank you,” a soft voice said from behind Arya’s back. 

She ignored it for now, choosing to go to the door instead, closing it after checking the hall to make sure the Prince wasn’t lingering about. 

“Are you alright?” she asked the Targaryen. When the answer was delayed, she worried. Had she arrived too late? Had he harmed her before Arya got there? She was hit with a wave of guilt. She’d avoided the Princess earlier, maybe if she hadn’t, none of this would have happened. She hated the King, she wouldn’t deny that, but the Princess hadn’t done her any harm. Yes, she inadvertently involved herself when Arya was just seconds away from being dismissed and returned to the barracks, but she meant well. If Arya blamed the daughter for the crimes of her father, she’d be no better than Aerys who sentenced her for acts committed by others. Determined to be nothing like the King she despised Arya vowed to give the Princess a fair chance. 

R-C

She saw Arya’s lips moving but couldn’t hear the words over the blood pounding in her ears. She’d been trapped, she’d been helpless, and Arya intervened. Arya saved her. She put her hands on Viserys to stop him. There were so few people in Daenerys’s life who would go to such extremes, that it made her wonder why the guard had? They were strangers and she hadn’t been happy with Daenerys at dinner. 

She was still lost to her disjointed thoughts when she felt a calloused hand take hers. The touch was firm without being rough. It brought Daenerys back and she found Arya standing in front of her. She was in the same place Viserys had been but displayed none of her brother’s threatening mannerisms. Contrary to Viserys, Arya appeared concerned. “Are you hurt?” she asked, gently tugging on their connected hands to bring Daenerys out of the corner. “I can summon the Maester, Prince Doran has one of the best.”

The prospect of being vulnerable to another attack from Viserys had her fearful. “No!” she said too loudly. “No, no, I’m fine, he didn’t…” She stopped short, unable to say the words. The truth was Viserys hadn’t hit her, but he would have, if Arya hadn’t grabbed his arm to prevent it. All at once her deeply engrained manners came to the surface. She was a mess, frightened and reeling but she was also a Princess and as such she had responsibilities. “Did you need something Lady Arya?” she asked formally. 

Arya didn’t reply until she’d successful helped Daenerys stand straight. Slowly, cautiously she backed up, bringing the Targaryen with her. Under Arya’s guidance she left the confines of the room’s corner. “I’m no Lady Princess.” 

“Very well, Arya then,” Daenerys amended, “and since we are going to be spending time together, I implore you none of this ‘Princess’ talk. My name is Daenerys, and you are free to use it.” 

She watched as Arya’s sharp features contorted in confusion. “But you are a Princess,” she noted. 

“Yes, unfortunately.” The words were out before she could catch them, a novice mistake. Immediately she tensed and hurried to try and salvage the situation. Though she spoke the truth, she knew it wouldn’t be well received. She was the only daughter of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, she lived a life of privilege and excess. Tonight, all over the Realm little girls would be going to bed, saying their prayers and wishing they could have her life. They wanted the gold, the pretty dresses and the expensive gifts but they didn’t understand. They didn’t know she was constantly overlooked, repeatedly ignored and frequently dismissed. When she was included it wasn’t for her opinions or insights it was as window-dressing, a pretty thing to be admired. “I just meant…” she started without any clue how to finish. She meant exactly what she said, most days she wished she wasn’t a Princess, but couldn’t say so. “I meant that in here, I’d rather not use formal titles. They get tiresome.”

For a fraction of a second she thought she saw a fleeting smile on Arya’s face in response to her ramble, but it was gone quickly, if it ever existed at all. “As you wish, Daenerys,” the guard said, emphasizing her name for effect. “I came to introduce myself properly, I wasn’t going to interfere, but it seemed you needed it.”

The uncertainty in Arya’s voice sounded strange. She’d been confident with her father, under penalty of death, she’d been unyielding with Viserys and yet she looked uncomfortable all the sudden. She did her best to correct that. “I’m pleased you did, though I’m sorry you had to. I’m afraid you’re seeing us at our worst. We’re not making a very good first impression, are we?” 

Something about her apology had Arya wincing, though Daenerys was struggling to understand what. Just like the phantom smile, her pain was temporary. When it was over, Daenerys once again saw the sure soldier she’d met at dinner. “Don’t apologize for him, or your father,” Arya said with feeling. Daenerys’s hand, which she hadn’t let go of, got a squeeze. “You aren’t to blame for their actions. All we can control is what we do. What you’ve done, requires no apology to me.” 

She appreciated the sentiment. She spent a large portion of her life apologizing for her family. It was nice to know that with Arya she wouldn’t need to. In an effort to lighten the mood she asked, “Are all Dornish so wise?”

Arya chuckled lightly. “My father taught me that, actually.”

“Aren’t you a bastard?” Daenerys replied without thinking. She cursed her inquisitive nature. Yes, that was her first thought when she heard Arya’s admission but that didn’t mean she should ask. She needed to act with restraint and care, or she’d end up like Viserys. She didn’t want that. “I’m sorry, that was beyond rude, please forgive me.” 

Arya nodded but didn’t get the chance to say anything before Jorah Mormont burst into the room. His face was red, and he’d clearly been running. He looked between Daenerys and Arya and then drew his sword. “Unhand the Princess now!”

Jorah had always been overprotective. Normally that was a trait Daenerys could tolerate but this time he was wrong. Arya wasn’t a threat, in fact she’d scared away the real danger and had been nothing but kind since, even when Daenerys didn’t exactly deserve it. “Ser…”

Arya dropped her hand for the first time since taking it and stepped forward. Daenerys foolishly thought she did this to calm the situation, to appease Jorah and greet him properly, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. As soon as her left hand was empty Arya was reaching for the sword she wore. The steel was still colored with blood from her last battle. “Wait,” Daenerys tried again. 

Neither combatant listened. “You intend to fight?” Jorah wondered, visibly surprised. It was widely accepted that her guard was one of the finest swordsmen in the Capital, regardless of how infrequent he had made use of those skills in recent years. “You’ll never win, lay down your weapon and surrender.” 

Arya was supremely confident. “Why not? You’re a guard for the Princess, so am I.”

Jorah remained dismissive. “We are not the same, I’m a knight.” 

“Congratulations,” Arya spat sarcastically. “I spend most of my days teaching men who don’t think I’m capable. You’ll learn as they did.”

The time for talk was done. Jorah moved from inside the door to a spot closer to Arya. The purpose was clear, and Daenerys couldn’t believe it. They were going to fight, and for what? Some miscommunication that neither one would bother clearing up. Well, if they wouldn’t, she would. She moved from her place at Arya’s back and stopped strategically between the two idiots. She extended one arm in Arya’s direction and the other in Jorah’s. “Stop!” 

“Step aside Princess,” Jorah advised her. 

“It’s okay Daenerys.”

No, this was the very definition of something that was ‘not okay.’ It upset her that her guards, the people tasked with her safety appeared just as inclined to ignore her as everyone else. The anger gave her next order more weight. “Ser,” she said starting with the man who’d caused this mess, “put down your sword, now!”

He hadn’t looked like he was going to comply, but the last word did its job. With an eye on Arya, he cautiously returned his sword to his belt. “Princess?”

“Arya is no threat.” He didn’t appear convinced, but he wasn’t armed, and that was something. To the woman she said, “Now is not the time to prove your worth. Put your sword away, please.” 

Arya did, much to Daenerys’s relief. “Thank you,” she said sincerely when the risk of violence had passed. The two women shared a look before she turned back to Jorah for an explanation. “Why would you assume Arya meant me harm?” 

“I was outside,” Jorah remembered, “one of the servants was saying they heard yelling coming from your room. I came in and saw her grabbing your arm.”

She couldn’t help it she clicked her tongue on the inside of her cheek and shook her head in disapproval. “Arya wasn’t the one yelling at me, Viserys was.”

At mention of her brother Jorah’s entire posture changed. He softened and gave his focus to her completely. “Are you hurt? Did he…”

“I’m fine,” she said beginning with the good news. “He was upset about dinner, he felt I was the reason we weren’t already on our way back to King’s Landing.” 

“That’s madness,” Jorah said, reaching for and taking her hand. Like Arya’s it was bigger and rougher than hers, but his hold felt entirely different. “We didn’t travel thousands of miles to not agree to the marriage.”

She smiled indulgently at the knight. “I know,” she confirmed, “and I tried to tell him that, but he was too angry. I fear what would have happened if Arya hadn’t seen fit to come in and make Viserys leave.” 

He forced his eyes from the Princess to the guard. “You…” He didn’t finish but he didn’t need to. Arya nodded. “Thank you. If you’re going to act as a guard, even temporarily, we’ll need to speak, tomorrow perhaps, so I can inform you of your duties.” 

As she listened Daenerys bristled a bit. The way Jorah spoke and the words he used made it obvious he was sending Arya out. He didn’t have that power. Since she noticed, she was sure Arya did too, yet she didn’t move an inch. She let the strange standoff continue longer than she should’ve. “Well, it’s been an exhausting day, so I think I’m going to retire.” She addressed Arya first. “Thank you,” she said, walking up and taking the younger woman’s hand, “for everything. I am in your debt. I’ll see you in the morning and we can continue our conversation.” 

“As you wish Daenerys.” She was moving for the exit when she stopped herself and looked over her shoulder. “Goodnight.”

“Rest well, you’ve had a trying day.” She waited until Arya was at the door before moving on to the knight. “Jorah, can I trust you to use your words and not your sword when you and Arya meet?” 

He ducked his head and had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Of course, Princess.” 

She expected to hear the door close behind Arya when she left, but it was quiet, so she peeked. Arya stood, frozen in the doorway as if something was keeping her there. Daenerys was curious and concerned. “Is everything alright?” she inquired. 

“Y…yes,” Arya said unconvincingly. “Have a good night.” This time she succeeded and was gone. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I hope I didn’t disappoint all the people who asked for more. I’ll update as often as my health will allow but it might be slower than some of my other stories. I hope you’ll keep reading anyway. 
> 
> Next time, there will be a little bit of Arya’s past and lots of Oberyn. For the people who like Dorne, they won’t be returning to King’s Landing for a few more chapters. 
> 
> Happy New Year!
> 
> RC


	3. Chapter 3

She’d been eager to get out of there, to escape and find the nearest drink but that was before she heard Daenerys call the man by name. Ser Jorah? The arrogant man she’d nearly cut was the knight, Jorah Mormont? Could she be that lucky? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that there was another knight in the King’s employ named Jorah, but if such a man existed Arya had never heard of him. 

She hurried away from the room, hoping distance would make it easier to think. How many times had she heard the story of Robert’s Rebellion? One of her favorite memories was a time she’d skipped her lessons with the Septa to practice using a bow in the yard. She thought she was discreet, but her father caught her. Rather than being angry, he smiled and gave her tips on her form. Later, she sat with him for hours. He went through the required speech about the importance of her education, how she shouldn’t make life difficult when the Septa only wanted the best for her. Arya listened and apologised quickly, promising to try harder. It was then he told her of the aunt she never knew. “You remind me of her,” he said fondly. “I’ll always love that about you.”

Countless times she listened to her father speak about his defeat at the Trident. The ‘rebels’ met the Targaryen armies on the field after days of marching. The Dragons were fewer in number than they predicted, increasing their chances of success. They were hopeful, if they won, there would be nothing standing between them and King’s Landing. 

To hear Ned Stark tell it, the battle was lost nearly from the first. “We should have known there was a problem,” he recalled in hindsight. “They had thousands less than we were expecting, that should have served as a warning.” Arya could feel the pain radiating off her hero as he continued. “We traded arrows a few times, and when all of our attention was on the men in front of us, they sprang the trap from behind. Those absent men weren’t missing at all, they were waiting for the right time to strike.” The old soldier shook his head. “It was over before we realized it was happening. They cut down the archers first, then moved on to the rest of us. They attacked in groups, each seeking out a specific man from our side. Some went after Robert and Stannis, others came for Reed, Rodrick and I. They were trying to cut the head off our rebellion.” Each and every time he got to this point, he’d pause and take a deep breath. “We were surrounded. Rhaegar Targaryen had beaten us and there wasn’t a man among us who didn’t know it. Those of us who survived rode out into the field, to get distance from the ambush but in doing so we moved closer to the bulk of the enemy. They came at us from both sides and though we fought bravely, we never stood a chance.” 

Arya was older when she was permitted to know the reason the Targaryens knew where to wait and who to strike. It was only during her last year in Winterfell that she learned of Jorah Mormont, the Northern man from a proud house who betrayed them. “We thought he tired of fighting,” her father told her in a private confession under the Weirwood tree. They were alone and he was sharpening Ice, the same sword he’d used that day to try and avenge his family. “Not all were as committed as Robert and I,” he acknowledged, “not everyone had lost people as we had. The longer the fighting went on, the more concerned many became. Some left, fleeing in the night like cowards, but most remained, even if they had their doubts. The North is nothing if not loyal. It was a surprise when Mormont wasn’t with his men one morning, but we had little time to worry. We were leaving for the Trident and our whole plan hinged on getting there first to prepare for the larger army. Maybe, if we’d stopped to think about where he’d gone or why, we might have been able to avoid everything that came after.” Arya could hear her father’s deeply held regrets. “As it was, Robert ordered me to name a new commander for the Mormont forces and we started marching.” 

“He betrayed you?” she’d asked naively, not understanding why anyone would abandon the North when their cause was so just. 

“He rode straight to King’s Landing and presented himself to the Mad King, giving not only his allegiance but details about us. Without Mormont we would’ve met the Targaryens on the battlefield fairly. We may have won, we may have lost but it would’ve been honest.” His voice turned hard then, revealing anger for the first time. “Mormont could have left, we wouldn’t have demanded he stay, I wouldn’t have demanded he stay. He could’ve gone home to Bear Island, to his wife and lived his life in peace. Instead he single-handedly ended the war and caused the deaths of thousands, including his own men.” 

“What happened to him?” she asked. “Do you know where he is? You could lead the army to go get him!”

“He’s in King’s Landing, guarding the King I hear. He got knighted, a title bought with our blood.” To make his point perfectly clear Ned drew her attention to the scar he had on his chest, a permanent reminder of the cost of betrayal. “There are worse things than death Arya,” he told her, “being a traitor is one of them, remember that.” 

She hadn’t forgotten. Outside now she looked up at the starry sky. Earlier she’d promised herself Aerys would die, by her hand if possible and now she added another name to her List. Jorah Mormont would pay for his crimes too, she’d see to it. 

R-C

Later, after Jorah and Arya had both gone, Missandei brought Daenerys tea. The Princess recounted everything her handmaiden had missed, from Viserys’s fury to Arya’s rescue and finally the almost fight between her guards. Missandei listened intently without interrupting, somehow knowing Daenerys needed to get it all out. Once she had, her friend summarized it down to a single salient point. “So, Arya will make a suitable guard then?”

Arya had showcased her abilities in the hall, then revealed her strength when she didn’t kill as soon as her father demanded it. Arya could have ignored the siblings all together, but she didn’t. She put herself in danger and defied Viserys, for Daenerys. Even her compassion was evident, an attribute she didn’t think was beneficial for a soldier. She recalled the way Arya had worried over her after Viserys was gone, she was tender and gentle. She didn’t need to stay after the danger had passed, in fact many wouldn’t have, but Arya did. “I think so,” she agreed. “Perhaps she could teach me a thing or two as well.” 

“Such as?”

“She stood up to my father and when Viserys meant to hit me, she grabbed his arm to stop it,” Daenerys repeated, even though she knew Missandei was already aware. “She was fearless. I think I could stand to learn a few things from Arya Sand while she’s close.” 

R-C

Oberyn had her drink waiting when she arrived. “I thought you’d be here sooner,” he noted wryly. 

“I would’ve, had it not been for the Princess and all the men around her,” Arya responded bitterly. 

“Men? I wasn’t aware she had a lover, although she’s certainly attractive enough. I know many who would sacrifice much for the chance to share her bed.” 

“Not like that,” Arya clarified, “at least I don’t think so. I went to meet her and found her brother ready to beat her. After he left, I nearly had to fight her knight when he thought it was me who upset her. 

Oberyn, who had been amused up to that point was suddenly serious. “What did she do wrong?”

“Spoke up in my defense, I think.” She wasn’t exactly sure. “If I hadn’t come, he would have hit her. Even when I was there, he still meant to.” 

“Viserys is vile, worse than his brother even,” Oberyn said coming from near the window and motioning for her to sit. She did, taking her rum with her. “Be careful around him.”

“It’s you who should be careful,” she countered lightly. “In a few days I’ll be going to the Capital, while you and Viserys remain here.” 

“Perhaps,” the Prince allowed, “but Dragon or not, he would be a fool to challenge me.”

Few could compete with the Red Viper of Dorne and Viserys Targaryen wasn’t one of them. She knew his skill firsthand, she spent hours marvelling at his speed and accuracy. When she couldn’t hope to defeat him, she tried her best to slow him down, and she was rarely successful. She and many others had seen him act as champion when raiders were attacking farms and raping women on the outskirts. What was supposed to be a trial by combat devolved quickly. Three of the bandit’s friends joined the fight and Oberyn still won easily. “I get the impression the Prince prefers his victims smaller, weaker and afraid. I’m not sure you qualify.” 

“I do not, but I worry for his wife.” 

Arya could understand that. If Viserys was willing to punish his sister for speaking out of turn, it didn’t bode well for the woman who would wed him. “Why is Doran doing this? He’s too smart not to see what Viserys is.” 

“He sees just fine,” Oberyn remarked coldly, “he just pretends he doesn’t.” He paused to take a drink and then continued, “I met with him about you, he understands the need to keep your identity hidden.”

“That’s something.” 

“It’s the least he can do since he refuses to call off the wedding.” Arya knew the brothers were close, but she was also aware that Oberyn wasn’t opposed to disagreeing with Doran when he felt it necessary. 

“Why though?” Arya wondered, bringing them back to the original question. “If he knows what Viserys is, why would he want that in his family?” 

“My brother wants to improve relations between Sunspear and King’s Landing.” 

“A goal you don’t share.” It wasn’t a question just a fact. In the earliest days of their friendship, their bond was forged over a shared hatred of the Targaryen King and his heir. Like Arya, Oberyn felt the royals wronged his family by acting as though his sister and her children didn’t exist. In contrast to Doran, Oberyn had been urging the leadership to reduce their reliance on King’s Landing, not expand it. Arya was locked away in training when word spread that Viserys would be marrying a Martell, but it wasn’t difficult to imagine Oberyn’s reaction. 

“Of course not. They can’t simply use people and then throw them away. My sister was a Princess long before she married Rhaegar. She didn’t need him. My niece and nephew are in line for the throne, even if the King and his Hand pretend otherwise.” 

“At least you don’t have to go along and keep the Princess safe.”

“Daenerys seems nice. I met her when they first arrived. She is unlike the others.” 

Though she wanted to reject the notion that there was anything redeemable about a Targaryen, she couldn’t. Not only because Oberyn wasn’t the sort to lie, but also because Daenerys hadn’t been especially rude. Her one misstep was the unintentional comment about Arya’s father. Even then, she was quick to apologize and managed to sound sincere. The comment itself hadn’t bothered Arya since she wasn’t actually a Sand. She had a harder time swallowing the quip about the family making a bad ‘first impression.’ Whether she realized it or not, her family made a less than favorable impression on Arya long ago, and nothing, not even a decent Princess would be able to change that. 

“You’d be dead if she hadn’t spoken in your defense.” It was true, but it was a shock to hear Oberyn say so in no uncertain terms. “She didn’t have to do anything, she could have let it happen.” Again, he was right. 

“I know,” she assured him. She really did. Given the choice, she wouldn’t have asked the Targaryen to defend her, but she’d done it, and as a result Arya was spared. That debt was real. She promised she’d give Daenerys the chance to prove she was different from the rest of her bloodline and it seemed Oberyn was advocating for the same thing. In the end, she answered with an uncertainty that reflected her mixed emotions. “Maybe. When I was fighting Ninety-Four, she looked uncomfortable.”

“It must be hard to have a good heart in that place,” Oberyn guessed, “like Doran sees what Viserys is, Daenerys must too, and she also has Rhaegar and the Mad King to contend with.”

His point was valid. If Daenerys was a good person, she must suffer greatly in King’s Landing, surrounded by all those schemers and liars. “I doubt this was the first time her brother used force against her.” It was evident in the way she cowered. He hadn’t struck her yet, but she knew enough to be afraid. Such a reaction came from experience. 

“Men like him are quick to violence but only when there is no real danger.” He took another drink. “The Princess is your only concern. Keep her alive until the wedding and then you can leave there and come home.”

‘Home,’ the word sounded foreign. Odd as it was, it occurred to her that it didn’t unsettle her. Her instincts weren’t begging to correct him, she didn’t feel the indignation that she used to when discussing her life. She knew Oberyn didn’t mean anything negative by it, but beyond that, she saw there was some truth in his statement. She could never return to the North. Even if she wanted to and Doran permitted it, where would she go? Winterfell belonged to the Bolton’s now. The Starks were but a memory, fading more with each passing year. While that reality still saddened her some, it wasn’t as crippling as it had once been. She did have a place in Dorne, a good place. It may not be where she was born but with time, she could make a life for herself. If it wasn’t her home yet, there was still a chance for the future.

“It can’t happen soon enough,” Arya agreed, taking a long pull from her rum. Given the choice between King’s Landing and Dorne, she knew which one she’d choose. 

R-C

The next morning when Arya made the trip from the barracks to the Water Gardens, she found Daenerys sitting on a bench, under an orange tree, looking into the nearest pool of water. With her was a woman Arya didn’t recognize. She had dark skin, matching curls and wore a dress that complimented the Princess’s. It was evident they were friends, it showed in their posture, in the frequency of the smiles and laughs exchanged and in the way the Targaryen took her hand as they whispered together. In addition, there was Mormont. Like her he was dressed in armor, though hers didn’t depict a three-headed dragon. She had little interest in interacting with the traitor, but Arya was smart enough to know her limitations. She was capable in combat but had never been a guard to anyone or anything before. Beyond the basics of keeping her charge alive, she didn’t really know her duties. She could learn as she went, but that was a path filled with peril. If harm came to the Princess, she’d be held accountable. Likewise, any act that drew attention to her was dangerous. The best course of action was to keep Daenerys safe and get back to Sunspear as quickly as possible. Every day in the Capital was another day someone might learn the truth. If that happened, she’d die in the place she hated most. With that in mind, she’d suffer through her meeting with Mormont and learn what was expected of the Princess’s guard. With luck she’d learn how to be invisible within the walls of the Red Keep. 

Arya’s presence caused the women to look away from one another. “Arya,” Daenerys called happily, “there you are, I was beginning to worry.”

“Apologies Princess,” she said ducking her head slightly, “I would have arrived sooner had I known you planned to begin your day early.”

Daenerys smiled warmly. “I didn’t plan anything, but it is far too beautiful to remain inside, regardless of the hour.” During her years as a servant Arya had seen Daenerys’s expression regularly enough on the faces of visitors to understand its meaning. She was taken aback by all the unique things to see and do, by all the ways this differed from her home. “Oh,” Daenerys said abruptly, looking to the woman beside her, “Arya, come and meet Missandei.” 

Arya stepped up to the other woman. “Pleasure to meet you, m’lady.”

Missandei and Daenerys laughed together quietly. “I thought we agreed to dispense with the titles, Arya?”

She remembered their conversation clearly. “We did, but we are neither in your chambers nor alone, so I assumed…”

“This is Missandei, she’s my handmaiden and best friend,” Daenerys declared happily. “She will be around a lot, so you shouldn’t feel the need to be formal in her company either.”

She did her best to control her expression, not wanting her shock to be obvious. Working in the Water Gardens taught her that most nobles thought of their servants as little more than breathing furniture. They were ignored and rarely considered until they were required. Apparently, Daenerys had a different view. 

While Arya was distracted by her mind, Daenerys and Missandei continued the conversation Arya interrupted. “I wonder how long it takes to get used to all this,” Missandei wondered. 

“I wish I could have one of these outside my window,” Daenerys said, looking up at the tree providing them shade.

Without thinking about it, Arya reached and plucked a blood orange from the lowest branch. “I can’t let you take this tree home, but I can ensure you sample all of Dorne’s delicacies while you’re here.” 

Missandei watched in silence as Daenerys gasped. “Can you do that?” she asked, taking a look around for any witnesses to Arya’s perceived crime. 

“Who’s going to complain?” She knew from experience the fruits were regularly picked, whether it be by Martells, servants, or random passersby. 

“Prince Doran,” Daenerys stated simply. 

Arya could only shrug. Doran wasn’t her favorite person, but she’d never known him to get bent out of shape over a piece of fruit. Rather than saying so, she went a different way. “If anyone says anything, you can tell them Prince Oberyn gave you permission.” 

“Did the Prince really say it was okay?” she asked. She still hadn’t touched the orange, afraid of the repercussions. 

“No, but he would if he were here.”

Missandei stifled a giggle with her hand while Daenerys stared at her in shock. “You know the Prince?”

She needed to choose her words carefully, or risk exposing too much. “He helped train me.” 

That was enough. Finally, Daenerys took the orange and began peeling it. “Thank you,” she said, while her fingers kept moving. “Ser Jorah told me Prince Oberyn is one of the best fighters in all of Dorne, is that how you came to be so talented?”

With no desire to address the compliment, she avoided it all together. “By the Gods,” she complained, “please don’t tell him that. His ego is big enough already. If he hears the Dragon Princess is impressed by him, he’ll never shut up about it.” 

Her joke caused Daenerys’s hands to stop momentarily. Many nobles would have expected their handmaiden to peel it for her, but Daenerys didn’t seem to mind. As soon as she was done laughing, she picked up where she left off. If she needed more proof that Daenerys’s relationship with Missandei wasn’t typical for a royal and her handmaiden she got it when Daenerys was done. Rather than handing the garbage to Missandei to deal with, she set it on the opposite side of the bench, to be disposed of later. Then she split the orange in half and handed one side to her friend. The dark-haired woman took it with a polite ‘thank you’ but didn’t seem as surprised by the generosity as Arya was. From her portion Daenerys broke off a piece and offered it to Arya. When she refused by shaking her head, Daenerys held the orange out with more emphasis. “I wouldn’t even know I could try one if not for you, take it.” 

She did, if only to avoid a prolonged disagreement. Jorah too accepted a piece when offered, likely for exactly the same reason Arya had. “Thank you,” she said to the Princess when she was done chewing. 

Daenerys smiled brightly and busied herself with her snack. Arya stepped away to speak to Jorah. “You wanted to talk to me?”

He looked suggestively to the women nearby. “Not here.”

“Where then?”

“Inside,” he suggested, before he thought better of it. “Is it safe here?”

“There is no safer place in all of Dorne.” 

He said nothing while he contemplated his options. “Princess, Arya and I are going to have our meeting, will you and Missandei be okay here or would you like me to find another member of the guard?”

“We’ll be fine,” Daenerys assured them, “hurry back.”

Arya was unsure if that comment was directed at her and it seemed Jorah was equally confused. “Why? Our conversation can wait if you prefer.”

“No, you should do it now, while you have the chance. I want Arya to take us sightseeing, though I suppose I can wait until you get back.” 

It was clearly a joke, but Jorah didn’t get it. “You can’t leave until we return.”

“I’ll be here, enjoying my breakfast with Missandei,” she promised. “Play nice!” 

R-C

Daenerys’s parting comment made her smile until she realized she was doing it, then she worked to adjust her features. “What do I need to know?” she asked before they’d stopped walking, eager to get this over with. 

“The Princess is generous and caring,” Jorah began with feeling. “Her safety is of the upmost importance.”

Arya was still waiting for something worthy of a private meeting. “What do I need to know?”

“Her safety is important to me,” he said again, with a slight distinction. “I’m not in favor of you guarding her, but it isn’t my decision. If you allow any harm to come to her, you and I are going to finish what we started last night.”

Arya could only hope her time in King’s Landing ended with Jorah lying dead at her feet. “I’ll be looking forward to it,” she remarked grimly. 

“I know you’ve already met Prince Viserys,” Jorah said cryptically. 

“If by ‘met,’ you mean physically restrained him so he wouldn’t pummel his sister, then yes, we ‘met.’”

Jorah took a moment to review their surroundings. Satisfied he elaborated, “Viserys is a second born son, a fact he hates. He takes that hate out on anyone who gets too close, be it the staff, his brother, his nephew or his sister.” Nephew? Since it didn’t appear Daenerys had a child, that must mean Rhaegar did. She immediately thought of Oberyn’s niece and nephew, Arya met both children on multiple occasions. They were well-mannered and quick to laugh. Given the volatile history, she knew the kids hadn’t been to King’s Landing for years, and that left only one possible explanation, Rhaegar had another child. Jorah had been talking, while Arya organized her thoughts. “… since Rhaegar won’t stand for it, he is in the habit of taking out his frustrations on Daenerys.” 

For the first time she was glad Jorah suggested this. She was at a loss for how to protect Daenerys from her brother. Should she ensure the Princess avoid him all together or just try and minimize the damage when he grew angry? “What do I do? I doubt she can avoid the Prince.”

“I do what I can to limit the amount of time they spend together, especially alone. Viserys tends to save his worst behavior for when no one is around to see it.” 

“Typical,” Arya mumbled more to herself than the knight. 

“When it can’t be avoided, just stay close to try and discourage him. If the Princess looks distressed, make up an appointment and escort her out.” Jorah showed her a smile for the first time. “I like to use her visits to the orphanage as an excuse, Viserys would never accompany her there, and so it’s a suitable lie.” 

By the Gods! Her new job required lying to a Prince to keep him from abusing his sister. Only the Targaryens! Her morbid thoughts directed her to the next problem she had to tackle, Rhaegar. She’d never seen the heir. He wasn’t there the day her family was brought before King Aerys and he didn’t accompany them on this journey either. This left her with woefully little information about him. Did she need to protect Daenerys from him as well? “What of the heir? Do I need to limit her time with him too?”

The question was one that Jorah wasn’t anticipating, it showed on his face. “Rhaegar? No, the Princess loves him and he her. If he’s nearby, you’ll find him an ally in your quest to protect Daenerys from Viserys. He also does his best to ensure Daenerys is not around their father on the worst days, although she doesn’t know this.” He was done speaking before deciding to clarify a bit. “She believes her father doesn’t wish to involve her in politics, the reality is Rhaegar claims she’s busy, so she isn’t exposed to her father’s madness.” 

Arya had to actively push back the memories of that madness. She remembered the fear she felt in the presence of the Dragon King. The boys went first, then the sisters, by age, leaving her for last. Her family was already destroyed by the time it was her turn. One was dead, one battered, everyone else ruined. She was no longer a Lord’s daughter – her father having been stripped of his title, his lands and house. After seeing what passed for justice, she was truly terrified when he waved her forward. Blood wet the stones she was forced to kneel on. She slammed that particular memory into a box and buried it deep, for no other reason than to try and forget the sounds of her surviving family crying over her shoulder. It was the last time she saw any of them. 

“Do you know of the King’s habits?” Jorah asked, back to being cryptic. 

She rolled her eyes. As they moved, she wondered if she reminded him of anyone? Did he see grey eyes and think ‘Stark’, as so many Northmen did? “Even in Dorne, we hear tales of the Mad King.” 

“Avoid calling him that in front of the Princess,” Jorah said seriously, as if she was actually stupid enough to do so. “It pains her to be reminded of it.”

“So, she isn’t present when he burns them?” she heard herself ask. 

The question made Mormont uncomfortable. “Sometimes, when he insists, she is there. Those days are thankfully rare. Usually between Rhaegar and I, we keep her separate from that.” 

Arya wasn’t sure how to feel. On one hand she was pleased she wouldn’t have to stand by and watch the Mad King butcher his subjects, on the other she was annoyed Daenerys was protected from it. She should be made to see, everyone should be made to see, maybe then they’d do something about it. “Anything else?” Her inquiry was meant to end this gathering. She’d had her fill of Targaryen drama. 

“Not really,” Mormont replied. “You need to be with her anytime she leaves her chambers. If she’s upset, find Missandei, she’s likely the only one the Princess will want to see.” One final time he was done and then thought of a final point to make. “It’s a pretty easy job actually.” 

Yeah, it did sound like a good post, what bothered her was that Jorah Mormont earned it by betraying her father and getting countless Northmen killed. 

R-C

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Missandei inquired not long after Jorah and Arya left. 

“I don’t know, I just hope they’re using words and not swords this time.” She punctuated her statement with a laugh, but she was genuinely concerned. 

“Princess Daenerys, lovely to see you again.” She followed the voice to its source and found Oberyn Martell standing in front of her with a warm smile. In his hand he had a small collection of fresh flowers which he presented to her. “These are for you.” 

She raised the colorful blooms to her nose and inhaled. “Thank you, Prince, how beautiful.” It was a kind and sweet gesture, but it left Daenerys suspicious. Usually people didn’t give her gifts unless they wanted something. Normally flowers accompanied a proposition but given that she met Ellaria and saw how in love the two were, she doubted that was the reason this time. 

“Had I known you’d be in the company of another, equally gorgeous woman, I would have stopped to pick more flowers.” 

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind sharing.” To prove it, she divided the flowers in half and passed some to her handmaiden. “Prince Oberyn, allow me to introduce my dearest friend Missandei of Naath.”

“Charmed.” When Missandei offered her hand to the Prince he kissed it, just as he’d done to Daenerys the day before. After the introduction, Oberyn focused entirely on Daenerys. “May I steal you away for a moment, there is something I’d like to discuss.” 

“Of course.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Missandei said, standing up. She walked around the bench, picked up the forgotten orange peel and carried it away. She nodded to each before she left. “Prince, it was nice to meet you. Princess, I’ll just be over there.” 

When they were alone Oberyn took Missandei’s seat. He looked at the tree. “Did you enjoy the orange?” 

She was torn. She could claim ignorance or admit what she’d done. If he was asking, it was probably too much to hope he hadn’t seen what Missandei took away. She could tell him Arya said it was okay, but that might get her new guard in trouble and she didn’t want that. In the end she decided to risk upsetting the Prince to spare Missandei and Arya. “It was delicious,” she admitted honestly. “I hope it’s alright that I tried one, I just couldn’t resist.” 

He laughed then, setting her at ease. “It’s more than alright, I’d insist upon it. What good are such trees if not to sample from time to time.”

She appreciated his generosity but remained wary. “I imagine you didn’t ask to see me to discuss fruit.” 

He laughed again. “As smart as you are beautiful, you really are everything they said.” There was a slight pause where Daenerys could only wait. “I wanted to speak to you about your newest guard.” 

This was about Arya? “I am very lucky. I understand she finished at the top of her training and received personal lessons from a Prince.” 

“She told you about that?”

Still not wanting to tell him the story of the orange, she settled for a simple, “Yes, she told me you helped train her.” 

He smiled and shook his head gently. “You are lucky,” he confirmed, “more than you realize, but I want you to know the whole truth. I did not just train Arya, we are friends. She is important to me.” 

Daenerys wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. It made her sound tentative when she did speak. “I know you didn’t agree with Prince Doran’s decision to let her serve in King’s Landing.”

“I worry about her,” Oberyn said bluntly. “I have daughters, and I love each of them very much. I could not love Arya anymore if she were my child, do you understand?” 

She didn’t, not really. Why was he telling her this? She nodded anyway, hoping to get more information. 

“I did not want her to go to King’s Landing, just as I would not want any of my daughters to go without me. I’m telling you this because I want you to understand, I am trusting you with someone I cherish.”

There was a lump in her throat that prevented her from talking. Eventually she swallowed it and managed to say, “I understand.” 

“Arya will guard you well, she will protect you from anyone or anything that might harm you. In return, I ask that you do what you can to protect her. King’s Landing is a dangerous place, as I’m sure you know. Not all the threats come from outside the Red Keep.” He stopped speaking and waited for her to nod in agreement. “Not everything can be killed with a sword or a spear. It is these things I need you to guard Arya from.”

It took time, but eventually she came to understand what Oberyn was asking of her. She felt ill and wished she could go back to being ignorant. He wanted her word that she’d keep Arya safe inside the castle, from her father, and her brother primarily but likely from all the other dangers that lurked there. 

He was right, she did know about the threats within the castle and he was also right that those things couldn’t necessarily be kept at bay by Arya’s blade. She didn’t want to deny what was obviously a heartfelt plea, but she did wonder if she was up to the task. She didn’t want any harm to come to Arya, especially not from within her own family, but what could she do? If Viserys or her father were determined to hurt Arya, could she step in? She’d want to, but could she actually do it? 

“I don’t want anything to happen to Arya either, but things are different in the Capital. Here a woman is equal to a man, it is not so there. I would try…”

Oberyn had heard enough. “That is all I am asking,” he assured her. “You are stronger than you think you are Daenerys Targaryen, you already defended Arya once. When she refused to kill, you spoke to keep her safe. Did you know what your father would do to her?”

She swallowed hard and nodded. She did know, maybe not the specifics but she definitely knew the end result. Without his pyromancer and his wildfire, he may have had to go about it a different way, but dead was dead no matter how you got there. “I knew. She was right to refuse him, though few would’ve.” 

“Arya is special,” he told her, his affection shining through. “I just want you to do as you did last time, to try and keep her safe, as she would you.”

Daenerys thought of the previous night, Arya had already proven willing to face danger in the Princess’s defense. She shielded Daenerys from an enraged Viserys. What kind of Princess would she be, what kind of person, if she wasn’t willing to do the same? “I will do everything in my power to ensure she’s returned safely.” 

“Thank you,” he said, “and thank you for allowing me the chance to speak with you. I’ll leave you in peace to continue your conversation with your friend.” 

She could have let him go, but she chose instead to try and end things on a lighter topic. “I was hoping to have Arya take me around the area. Is there anything I must see before I leave?”

“You could exit here and find majesty in any direction,” he predicted. “Sometimes when I want to get away, I simply climb atop my horse and let him lead me where he will. You can find beautiful blue waters, vast deserts and plenty in between. I trust Arya will make an exceptional guide, before she began training, she spent much of her free time wandering. She’ll have plenty to show you, I’m sure.” 

Daenerys listened closely. It wasn’t difficult to imagine Oberyn just picking up and disappearing for days at a time. How great it must be to be that free, to be able to come and go like that. “If that’s true, I’m looking forward to it all the more now.”

With a smile Oberyn stood. “I hope you enjoy Dorne, Princess. If possible, could you not mention to Arya that we spoke? She’d be embarrassed to have me watching out for her.” 

“Of course." When he left, he didn’t go back the way he’d come, or disappear off in the direction of his next appointment, instead he went to Missandei, who was sitting at a nearby pool and directed her back to Daenerys. They spoke briefly and if Daenerys had to guess she’d say he was apologizing for interrupting their day. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There you go, Chapter Three. Thank you to all the people who are reading and reviewing. I appreciate it. I’m know this chapter didn’t have much, but the next one will have Daenerys, Missandei and Arya sightseeing in Sunspear. Hope you’ll stick around. 
> 
> RC


	4. Chapter 4

Arya walked several steps ahead of Jorah, in a hurry to put some distance between them. She didn’t want to be close to him and everything he represented. She found Missandei and Daenerys on the same bench, unchanged from when they left. 

Just as it had earlier, Arya’s arrival caused a break in the conversation. “You’re back.” She deliberately looked past Arya to locate Jorah. “Both of you. Did you manage to speak without bloodshed?” 

Jorah’s long legs made it easy for him to catch up to Arya, coming to a halt beside her. “Our swords weren’t needed Princess.”

“Good, now that that’s settled, shall we go?” 

Before she knew it, Daenerys had popped up onto her feet and was bubbling over with excitement. Whatever was going on, she could hardly contain herself. “Where do you wish to go Princess?” Jorah asked. 

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “I don’t know what’s nearby. I was hoping Arya would be willing to show me a little bit of Dorne before we leave for King’s Landing.” 

The two guards wore similar expressions for different reasons. Arya wasn’t expecting to be thrust into the role of Dornish guide. Jorah was equally surprised, likely because despite posing the question, Daenerys hadn’t mentioned him at all. 

Bouncing from foot to foot she put Arya on the spot. “Will you take me sightseeing?”

Why was she asking? If she wanted to see Dorne, she could order they do it and Arya would be obligated to comply. “If you want to, we can.”

That was obviously the wrong answer. Daenerys’s smile disappeared and she stopped her bouncing. “I don’t want you to say yes because I’m a Princess, I want you to say yes because you really want to show me a little more of your homeland.” 

Without meaning to her eyes shifted to Mormont. He had more experience with the Princess and her moods, maybe he had some insight. He provided no guidance. She didn’t understand why her feelings mattered but realizing what Daenerys wanted to hear, she tried again. “I wouldn’t mind escorting you.”

She was evidently transparent because although her lips curled up slightly, Daenerys said, “Not terribly convincing but I’ll take it. What would you recommend we see?”

“You’ll be expected at dinner tonight Princess,” Jorah reminded her pointedly. 

“Gods forbid I miss one meal,” Daenerys whined. She seemed to realize she’d spoken out loud too late and was instantly repentant. “I’ll make sure we’re back in time,” she said to the knight. With Jorah placated she looked to Arya again, “Where should we start?”

“Have you seen Sunspear?” 

Daenerys’s lips opened but Jorah was quicker. “We passed through it on the way here,” he responded for the Targaryen. 

In a blink Daenerys changed, from a relaxed young woman engaged in a pleasant conversation to something else entirely. The new Daenerys stood taller, spoke louder and left no room for argument. She’d been apologetic for snapping at Jorah moments earlier, but that was forgotten. She spoke with an undeniable authority when she said, “Since I’ll have Arya with me, you can take the afternoon off, Ser.” 

Jorah was visibly hurt by this. “Princess, I should join you, we’ve still not seen if Arya is a capable guard.” 

“I disagree, but even if I’m wrong, wouldn’t it be better to find out now, before she travels with us to King’s Landing?”

“I’ll join you, in case…”

“No, I won’t be able to assess Arya’s capablility if you’re there.” 

“Perhaps a lone guard, especially an inexperienced one is not enough,” Jorah tried. “I’ll remain in the background, so you can determine her skill, but I should still come along.”

“It’s just going to be Missandei and I, I don’t think that warrants a second guard.”

“I could remain here Princess,” Missandei offered. 

Daenerys reached out and took her friend’s hand. “You’re coming. Watching two people is not a hardship for a single guard, Jorah does it all the time.” 

Since they met Arya had learned a lot about the woman she would be protecting. She was quiet and soft-spoken in groups, generous to her friends and now she could add stubborn to the list. It was obvious in the way they went back and forth that this was a common occurrence, not this particular argument but the pattern, with Jorah pushing for something and Daenerys resisting. She wouldn’t have guessed the woman she found cowering in the corner of her chambers could be stubborn, but the Princess appeared a bit more complicated than Arya originally assumed. 

She was brought into the discussion directly when Jorah tried to use her to support his baseless claim. “Maybe Arya would prefer having me there in support.” Clearly, Jorah wanted her to side with him. He didn’t know who she really was, didn’t know her hate ran deep enough that she’d refuse almost any of his requests on principle alone. 

In this case though, they were discussing her abilities and opposing Jorah wouldn’t even require her to lie. She was quite capable of guarding two women. “We’ll be fine.”

Daenerys was bouncing again and since she was still clutching Missandei’s hand the movement was shaking them both. The handmaiden didn’t seem to mind. “Great!” Daenerys cried. “Which way was the stables?”

Jorah was trying to catch her eye, likely so he could urge her to reconsider. She avoided all of his attempts to get her attention. “Follow me, I’ll take you there.” 

R-C

Without a horse of her own she was riding on a borrowed one from the stable. She would have been fine to walk to the city but doing so would have slowed down Daenerys and Missandei. 

Their route was going to take them very close to the barracks. A lone change of clothes and her handful of personal belongings were inside. A majority of the recruits had already moved out, some into their own homes, while others returned to their families nearby. Only those with no place to go stayed behind. Soon enough they’d be assigned to a specific unit and start receiving pay, then even the poorest among them would be able to afford a roof over their head. 

It was hard not to feel a little bit disgruntled as she thought about it. She should be in the barracks celebrating with the new brothers, but instead she was guarding Daenerys. Instead of fretting over where she’d be stationed, and complaining about the wait, Arya would have to wait much longer. Her first commander wouldn’t be a trusted Dornishman, it’d be Daenerys. Only after her time serving the Princess was done would she return to Sunspear and get detailed to a unit like everyone else. 

“Princess, would you mind if we make a stop on our way to the market?” 

As they travelled, she had listened half-heartedly to Missandei and Daenerys speak about what they wanted to see. They both agreed they should visit the shops and the merchants, so that would be where they would begin. 

“Is something the matter?”

“No, we are just going to be passing the barracks and I’d like to gather my things.” It occurred to her too late that she shouldn’t have mentioned it. “I could stop on the way back or while you’re eating, forget I said…”

“I don’t mind stopping.” It was quiet for a few steps and then she said, “I’ve been meaning to ask all day, but there has always been other people around. How is the other soldier, the man my father made you fight? Is he going to recover?” The far away look in her eye was one Arya recognized – Daenerys was reliving the events again. 

“He’ll be fine. His injuries weren’t severe and there are few tougher than him.”

“Tough or not, you still beat him.”

“I got lucky, it could have just as easily been me kneeling with a sword at my throat.” Admitting that brought neither shame nor guilt. She wasn’t embarrassed by the idea that Ninety-Four could have won, and it didn’t feel like a lie to say so. 

“I’m glad it wasn’t.”. 

Arya let that be the end of the discussion. She pulled her horse ahead and led them off the main road, heading toward the barracks. The two friends stayed back, speaking quietly in a language Arya didn’t know. She let them talk in peace. She stopped them in front of the non-descript, unimpressive building. “You live here?” Daenerys asked as Arya climbed out of the saddle. 

“For the last year I have. My training is over now, so even if I was staying, I wouldn’t be here much longer.”

“Where will you sleep tonight? Why are you getting your things now? We aren’t leaving for the South right away.”

She tied her horse to the available post and then replied. “I’ll get a room at the Water Gardens, I don’t want to be late again, if you decide tomorrow is another day where you can’t possibly stay inside.” 

“Is that a problem?” Daenerys wondered. “I could remain indoors tomorrow until you came, if it were easier…”

Arya felt it was a kindness to end her rambling early. “It’s fine, I won’t miss sharing my room with dozens of men.”

“You all live together, the men and the women?”

“Yes, though in this case it was men and woman.” She noticed Daenerys rising up out of her saddle, like she intended to follow her guard. Arya put a hand on her wrist to still her. “Stay on the horse,” she instructed. “If there is trouble, yell. If you can’t wait, ride hard and fast in that direction.” She pointed to specify which one she meant and then added, “I’ll catch up.” 

“You think something will happen while you’re gone?”

“I doubt it, but I wouldn’t be a very good guard if I didn’t give you a plan, in the event it did.” 

“Oh okay.”

“Continue your conversation and I’ll be back in a minute.”

She walked to the door and paused to confirm neither woman looked like she intended to flee. 

All over the large room clusters of soldiers were gathered together. Some were gambling, some were drinking, others were talking amongst themselves. She noticed a few lying down, likely to recover from last night’s festivities. One man appeared to be writing a letter. Everyone looked up when she entered, that wasn’t surprising, what was, was that nearly everybody stopped what they were doing and immediately stood at attention. “What’s this?” she asked halfway to her bed. 

“They heard what you did for me,” an unseen man explained. 

She had Missandei and Daenerys waiting but a slight delay wouldn’t matter. She went to Ninety-Four’s bed and found him lying down. Her eyes swept his body assessing his injuries. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with the Maester?”

He shrugged. “They did what they could, now I just need to rest.” 

When it looked like he meant to stand up like the rest, Arya was quick to put a hand on his shoulder and keep him in place. “Are you mad? Lie down, before you ruin all that Maester’s hard work.”

“It’s not that bad.” 

“You did this?” she asked, gesturing to the men still standing at attention for her. 

“I just told them what happened, they did that on their own.”

She raised her voice. “Well, I appreciate it, but I’m still the same recruit I was yesterday.” When no one moved she tried again. “You’ve made your point.” She counted to ten and still nothing. “Sit down!” she yelled loudly. “Do whatever you were doing before I came in.” Finally, they relented, and Arya breathed a sigh of relief. As they returned to their activities Arya stayed with Ninety-Four. “Are you alright?” 

“I should be dead,” he said seriously. He seemed content to stay in bed, so she reluctantly let her hand fall away, ready to raise it again if he tried to stand. 

“I didn’t cut you that bad.”

His expression hardened. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. What you did for me, I owe you a debt…”

Arya was pleased Ninety-Four was recovering well, and she didn’t mind discussing this with him, but she couldn’t allow him to finish that thought. “You don’t owe me a damn thing! If you landed one more punch it’d be you visiting me. I’ve had a headache all day.” 

Her attempt at humor didn’t work. “I don’t think so,” he disagreed, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’d like to think I’d have refused the order in your place, but I’m not so sure I would’ve.” 

“I hope you never have to find out.” That was the truth. She was haunted by her first meeting with the Mad King and she’d be haunted by her second too. Hours after the event she dreamt of it, only this time she obeyed the order and killed Ninety-Four only to be revealed as Arya Stark and executed. Three times she tried to sleep and three times she had the same dream. The only variation was in the method that killed her. 

“Why didn’t you do it?” he wanted to know. 

“I got no problem killing,” she confessed openly. “If a man makes it him or me, I’m fine with it being ‘him.’ If someone wrongs me or harms someone I love, I’ll gladly take revenge. Some people got death coming to them, they deserve it. What happened last night wasn’t that. Killing you like that, would have required me to change what I believe, change who I am, change everything, and I wasn’t willing to do that for him.”

“I thought they were going to kill us both.”

“So did I. I need to go, but when I get back from the South, I’ll find you and you can teach me how you punched hard enough to dent my helmet.” 

“Only if you teach me how you move so fucking fast.” He gave a short but real laugh. “Every time I thought I had you, you were gone.” 

“You’ve got a deal.”

She’d already left Daenerys and Missandei far too long. The Princess would probably agree that she was a poor guard after this. Luckily, she didn’t have many things to pack; a cloak, a change of clothes and her box of personal items. She gathered everything quickly. Her last act was to remove the knife from her pillowcase and tuck it into her boot. 

As she made her way to the door some of the men gambling stopped. “Don’t you dare!” she warned, fearing they were going to stand at attention again. 

“We won’t,” a recruit with a babyface said. He didn’t look old enough to shave. “Show those bastards in King’s Landing how tough we Dornish really are.” 

A few more echoed his sentiments with, ‘Yeahs.’ Another yelled, “Make us proud.” 

“I’ll try my best,” she told them all. 

The man with the dice in his hand smiled at her. “I’ve seen your best, those fuckers in the South don’t stand a chance.” 

R-C

Daenerys was worried. Arya had said it would only take her a minute to collect her things, they’d been waiting nearly ten. She considered going to check, but she didn’t want to embarrass Arya. She also didn’t want to rush her, even if the Princess was impatient. 

The yelling she heard from within almost propelled Daenerys off her horse. Missandei knew her friend and was quick to reassure her. “She’s fine, I’m sure.”

She nodded without actually agreeing. Her plans to see Dorne, to shop in the market, and taste some exotic food all faded to the background. All that mattered was Arya’s safe return. 

She released the breath she’d been holding when her guard appeared. Daenerys couldn’t resist jumping down and hurrying to meet her. “Are you…”

“Forgive me Princess,” Arya interrupted. “I didn’t think my request would delay you that long. Some of the others wished to speak to me, and I likely should have refused them, but I didn’t want to be rude and…”

It took a moment for Daenerys to catch up. What was Arya apologizing for? Yes, the wait was longer than she predicted but that was hardly a crime. In fact, it was barely a hardship now that Arya was back, and Daenerys could confirm her welfare. “It’s fine Arya, it gave Missandei and I more time to plan our trip into Sunspear.” She was exaggerating slightly, but it was for a good cause. “Shall we go?” she suggested, eager to end Arya’s guilt. 

“Yes, of course, just allow me a moment to pack my things into my saddlebag.” 

When she mentioned her property. Daenerys looked away from Arya’s face for the first time to see what she carried. Daenerys was shocked by how little there was. Unaware of Daenerys’s feelings Arya hurried to her horse and began securing her belongings. Daenerys went with her, to get a better look. She hoped that on closer inspection there would be more than what she noticed at first glance. She was disappointed. There were a few folded items that Arya stuffed into the bottom of her saddlebag. Daenerys couldn’t quite tell but her guess was they amounted to one change of clothes, two at the most. Over her arm was a black, threadbare cloak with at least one visible tear in the fabric. Lastly Arya had a wooden box with an iron lock attached to the top. It was obviously important, given the way Arya set it carefully into her bag, resting it on a bed made of the clothes. Was that everything Arya owned? All told, it fit into one saddlebag with plenty of room to spare. How was it possible to survive with so little? 

She’d always known she had too much. Golden trinkets, fancy jewelry, expensive silk dresses and so much more. Her time at the orphanage of King’s Landing taught her that there were many who weren’t so lucky. She spent most of her time in the castle, a place of privilege. The people she encountered there were almost all wealthy, to varying degrees maybe, but none would be going hungry anytime soon. Missandei hadn’t had much when she arrived, mainly just spare dresses but her limited possessions eclipsed what Arya had by a wide margin. She felt a knot tie in the pit of her stomach. Soon Arya would be with her in the Red Keep and she’d see just how much Daenerys had, how much was wasted on her. What would Arya think of her then? 

When she finished burying her anxiety about the future, she found both Arya and Missandei looking at her expectantly. She knew that meant they were waiting for her to say something. “I’m sorry,” she said as her face heated, “I was lost in thought.” 

“I just asked if you like being followed by a guard?”

She was fluent in the common tongue and yet Arya’s words didn’t make sense. What did her opinion matter? She looked to Missandei for clarification and was met with a smile. Whatever Arya’s reasons for asking, Missandei wasn’t bothered. “I suppose not,” she said carefully, “I don’t really have a choice.” 

Arya smiled briefly. “Except you do.” She held up her tattered cloak. “If you want me to remain as I am, I will, my presence is likely to draw attention to us but also deter anyone from getting too close.” 

Still not seeing the larger point, she prompted Arya to continue with a single word. “Or?” she asked, knowing instinctively there had to be more. 

“Or I could put this on,” she said waving the cloak a bit. “I’d remove my helmet, conceal my armor and we could just be three women passing through the city.”

When she understood Daenerys was touched by the sentiment. All her life, she had guards, and none had ever offered what Arya was. She was giving Daenerys the chance to live as a common woman, if only for the day. Arya would still be with her, still be close enough to intervene if necessary, but by hiding her purpose Daenerys wouldn’t feel watched by every stranger. “It is likely hot in that helmet,” she joked with a wide grin. “It would be a kindness for you to not have to wear it.” 

Arya caught the joke and played along. “Very considerate Princess.”

“If you don’t have to be a guard,” Daenerys said, unwilling to let the lighthearted banter end, “then I don’t need to be a Princess. Just Daenerys, please.” 

“You’re the boss,” Arya said, reaching up to remove her helmet, giving Daenerys a chance to recover. She knew Arya was still teasing her, but nonetheless she said the words. To someone listening it might seem trivial to have a guard tell the royal she was in control, but to Daenerys fewer statements could have been more meaningful. Just as no one in her life had ever offered to hide her guards in plain sight, no one had ever told her she was in charge. Even Jorah who was unquestionably loyal to Daenerys, still followed the orders of Rhaegar and her father. If her wishes didn’t align with what they wanted her to do, she was quickly overruled. Arya viewed her role differently. She’d said as much to Viserys the night before, she told him she served Daenerys. Could she have meant that quite literally?

For a second time, she was too busy thinking to hear what was going on around her. Two sets of eyes were looking to her for comment again. 

Arya realized her state of confusion and saved her the indignity of having to apologize for being distracted twice. “We can wait all day,” she said, “but I did promise I’d bring you back for dinner, so if you wish to see more of Dorne than my barracks, we best get started, Daenerys.” She said her name with emphasis, drawing attention to her use of it instead of her title. It made Daenerys smile. Next to her Missandei was grinning almost as brightly, likely because she knew how significant Arya’s contributions were, in word and deed. 

“Y…yes.. of… course.” She paused in an effort to end her pathetic stammering. “Of course, I’m sure there is much to see. Lead the way, Arya.”

R-C

Having been to Sunspear plenty, she didn’t see much of interest this visit, at least not in her surroundings. What she found much more compelling was the wide-eyed awe and the finger pointing of her companions. She lost count of the number of times she heard Missandei or Daenerys say, ‘look at that,’ or ‘over there.’ 

As they browsed, Daenerys proved to be as generous as she had that morning. In a dress shop she divided her time between shopping for herself and Missandei. She purchased only one dress but encouraged her handmaiden to get multiple. She complimented her friend often, noting which colors she felt would suit Missandei best. The dark-haired woman didn’t buy any dresses but did purchase silk in several colors with intent to craft garments of some kind. 

Daenerys even brought Arya into the conversation, asking if the guard wanted something. She responded with a polite, “No, thank you.” Saying nothing of the cost, she’d rather gargle broken glass than wear such things. Seeing all the options however did remind her of her lost sister. Sansa would have loved shopping in such a place and she definitely would have taken Daenerys up on her offer to get a dress or twelve. Her heart hurt, as it always did when she thought of her family. Sansa had been fostered to Highgarden while Arya went to Sunspear. All she could do was hope that Sana’s experiences were better than her own. With a smile, she remembered Sansa’s fondness for stories of knights, it was one of the few things the sisters could agree on, though for different reasons. While Arya liked to hear about their prowess in battle, Sansa was more interested in their lives and loves. She wanted to hear how a man of humble origins rose up to become a favored knight, respected and admired by all. She loved the honor of it, and the romance, especially if the knight found everlasting love along the way. Unlikely as it was, she liked to imagine that Sansa had found herself a knight in the Reach, one who would elevate her station as so often happened in the stories. 

After the dress shop their walk around the Shadow City took them past a popular brothel – an establishment called ‘Titles.’ 

Not surprisingly there were girls outside, trying to lure customers in. Arya saw no fewer than four men accept the various propositions. “Is that…”

“A brothel?” Arya finished for her. “Yes, it is. The most well-known in the whole of Dorne as a matter of fact.” 

Daenerys blushed to have it confirmed but her embarrassment was short lived. She looked rather mischievous when she asked, “Have you been?”

Any shyness she felt on the subject of sex had been lost long ago. Years in Dorne had all but beaten it from her by the time she was old enough to care. When she tried, it was a struggle to reconcile how she felt now, to the teachings of her father. Ned Stark wouldn’t have approved of the idea of his daughter visiting such a place, but she had no such reservations. She answered honestly, “This is for Princes and other highborn. Purchasing even a drink in such a place would likely cost me a week’s wage.” As she spoke, a potential reason Daenerys was asking occurred to her. “While it may not be appropriate for a soldier, a Princess would surely be welcome.”

Unsure of the protocol she tried to think fast. How could she guard Daenerys and still avoid being in the room? If necessary, she decided, she could search Daenerys’s selection for weapons and then stand guard at the door until she finished. 

“Unfortunately, there are no Princesses among us today,” she reminded Arya. 

Across the street a woman in a fine dress entered Titles. She had a servant with her and two guards in full armor. “Who is that?” Daenerys wondered in a quiet voice. Recognizing the plate first, it took longer to identify the woman. When she did, she chuckled. Daenerys misinterpreted the sound. “Do you not know her?”

As a rule, Arya despised gossip and all those who traded in it, but she got the distinct impression that Daenerys was asking more out of honest curiosity than a desire to discover a secret. The truth was, Arya did know her, she waited on Sylva during her yearly visits to the Water Gardens. She omitted that detail in her retelling. “That’s Spotted Sylva,” Arya explained, “the head of House Santagar.” 

“Spotted Sylva?” Missandei repeated incredulously. 

“Her home is called ‘Spottswood,’ hence the name.”

“That’s a better reason than the one I was imagining,” Daenerys confessed in a whisper. 

It was probably inappropriate for a guard to laugh at her charge, but she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t alone either, Missandei’s poorly contained amusement mixed with Arya’s. Not the least bit offended, Daenerys looked pleased by their reactions. 

They begin walking again and as they went Arya made a casual inquiry. “Would you ladies like to hear the story of how that brothel got its name?”

Daenerys didn’t pass up the chance to try and tease her. “For a woman who claims she’s never been, you know much about that business and its customers.” 

She rolled her eyes but didn’t otherwise complain, as they laughed again, this time at her expense. “Everyone from the area knows the story. If you don’t want to hear it however I can…”

She didn’t get to finish her threat. “Tell us!” Daenerys implored, gripping Arya’s arm and turning to face her completely. To Arya, she appeared more like an anxious child eagerly awaiting her nameday and less than regal, composed Dragon Princess. 

“When I first walked this street, it was called something different, named after the owner, I believe. Then he unknowingly hired a woman to work for him and she became the most famous whore in all of Sunspear, and believe me, that is a fiercely contested crown.” Her quip earned the desired response from her audience and she continued on, “It’s said she used to tell her customers that for a few handfuls of coin she could make even the lowliest man feel like someone of privilege, wealth and title. The owner heard that and took a liking to it, changing the name to Titles.” 

Daenerys was smiling when Arya got to the end. “Does she still work there?”

She shook her head. “If you listen to the rumors a rich man from Essos visited on business and went to see her. He was so taken with her, he purchased her contract and moved her across the sea to be his mistress. That was the last anyone heard of her, to the best of my knowledge.” 

“It’d be nice if she got a happy ending,” Daenerys remarked. 

“Do you believe in such things?” 

“Believe in them? Sure. Expect one? No.” She clarified, “Even if they’re rarer than flawless diamonds, it’s still better to have an ounce of hope than none at all.”

Arya looked at the Princess thoughtfully. So far, her day with the Targaryen had been nothing like she expected. She was beginning to wonder if it was wrong to lump Daenerys in with her siblings and father just because they shared a name and some blood. 

“Are you hungry?” Arya asked, as they came to a line of food vendors. 

“I wasn’t,” Daenerys admitted, “until you said something, but Gods, it smells wonderful.” 

“Go on,” she urged, waving the women toward the stands. “I promise you won’t find food like this anywhere else in Westeros.” 

She stayed back and let the women explore. She shadowed them from a distance and kept a close eye to ensure they didn’t have any trouble. There was little danger nearby, unless she counted the burn of the spices used on the foods Daenerys seemed tempted to try. With clarity she remembered her first time eating authentic Dornish food, she’d been just as unprepared as Daenerys. Arya wandered to the far edge of the square. A lone woman stood behind a wood counter. There was no sign, just rows of jugs and bottles in varying sizes. She pointed to the smallest size and then reached under her cloak for her admittedly few coins. She wandered back toward Daenerys and Missandei carrying a bottle in each hand. She arrived just before the women did, carrying their purchases. Missandei had chosen a simple sandwich. A thick slab of meat was trapped between two pieces of freshly cut bread. Daenerys had opted for something more adventurous, further damaging Arya’s assumptions about her. She held a skewer in one hand. On the spear were several pieces of spiced meat, some onion, tomato and what looked to be a pepper. 

“What’d you get?” Daenerys asked cheerfully when they were all together. 

“You got the food, I got the drink.” 

Daenerys’s smile dimmed slightly as she reached to take hers. “These are for us?”

“You’re going to want them,” she foretold. 

“Milk?” Missandei asked after sipping hers. 

“Milk is better than water for easing the burn on your tongue.”

“My tongue doesn’t burn,” Missandei resisted. 

“Finish your sandwich,” she encouraged, “then see if you can say that.” To Daenerys she said, “You, will definitely need it. You picked the cook who uses the most spice.” 

“Aren’t you getting anything? We can wait,” Daenerys proposed, “or we can come with you.”

“Eat, before it gets cold,” Arya instructed. “I’m not hungry.” That wasn’t exactly true, she was very hungry, especially after seeing what they were having, but she couldn’t afford to buy anything after paying for the milk, so she’d just need to wait until later. She didn’t doubt that Daenerys would purchase her lunch if she learned the real reason Arya wasn’t eating, but Arya steadfastly refused to tell her. She didn’t want charity and her pride wouldn’t allow her to take a handout from a Targaryen, no matter how small. 

“Where are we going after this?” she asked, hoping to distract from the fact that she wasn’t eating. 

Although the answer didn’t come, everyone quickly forgot about Arya. Daenerys stole the moment by biting into her skewer and immediately gasping. “Ow, ow, ow!” she cried as she chewed. “So hot,” she added when most of it had been swallowed. She endured by breathing heavily through her nose. Missandei comforted her by rubbing circles onto her back. When her mouth was empty, she set the milk down and used her free hand to fan her face. “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said we have nothing like that back home.” 

“Would you like me to go get you something else?” Arya offered. She was unsure how she’d pay for it, but it felt like the right thing to do. The alternative was to stand by and watch her suffer. 

“No, no,” she said shaking her head in time with the denial. The movement sent her silver hair, styled in a braid swinging from side to side. “I just need a minute.”

Arya had to admire the Targaryen’s commitment. Most Southerners would spit the bite out and give up but Daenerys persevered. “If you’re serious about finishing, I recommend you do more than leave that milk on the ground.”

Daenerys looked down at the bottle between her feet. “I forgot what you said.” She bent to get it and then straightened up. “It’ll really help?” 

“Try it and find out.” 

She drank greedily from the bottle and sighed dramatically when she finally lowered it. “Well?” Missandei wondered. She was quietly eating her sandwich while she continued to comfort Daenerys. “Is it better?”

“I fear my tongue will never work the same again, but it doesn’t feel like wildfire is burning inside my mouth anymore either.” 

“That’s better than most, their first time. You’ll earn the respect of any Dornish who hears that on your first trip to Sunspear you were brave enough to eat at Enid’s stall.” In addition to being accurate her words had another effect, emboldening Daenerys to take another bite from the skewer. This time she chewed quicker, while her eyes kept darting to the remaining milk. Apparently, she would not make the same mistake twice, a quality Arya admired. 

R-C

Her mouth still burned, many minutes after she finished eating. She’d been skeptical when she heard Arya claim milk better than water for combating spice, but there was some truth in the advice. Although the milk helped, it didn’t erase the discomfort, a fact she could attest to with confidence after drinking all of her bottle and a portion of Missandei’s. Any pain was worthwhile when her typically stoic guard rewarded her with a smile and a compliment as she carried the empty stick to the trash. Daenerys was only too happy to consider that a victory. 

They were discussing their next destination when Missandei brought it up. “Would you like to go to the docks Daenerys?” She hadn’t thought of it, but it was a great idea. One of her favorite pastimes was to sit down by the water and watch all the ships coming and going. 

“Can we?” she asked her guide. 

“Sure, if you want,” Arya agreed. 

Daenerys’s smile grew. “I’d love to.” 

“To the docks then,” Arya called. 

Daenerys and Missandei responded with a cheer. Well, actually she cheered and Missandei joined in, echoing Daenerys’s excitement after a brief delay. She was a great friend in that regard, always supportive, and fiercely loyal. 

“It’s a much smaller port than you’re used to,” Arya warned as she spied the first of the ships out on the horizon. She didn’t care if the port was big or small, if it had ships, she wanted to see it, grateful for any time she could spend there. 

“Does Dorne do much trade by sea?” she inquired. 

“Some, though most is with Essos and not the Realm.” This information only made Daenerys more eager. In her humble opinion, ships from Essos were crafted with more care and style than the majority of the vessels from her homeland. They were like floating works of art. 

She hadn’t had the opportunity to spend much time on the coast after their arrival. As soon as she was off the boat and on dry land, someone was fetching her horse and getting her moving toward the Water Gardens. They wouldn’t have postponed, even if she’d asked, so she didn’t bother wasting the words. Now though, with Arya and Missandei, she could take her time. 

They started off several dozen feet from the water, watching the various crews load and unload cargo. Daenerys commented on the ships, guessing where they were coming from, and where they would be going next. She and Missandei made a game of trying to predict the cargo in the crates they saw. Some were obvious by their size and shape, but the unmarked, square crates were always fun to speculate on. 

“Can we get closer?” she asked after a while, looking to Arya for approval.

She thought about her answer briefly then shrugged. “We can get as close as you want, this is Martell land, I’m their soldier, and you’re their guests.” 

Daenerys was pleased by the permission granted, but she was much more impressed by Arya choosing to include Missandei instead of claiming Daenerys was the only guest. It was a sharp contrast to the night before when Missandei couldn’t join her for dinner. Happy with the way things were going, she grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her along, desperate to get a better view. 

Oddly enough, the largest, grandest ship in sight was the only one Daenerys didn’t have any desire to inspect. Her father’s ship, with its Targaryen sails, and the gold dragon accents, was no match for the smaller, weathered crafts that looked used and loved. In Daenerys’s mind at least, those ships could have been coming from anywhere, and going anywhere. Realistic or not, she liked to pretend they were on their way to the farthest corners of the world. 

“I bet that ship is from Lys,” Daenerys said without proof, as they watched a new vessel come into port. The deck was lined with busy men, throwing ropes, and yelling orders. Others were at the rail, looking over the side, trying to estimate the captain’s course, calling out if he needed to steer them in one direction or the other. 

Missandei gave the approaching ship more consideration before she countered Daenerys’s guess. Whether she believed the ship was really from Meereen or not, Daenerys couldn’t say. The game worked better when they were on opposing sides. 

Arya hadn’t participated in the sport Daenerys created, rarely speaking without getting impatient. She also didn’t say or do anything to rush or stop their fun. Daenerys hoped it was because Arya was as content in the moment as she was. 

“That ship is from Braavos,” Arya said with confidence. 

Both women turned to look at her. She was sitting on the ground, as they were, but she was behind them slightly, having insisted they occupy the area closer to the water and the ships. “I still think it’s Lys!” Daenerys said in challenge, thrilled that Arya was getting involved. 

“But you’re wrong and I’m right. That ship’s from Braavos, I know it. It’s called the Titan’s Daughter.” 

If she was partaking in the game that was a very specific attempt. Slowly it dawned on her that Arya wasn’t playing at all, she was correcting their errors. She turned away from the ships for the first time since sitting down, giving Arya her whole focus. She held Daenerys’s eye without wavering. Her confidence wasn’t born out of arrogance, it was certainty. “How?” she asked, wishing she could be more articulate.

R-C

Arya could admit, at least to herself that she quite enjoyed seeing Daenerys flustered. She’d been amused when they started their sport. She listened carefully and made guesses of her own, though she kept them to herself. 

She hadn’t expected to recognize any of the vessels, but she did. She had fond memories of going out on that ship with Ternesio, the captain, Oberyn, and a small crew. She’d always remember the bow’s shape, and the way the sails would accommodate the wind. She remembered jumping in surprise the first time the Titan of Braavos announced their arrival, much to Ternesio and Oberyn’s delight. There were some things in this life that were unforgettable, and for Arya her days spent aboard that ship and others like it with the Red Viper of Dorne qualified. 

He’d taken her away from her duties in the Water Gardens under the pretense that he needed a capable servant to accompany him as he handled his affairs in Essos. Arya believed he brought her along for that purpose and early on their first day aboard a ship with a Martell sigil on the sails, she made the mistake of bringing him a glass of wine. He poured it out over the side and then invited her to spar with him. With a spear, with a sword, with his bare hands, he beat her so thoroughly and so repeatedly that she needed to stop and regain her strength. He stood over her then and said, “Until we return to Sunspear you are not my servant, you are no one’s servant, you are my friend and travelling companion.” 

True to his word he treated her as his equal in all things. They shared meals, laughed and drank together. Often the only hours they spent apart were when they slept. He invited her to join him, him and whatever combination of willing men and women he already planned to entertain, but she was quick to refuse. She liked Oberyn a great deal but had no desire to see the man naked. Some things were just too much. 

Outside of that, she joined him everywhere his business took him. When they met others, he introduced her as ‘Arya, my friend,’ whether they were speaking to his former allies in the Second Sons mercenary company or complimenting the owner of a fighting pit Oberyn hoped to gain entry to. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say those days were some of the best she ever had. For years she’d been a servant, and she would be again, but for a moment she’d had freedom. Oberyn asked her opinion, he sought her advice and when she gave it, he listened, often heeding it. She knew now that the trip was extended much longer than was needed to hold a few meetings. Oberyn was constantly adjusting the date of their return, always claiming he had one more person to see, one more place to go, and she wasn’t about to argue. One of the places was Braavos and one of the people was Ternesio. 

As they zig-zagged across Essos together, she slept soundly, never once having a nightmare of her past. Not even the knowledge that she’d soon return to the Water Gardens could dampen her mood. She would deal with the future when it came, in the meantime she chose to savor every second of adventure with her friend, a friend who just happened to be a Prince.

When it couldn’t be avoided any longer, Oberyn ordered the crew to begin preparations for their return to Sunspear. Arya understood but was disappointed all the same. Oberyn chose then to find her, he handed her a drink and said, “You could go, I could report you died a tragic but all too common death on the sea.”

She knew what he was offering, and she knew the risks involved for the both of them. “I don’t want you to lie for me.” 

He smiled at her in that way of his. “And I would anyway.” He let that sink in briefly before he made his next point. “What happened to your family was wrong, just as what happened to my sweet Elia was wrong. Whatever debt you owed the Targaryen, you paid it and then some. I think it is he who now owes you, he owes you a good life.”

She doubted the Mad King would see it that way, but she’d be lying to say she wasn’t tempted. She was aware that the chance Oberyn was giving her would never come around again. It was now or never. “Where would I go?”

He held out his hand toward the vast open water. “Anywhere,” he said. “You’ve seen but a fraction of the world, my friend. There is so much more. There are places where even the long arms of the Mad King can not reach you, places where he has no eyes, no ears and holds no power.” 

What he was describing sounded almost easy, and she was sure it wouldn’t be. Fleeing a King and staying alive was no small task. Many in her place had tried and failed, but she knew Oberyn and he wouldn’t have suggested it if he didn’t think she could do it.

“My only regret,” Oberyn told her, “is that I won’t be able to go with you. If I were young again, free to do as I pleased, I would be by your side every step, but I have responsibilities, I have my family, my brother, my sister, Ellaria, my girls.”

“I’d never ask you to abandon them for me,” Arya insisted, feeling emotional. Her vision blurred slightly as she spoke. “What you did for me, bringing me here, giving me this. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend, and I’m not sure I’ve ever had a better one.” 

When he embraced her, it was possible that a tear might have landed on his shoulder. When the hug was over, he smiled sadly at her. “Just because I can not go, doesn’t mean you should not. There is no shame in wanting more from life than cleaning up the Water Gardens.” 

If she was going to do this, if she was going to leave Oberyn and disappear she needed to be clear on the details. “Is that all that waits for me there? Is there no hope Doran would let me do something else?”

“Like what?”

She didn’t know, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Anything really.”

Oberyn came at the problem a different way. “What would you do if you could do anything?”

He waited patiently while she decided how to respond. She’d given up any dream of being granted her freedom long before, so it took a minute to organize her thoughts and feelings. As a girl, she’d wanted to ride next to her father and brothers, to serve the Realm with a sword in her hand. A lot had changed in the time since, but that she discovered remained the same. “I’d join the army.”

“To fight for Dorne?” 

“If they’d have me, sure, but I doubt Doran would let the daughter of a traitor fight for him.”

“Are you sure?” When the answer wasn’t immediate, he pushed harder. “Is this what you want?” he asked her bluntly. “You can go, be a soldier anywhere, the Second Sons would welcome you.” He provided her more time to think it through. “If you choose to accompany me to Sunspear, I’ll speak to Doran about letting you join the next of the recruits.” 

“Really?” she asked, needing reassurance. She knew it was a long shot, but it was a shot she never expected to have. She was grateful that Oberyn was giving her a choice, because her life to that point had remarkably few. She didn’t want to grow old a servant, cleaning sheets and clothes until the day she died, but she wasn’t keen on the idea of uprooting her life and starting over either. She’d done that once before and it was beyond difficult. Then there was the matter of Oberyn himself. He was her friend, and she didn’t want to abandon him. If she left, there would be no second chance. She could never return, never find out if any of her siblings survived. She’d never see any of them again.

“I can not promise he will agree, my brother is his own man, but I swear I’ll use my considerable charms to try and make him see that you are being wasted in the Water Gardens.” 

In the end, it was Oberyn’s pledge that convinced her. If he kept his word and used all of his talents on her behalf, she didn’t think anyone alive would refuse him. She hated to admit it, but he was a hard man not to like. “Let’s get back then,” she decided. 

He laughed at her urgency and put an arm around her shoulders. “We will begin training right away. You’ll need to get much better with a spear if you are going to wear armor marked with the sun.” 

She knew she was being granted a great gift, receiving lessons from Oberyn Martell, but she couldn’t shake off the hurt either. “I’m not good enough?” She never beat Oberyn when they sparred, but few did. That alone didn’t seem like enough to disqualify her. If soldiers needed to defeat Oberyn in battle to earn their place, Dorne would employ only a handful of warriors. 

“It’s not enough to be good. To show Doran and everyone else they’re wrong about you, you need to be great. I can help you, if you want it.”

Arya had heard enough. “When do we start?” 

Daenerys and Missandei were still waiting for an answer. She thought around the flood of memories to recall the question. How? How had she known The Titan’s Daughter was the Titan’s Daughter before they could read the name painted on the side? How had she known that ship came from Braavos? There wasn’t enough time or words to properly explain how Oberyn and that trip to Essos changed her life. She chose to simplify things more than a little. “Prince Oberyn asked me to accompany him on a trip he took to Essos. While we were there, he met with a Braavosi Captain he had business with. The man took us out on his ship,” she pointed at it, “that ship.”

“That’s incredible,” Daenerys said. 

“Where did you go?” Missandei inquired. 

She listed a few of the cities in no particular order. “Braavos, Meereen, Astapor, Lys.”

It didn’t escape her notice that when she mentioned Astapor, Daenerys took Missandei’s hand. She saw the serious look Daenerys gave her handmaiden and the softer one she got in reply. There was a story there, but Arya didn’t mind not knowing it. She’d been acquainted to Daenerys for less than a day, she met Missandei only that morning, if it didn’t diminish her ability to keep them safe, they could keep their secrets. 

“We should probably get back.”

“Do we have to?” 

“Don’t you want to say hello to your friend?” Missandei asked, having recovered from whatever was distressing her. 

“You should,” Daenerys urged. “Do you think he’d let us aboard?”

She stood and brushed some sand from her clothes. “Only one way to find out.”

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Some bonding between the girls, a little backstory about how Oberyn and Arya became so close and much more to come. I always liked Ternesio, so I decided to add him. He had a small but important role in shaping who Arya became, and I wanted to try and do the same thing in this world. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. 
> 
> The next chapter will have more of Arya and Daenerys getting to know one another. I originally had it as one chapter, but it was way too big, so I chopped it up. Hope you’ll keep reading. Thanks for getting this far.


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner was a torturous affair with lots of speeches to commemorate the upcoming wedding. Mercifully, she didn’t have to say much. Occasionally one of the Martell women would ask her a question and spend a few minutes trying to make Daenerys feel involved, but it was always brief, and afterward she faded into the background again. 

Her body may have been there, eating, talking, listening but her mind was still on the waterfront with Arya, Missandei and Ternesio. 

Arya appeared anxious as she led them toward the Titan’s Daughter, adjusting her cloak over her armor a bit, and resituating her sword on her hip. She also squatted down, as if to tie her boot but did nothing more than tap her ankle in an act Daenerys didn’t understand. Given Arya’s unease she wondered if she made a mistake suggesting they meet him. She’d done so hastily, after learning Arya knew a real ship’s captain. She’d never been on a ship that didn’t belong to her family. In Daenerys’s opinion, those didn’t count. 

Ternesio was on the deck, reviewing documents and barking orders. Arya gestured for the women to wait before she stepped onto the plank that connected the ship and the dock together. Like a form of ancient magic, the captain somehow knew there was an uninvited person on his vessel. He looked up from his work to see who it was. 

His hard expression lasted only a fraction of a second before he was grinning widely. “Arya, my friend!” he called. His papers forgotten, he left them on a crate and moved to meet her. 

They embraced and words were exchanged on both sides, though Daenerys couldn’t hear what they were. When the hug was over her guard stepped back and waved the Princess and her handmaiden forward. 

She stepped off the stable, but flexible plank and onto the deck of the Titan’s Daughter. An impressive ship from a distance, it was better up close. She couldn’t decide where to look. Should she watch the men lowering the sails that were no longer needed, or the crew of men moving crates, both on the ship and off? Then there was Ternesio. He was older than she expected, with greying hair he kept short and a face and arms that had been battered by both the sun as well as the wind. He was laughing at something Arya said while the soldier smiled along. 

“Ternesio Terys, Captain of the Titan’s Daughter, these are my friends Daenerys and Missandei.”

“Had I known I was going to find three beautiful women on my ship when I made port in Sunspear I would have cleaned myself up a bit,” he joked, “and arrived much sooner.” He took Daenerys’s hand first with a smile, and then Missandei’s.

“It wouldn’t have helped,” Arya spit back. 

Although he tried to act offended by her comment, when he clearly wasn’t. He went so far as to punch Arya in her nearest arm lightly. It was a strike Daenerys knew Arya could avoid or block easily, but she did neither. “Where is Oberyn?”

“His business keeps him,” Arya explained. “Daenerys and Missandei are visitors to Dorne, I was showing them the city when we stopped to admire the ships.” 

Daenerys chimed in then. “You have a beautiful ship, Ser.”

Ternesio smiled. “She’s seen me through many tough times,” he remarked wisely. She didn’t have any trouble believing that. The ship was clearly well-maintained and widely used. She yearned for a ship very much like this, one of her own, so she could see the parts of the world she’s only read about and others still that she didn’t know where out there waiting for her. 

“How is your family?” Arya asked him. 

“Good, good,” he assured her quickly. “The boys are here, they just left to deliver our cargo.”

Arya laughed and looked up at the sun. “I remember going with them when we reached Meereen. I had to carry crate after crate up all those fucking stairs to the Great Pyramid.” 

“If you didn’t want to carry it, you shouldn’t have lost your match,” Ternesio countered. 

Aware they didn’t know what happened, Arya filled in the missing pieces for Daenerys and Missandei. “When we met Ternesio in Braavos, he invited Oberyn and I to accompany him to Meereen. We went and when we arrived, he asked for our help delivering his goods to the Masters who purchased them. Oberyn and I sparred to see who would be required to help and I lost.” 

“You did well, after so long at sea, the boys were due some entertainment. You and the Viper provided it. Many of my crew won or lost their entire profits from the voyage on that bout,” he recalled. 

Daenerys smiled at the obvious affection she heard. With every hour she learned more about her guard and the interest Daenerys felt at their initial meeting remained. In truth, it was stronger now. Daenerys couldn’t wait to see what she’d learn about Arya next. 

“Send them my best. Oberyn will be sad to learn he missed you.” 

“Stay,” the Captain proposed, “my sons will return soon. I’ll send a courier to the Gardens with a note for Oberyn, he can join us when he’s finished. We’ll eat and drink and laugh, as we have before.”

Desperately Daenerys wanted to accept and spend her evening with a man who was likely filled to the brim with stories she’d love to hear, but she couldn’t. She was expected at dinner and her absence would not be tolerated. She and Missandei shared a disappointed look, knowing they’d need to decline. 

Before she could speak, Arya did. “I’m afraid we have another appointment that can’t be avoided,” she said, “I wish it could.” 

For a moment the captain looked as saddened as Daenerys, but it didn’t last. With recognition and understanding Ternesio’s smile was back. “Last time I was here,” he paused and rolled his eyes up as he thought, “eight, maybe nine months back, Oberyn visited me, when I asked about you, he informed me you were training for the army.”

Arya’s face heated. “I was in training. I’m sorry I missed your visit.” 

By expression alone Daenerys could tell the apology was unnecessary. “He told me you couldn’t leave the barracks.” He left a pause for Arya to comment and when she didn’t, he pressed on. “You’ve left now, does that mean you’ve finished?”

Reaching up she took the collar of her cloak and pulled it down, exposing the armor hidden underneath. “I did,” she confirmed simply. 

Ternesio clapped her on the shoulder and smiled. “I’m proud of you. Dorne will be a better place with you protecting it. I’ll feel safer when I visit going forward.” 

“Thank you,” Arya said quietly. 

She waited for Arya to say more, but it never happened. Since she wasn’t willing to tell her friend the full extent of her triumphs, Daenerys acted in her place. “Arya didn’t just complete her training, she finished first.”

With a critical stare he studied Arya, in search of the truth. She confirmed the claim with a nod, and he laughed. “You can not stay, that I understand but we must celebrate your victory.” He turned away from the women. “Amid!” he shouted in the direction of his crew. “Find me a bottle and some glasses!” 

They toasted Arya’s success, their continued friendship and finally their future endeavors. Daenerys understood why Oberyn and Arya liked Ternesio, he was kind, funny and charming. When their visit neared its end, Arya asked Ternesio for permission to show Missandei and Daenerys around the ship. He happily agreed, encouraging them to take all the time they needed. Daenerys barely spoke as she explored below deck. She stayed as long as she could, not wanting to miss a single detail between the bow and the stern. 

She was pulled from her memory by a hand on the back of her chair. Startled, she jumped slightly. The presence behind her moved the hand from the chair to her shoulder to steady her. She looked up and saw Arya there, looking down at her. The cloak was gone now. She was once again a guard, just as Daenerys was again a Princess. 

All around her people were moving. Her confusion must have been obvious because Arya lowered her head in the direction of Daenerys’s ear. “Dinner is over,” she said, “everyone is retiring to the sitting rooms.” 

Dinner was over? She’d been daydreaming a lot longer than she realized. She nodded that she understood, and Arya’s hands returned to the chair, pulling it out for her. “Thank you,” she said for more than the manners. She’d have embarrassed herself and angered everyone else if she remained at the table after all others had gone. 

As she moved away from the table, Daenerys took comfort from the fact that a few stragglers remained. She was less likely to be reprimanded if she wasn’t the last one to the sitting room. 

Without any real enthusiasm she said, “We should probably get in there.” Arya was a step behind her going down the hall. Daenerys would have preferred they walk side by side but didn’t say so. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make up a reason for you to excuse yourself in a few minutes.”

“You don’t have to…” Daenerys tried, the words coming on reflex. 

“Once everyone is seated, holding a drink and locked in conversation, I’ll come get you and we can find some other way to fill the evening.” 

She didn’t know what Arya had in mind, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than sitting around while the Martells and Targaryens pretended to like each other. When they arrived in the sitting room, Arya escorted her to her seat. Missandei was already there, holding the tea that would be hers. Normally the prospect of hours spent like this would be daunting, but not this time. This time Arya would rescue her. She just had to hold on until then. 

R-C

Stomach growling, she stood against the wall between Missandei and Mormont observing the dinner taking place. Since he was no longer Daenerys’s guard, the Northman didn’t really need to be there, but he was. Arya, for one wouldn’t have missed him if he ate someplace else. The speeches were both needless and long-winded. They took an hour-long meal and stretched it to more than two. 

Arya wasn’t the only one growing frustrated. Midway through the second speech Oberyn caught her attention and rolled his eyes dramatically. By the third, he was openly talking to Ellaria and ignoring the Lannister speaking. Arya understood it for what it was, a challenge – he was daring someone to say something about his behavior. No one did. 

If someone asked her last week if she’d ever be capable of feeling empathy for a Targaryen, she would have said ‘no’ with certainty, but things were changing. For the most part Daenerys was ignored by her side of the table. Neither her family nor any of her father’s loyalists spoke to her. The Martells weren’t much better. Oberyn was too far away to engage Daenerys in conversation and none of the other men tried. A few women spoke with her but it never lasted and always seemed rather forced. 

The new guard was beginning to understand why Mormont said he sometimes needed to invent appointments to give the Princess an excuse to escape. She didn’t know if Daenerys needed a break, but Arya felt like she did. It was painful to watch. She could only assume it was worse for Daenerys. 

When the meal was finally done, and people began moving to the nearby sitting rooms Arya expected Daenerys to be among the first to get up. If it was Arya at the table, trapped between nobles, she would have been on her feet before her plate was carried away. The trickle of people became a stream and Daenerys was still in her seat, staring straight ahead. The chair across from her was empty but she didn’t seem to notice. With limited experience she looked to Missandei for help. Was it normal for Daenerys to act like this? The handmaiden looked as troubled as Arya. “Is she okay?” she whispered. 

“I’m not sure,” Missandei admitted. “They’ll expect her in the sitting room. If she’s late…”

“I’ll get her.” 

“I need to go and prepare her tea.”

Mormont finally made himself useful saying, “I’ll try and buy you some time.” 

On her way to the table she couldn’t help but wonder, was everyday like this for Daenerys? If it was, it was a minor miracle that she wasn’t as damaged as her father. She thought back on her afternoon with Daenerys, how happy she’d been, how relaxed, she was a different person since their return; distant, tense and anxious. 

By the time she reached the Princess, she’d made a decision. She would find a way for Daenerys to retire early from the post-dinner congratulatory back-patting going on down the hall. Should she let Daenerys rest in her chambers, or would she be happier somewhere else? There was still much of Sunspear Daenerys had yet to enjoy. 

R-C

She couldn’t believe Arya had really done it. They’d be talking and drinking for hours and usually Daenerys was required to be present for most of it. She’d just finished a conversation with Ellaria when Arya came up and claimed there was an urgent matter that needed her attention. Oberyn’s lover saw through the ploy but said, “You best go, it sounds important.” 

Now Arya was leading them down a long, empty corridor. “There you go, no one will miss you for a while Princess.” 

“Thank you, Arya,” she said, meaning it. 

“Would you like to go to your chambers and rest. or would you rather experience Sunspear’s nightlife?”

She was sure her shock showed on her face. “We can go out?”

The guard shrugged. “If you want, I serve you. remember.” 

She glanced sideways at Missandei, just to make sure she was hearing the same thing Daenerys was. The former slave looked impressed by Arya. “I’d love to see more, but what if someone comes looking for us?”

“I know every corner of this place,” Arya replied, “if anyone asks, I’ll say you weren’t feeling well, so I took you to rest in a quiet, rarely used place.” 

The same nervous excitement she felt while touring Ternesio’s ship was bubbling up inside her again. “Lead the way.” 

Arya guided them around one corner and then the next. It was hard to tell, but Daenerys guessed they were near the kitchen. “Do you have a coat, or a cloak at least?” 

“Do we really need one?” she asked. 

“The sun set while you were eating,” Arya informed her. “It’ll be much colder now.” 

“Your cloak is in your closet,” Missandei answered. “I can go get it.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked her friend. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

She hurried off in one direction while Daenerys and Arya continued on in the other. “Do you remember the way to the stables?”

Why was she asking? Wasn’t she coming along? “Why?”

Arya gripped her shoulder and turned her slightly. “Go through that door and turn left, you’ll be able to see the tree you got the orange from this morning. From there, can you get to the stables?”

She thought back, trying to remember the route she took to get her horse. “Yeah, I think so.”

Arya nodded. “Good, head the way, and I’ll catch up.”

“I can wait,” she offered. 

“I’ll just be a minute. Go on,” she said giving Daenerys a nudge toward the door. 

She was nervous as she walked away from Arya. She was certain that at any moment someone was going to pop up and catch her, be it her father, Viserys or Tywin. 

Outside the sun was gone and the temperature had dropped significantly when compared to that afternoon. The breeze wasn’t cold exactly, but she bet that would change over time. She was suddenly glad Missandei had gone to fetch her another layer. 

She passed several patrolling guards, but none said anything to her. She did her best to retrace her steps, her eyes constantly sweeping the landscape for any hint of the stable. 

Arya startled her when she appeared at Daenerys’s side without warning. She likely would have fallen had Arya not provided extra support. She raised a shaking hand to her chest and tried to calm her breathing. “Shit you scared me!”

“Shit?” Arya repeated with a mischievous smirk. “Would that fancy tutor of yours approve of you saying such a word?”

Immediately she pictured the strict woman who taught her in her formative years. Reading and writing first, then lessons about being a proper Lady. She definitely would not be pleased to hear the Princess curse. “She’s not here, so I can say what I want.”

Arya chuckled as she lowered her arms, trusting Daenerys to stand on her own. “Yes, you can.” 

They made it only a few steps before Daenerys’s hand reached out to stop Arya from going further. “How did you know I had a fancy tutor?”

“Lucky guess.”

Upon further consideration Daenerys could see how it was a pretty safe wager to make. If not her, then who would have an expensive instructor, she was royalty after all. “Did you get what you needed?” she asked, more than a little curious what was important enough to send her off alone. She produced an apple, holding it up for Daenerys to see. “Hungry?” she questioned quickly, without thinking. 

Arya blushed as she returned the fruit to it’s hiding place. “A bit.”

Only then did Daenerys realize how rude she was being. “Gods, you and Missandei haven’t eaten yet, have you?” She didn’t wait for confirmation because she didn’t need it. How horribly inconsiderate of her. Missandei and Arya had to stand off to the side and watch her eat. They’d gone from the hall, to the sitting room and now outside. “What are we doing? Let’s go back and get you two some dinner.”

“It’s fine,” Arya assured her, though that did little for Daenerys’s guilt. “I’ll be fine with an apple and I got Missandei one too.” 

“She’ll appreciate it,” Daenerys predicted. “We can go get you a proper meal, I don’t mind.” 

“We can eat later. The kitchen leaves food out for the servants, there will be plenty left when we get back.” 

Unconvinced Daenerys vowed to pay better attention to the needs of her friends. They spent all day making sure she had everything and anything she desired, be it clean clothes or protection, the least Daenerys could do is make sure they were properly fed. 

R-C

Daenerys wasn’t expecting the market to still be open, but it was. It appeared Sunspear never closed. Not far from where they ate their lunch, Arya stopped walking. “Do you think you two would be okay for a few minutes?”

Still feeling bad about Arya and Missandei missing dinner, she overcompensated. “Is everything alright?”

“I need to visit a smith and have my helmet fixed,” Arya told them. 

“What’s wrong with it?” She was far from an expert, but her helmet seemed like any other she’d seen. 

Arya took it off and held it toward the friends for closer inspection. With a finger she directed their attention to the divider that hung between her eyes. “It got bent,” she explained. “I need to get it repaired.” 

“Oh,” Daenerys said in response. She never would have noticed the flaw. “Want us to join you?”

“No need,” Arya assured her. “Stay together, look around, and I’ll be right back.” 

They did as Arya instructed and browsed the various goods for sale. Every book she ever read about Dorne promised that she’d found unique items not available anywhere else in the Realm and she wasn’t disappointed. She purchases a few spices and the ingredients for a tea Ellaria mentioned. 

While they waited for Arya to return Daenerys approached the food vendors. She wasn’t hungry but she guessed they were, even if neither Arya nor Missandei would admit it. She told Missandei to purchase herself something and then went in search of an option Arya might like. She wanted to wait until her guard got back and give her gold to choose her own meal, but she didn’t think Arya would accept it. She’d probably say she wasn’t hungry or that she was fine to wait. Daenerys didn’t want to give her the chance to refuse. 

She followed her nose, taking time to catch the scents coming from the various stalls. She remembered Arya commenting that Missandei made a good selection earlier, so she hunted for someone making sandwiches. 

Shopping done, Daenerys stood with her back against a low, stone wall, watching the city pass. Her purchases were between her feet and Missandei was holding Arya’s dinner as well as her own while they waited. She was tempted to wander but feared getting lost. No, she’d stay within sight of where Arya left them. 

Laughter drew her attention and she watched as a group of young boys kicked a ball while they weaved among the adults. A lone girl chased after them but quickly fell behind. She had long black hair and dark skin that was dotted with dirt. She wore pants instead of a dress and the knee was torn on the left side. Her shoes had a hole in the front, leaving several of her small toes to peek through. 

Having given up on the game the girl took a look around the square. Her eyes landed on Daenerys and the elder smiled warmly. The little girl blushed before she looked away. Taking one last look around for Arya, Daenerys pushed herself off the wall, picked up her things and approached. “Let’s go say hi,” she said to Missandei. 

The girl’s shyness faded quickly when they got close. “Hi,” she said, giving the strangers a big smile. She was missing one of her front teeth, the baby tooth having fallen out and the replacement not coming in yet. 

“Hello,” Daenerys replied, “what’s your name?”

“Emma,” she answered. 

“Hi Emma, I’m Dany, and this is my best friend Missandei.” 

“You new?” Emma guessed correctly. 

“Yes,” she acknowledged, “we just arrived a few days ago.”

“You got coin? If you do, you shouldn’t stay here.” 

Next to her Missandei chuckled at the girl’s blunt assessment. Daenerys bit down on her bottom lip to remain silent. 

“You should go over there,” Emma informed her seriously, pointing with a small, dirty finger. 

Daenerys squatted to put herself on the same level as the girl. “What’s over there?” she wondered. 

“Lots of stuff. I can show ya.”

Charmed by the enthusiasm Daenerys fully intended to take the girl up on the proposed tour. “That sounds…”

“Don’t do it,” Arya said, jogging until she reached them. In a flash, and to Daenerys’s horror, Arya held Emma by the back of her shirt. 

“Arya what are you doing!?” she shouted as she straightened up. “Let her go, she was just giving me directions.”

The dark-haired woman shook her head. “No, she wasn’t, she was distracting you while her friend there stole your gold.”

Hearing this Missandei gasped and reached for the coin purse she carried for Daenerys. 

She punctuated her point with a hard stare that Daenerys followed. Sure enough, a young boy a few years older than Emma was doing his best to look innocent. She hadn’t heard him approach and didn’t feel his presence at her back. 

“I wasn’t going to take nothing,” the boy said in his defense. 

“We was just talking,” Emma added, “honest.”

Arya let go of her shirt and held up a pair of inexpensive coins. “Tell the Lady the truth and I’ll give you these,” she bargained. 

“We was going to steal,” the boy said without hesitation. “She’s right.”

His confession wasn’t enough for Daenerys. She still had her doubts. Had she been fooled so severely? “Emma?”

She looked down, avoiding Daenerys’s eye. “She’s ‘xactly right, we was gonna take your gold.” 

As promised, Arya passed each child a coin for their candor. “Go on now,” she urged, “and be more careful.”

As the they ran away, they were whispering together, peeking back more than once. They were likely relieved to have both coins and their freedom, but Daenerys was only embarrassed. She’d been bested by children, perhaps she should have remained in the Water Gardens. She felt the need to explain herself. “I thought…”

“It’s alright,” Arya promised. “They’re good, and they’ve had lots of practice. He would have been gone long before you noticed.” 

“How did you know?” She wondered how Arya had been able to spot the scheme so easily when Daenerys failed. 

“I’ve seen them work before,” she said, changing her tone on the word ‘work.’ 

“She looked so sweet and innocent,” Daenerys noted. 

“That’s why they’re good.”

“Did you get your helmet fixed?” She studied the steel tab stretching down between grey eyes. As she scrutinized that section of Arya’s face, she noticed just how bruised Arya’s nose and cheek had become. The colors were much more vibrant than even that afternoon, making Daenerys worry that the corresponding pain had increased too. 

“Not yet. I just had to see how much it would cost.” 

Daenerys had no experience worrying about that. The price of a purchase had never been reason enough to delay buying. Arya wasn’t that lucky or spoiled. Her past was likely more akin to Missandei’s than Daenerys’s. “Come on,” she said leading the women back toward the stall where she bought her tea. She was sure the merchant would have the required ingredients necessary to make a drink to decrease Arya’s discomfort and hasten her healing. 

Arya gestured to her bags. “What did you get?”

Remembering what she bought she turned to Missandei. “A few things,” she summarized, “and dinner for you.” 

Missandei handed her the paper wrapped sandwich and Daenerys quickly passed it to Arya or tried to. “You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” Daenerys insisted. “I had to pick for you, since I knew you wouldn’t decide for yourself.”

“That’s…”

She didn’t finish, but Daenerys wasn’t looking for thanks. “It’s me who should be thanking you, you’ve given me a day I’ll never forget. I didn’t even want to come when my father told me of the trip, but now I’m glad I did.” 

It took a moment. but Arya relented and took the offering, with a polite ‘thanks.’ 

Daenerys hadn’t been lying either. At some point, after eating the orange that morning, Ternesio’s ship that afternoon and a stroll through the market under the moon, she’d really begun to enjoy herself. She was glad they still had a couple more days before they needed to leave. What would tomorrow bring? If it was anything like today, she would welcome it. 

R-C

The next morning, they left the Water Gardens right after breakfast. This time Daenerys made sure both her companions got the chance to eat before they departed. Once again, Arya removed her helmet and wore her cloak over her armor, concealing her true nature from passersby. 

After two trips into Sunspear Daenerys expected more of the same. They did return to the city and the market, but only to pass through. The conversation was light and easy as they rode together. Arya was a few steps ahead on her horse but remained close enough to not only guard the Princess and handmaiden but also contribute to the discussion. 

They rode for hours that felt like minutes. When they came upon a town, village or settlement Arya would slow and tell what she knew of the place. The beauty of Dorne was on full display. The sun was shining high above them, the weather was warm and inviting, hotter than most summer days in King’s Landing without being unpleasant. The sand-colored buildings she saw were not only crafted from different materials, but with a unique design when compared to anything she was used to. 

More than once Arya apologized for the time it was taking, but neither of her companions were bothered. In fact, they were both enjoying the freedom a day on horseback could bring. Her life was usually so regimented, so scripted – her every move was decided for her and kept on a strict schedule, but not this. She had no idea where the day would take her, and she loved that. 

It was late morning or perhaps early afternoon when Arya suggested they stop and rest. Daenerys couldn’t help questioning if she heard her right. They were miles from the last town and hadn’t seen another person in well over an hour. “Here?”

Arya dismounted before responding. “Trust me,” she said, holding out a hand in initiation. Daenerys took it and allowed herself to be helped down into the sand. 

As soon as Daenerys was safely down, Arya rushed to Missandei and aided her as well. The woman from Naath was nearly on the ground already, but Arya provided assistance anyway. It made Daenerys curious about where she learned her manners. 

From her saddlebag Arya produced a blanket and three skins of water. She handed out the drinks first, setting hers down before spreading out the blanket. “Sit, relax, enjoy the view.”

The cool water was a treat after hours in the sun. She sighed and sank down onto the blanket. “There is no view like this anywhere else in Westeros, I can promise you that.” The conviction in Arya’s words caused Daenerys to look at her surroundings with new eyes. At first glance she’d only seen what wasn’t there, too focused on the fact they were in the middle of nowhere. Now however she realized that was precisely the point. They were miles from everything and everyone. She squinted to try and extend her field of vision and their circumstance didn’t change, there was nothing. Arya had stopped them on top of a mound, providing a better vantage of the area. The sprawling desert stretched out in front of them, vast and intimidating. It reminded her of being on her father’s ship, sailing for Sunspear. In the center of the water, miles from land in every direction, she felt small. It was like that now, only this time it was sand making her feel insignificant. 

Missandei was next to her, drinking her water slowly, looking at the way the clear sky met the desert on the horizon. “It’s beautiful,” she remarked, “it reminds me of Essos.” 

“Maybe you’ll choose to come back here,” Daenerys supplied quietly, “when you take me up on my offer.” 

It wasn’t necessary to specify which offer she meant, Missandei knew. “Perhaps,” she agreed, “when the time is right.”

She put a hand over Missandei’s on the blanket. “You don’t need to stay for me. You’ve done enough, too much. You deserve…”

“Snacks.” Arya’s arrival with food interrupted what she intended to say, but her message was received anyway. Missandei added her second hand to the pile, trapping Daenerys’s. In her dark, deep eyes the Targaryen saw gratitude. She was glad that Missandei knew she could have a life, glad she knew that Daenerys wanted her to taste true freedom. She’d miss her, but she couldn’t be selfish. Missandei had suffered enough. 

As Daenerys bit into a piece of fresh fruit, Missandei asked, “When did you gather this?” She lifted the water to her lips and took a sip before setting it back on the blanket. “The water too.”

“You wished to see Dorne. You can’t return to King’s Landing without seeing the desert.” While she justified her choices, she busied herself with the horses. There was nothing to tie them to, so they wandered, but Arya took the time to remove their saddles, and unburden them. “You can’t spend hours in the sun without water, and I couldn’t bring a full meal, but it was easy enough to pack some fruits and cheeses.” 

It didn’t escape her that Arya hadn’t exactly answered the question. “When did you do it?”

“You and Missandei were feeding the horses, whispering about where you thought we’d go today. I snuck back inside to get us a few things.” 

Daenerys was appreciative of the kindness and knew from Missandei’s face she was too. “We’re grateful Arya, thank you.”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t very well return the Princess and her handmaiden dehydrated and malnourished,” she retorted. “I’d lose my lofty position as guard.”

It was a joke but one she couldn’t laugh at, because she knew it was true too. If Arya brought her back in less than perfect condition, there would be consequences and they’d likely extend far beyond Arya losing her job. 

“You aren’t my guard anymore, remember!” Daenerys pointed out when Arya continued to find reasons not to join them. “You’ve done more than enough, please come sit.” 

“Usually it’s me she says that to,” Missandei added with a smile. 

A breeze blew across the sand just after Arya arrived. She heard Daenerys’s sigh and misinterpreted its meaning. “I probably should have told you where we were going or asked if you wanted to come. There isn’t much out here, and it was a long ride…”

She found Arya’s rambling quite endearing. “Are you kidding? I would have hated to miss this, and the ride was great. Normally I don’t get to travel very far.”

“Before my training, I’d come out here when I had the chance,” Arya recalled, finally taking her first drink. 

“I can see why.”

“Mmhmm,” Missandei agreed as she swallowed a cube of cheese. “It’s so peaceful.”

“No one would find me out here,” she noted. 

Arya snatched a pear and raised it to her mouth. “If they tried, it would take them hours or days. Even if they knew where to look it could still take forever.”

The Targaryen was cheered by the idea. It made her feel younger, knowing there was a place in the world where she could disappear. She didn’t have any difficulty believing Arya either. Her father, Viserys, Jorah, Tywin, all the judgemental Ladies who critiqued her every move, none of them would find her here. 

R-C

It happened as they were packing up their things. Content as she would have been to remain in the desert, Arya said they needed to begin the journey back. She was pleased it would take several hours to reach the oppressive Water Gardens and all the people there. 

They were all busy. Missandei was wrapping up the leftover food for transport, Daenerys was folding the blanket and Arya was further away, replacing the saddles on their horses. 

Missandei’s yell caused Daenerys to drop the blanket and take a step toward her friend. She froze in her tracks however when she saw the problem, a pair of snakes were popping their heads up from the sand. Their posture was undeniably threatening as they grew in length and hissed, revealing their fangs. What was one to do when confronted by a snake? She didn’t know. Was it poisonous? Even if it wasn’t, she doubted a bite would be pleasant. 

Missandei’s panic grew the longer the standoff went on and knowing her history, Daenerys could understand why. She steeled herself for what she was planning. She had to help. She couldn’t allow Missandei to be tortured by her fears this way. She’d move in front, try and get the snakes focused on her and hopefully buy Missandei the opportunity to flee. Maybe, if she was quick, she could save Missandei and extract herself without getting bitten. While a reasonable goal, she acknowledged how unlikely it was. She amended her hope to something more realistic, with luck maybe she could save Missandei and get bitten only once… or twice. 

R-C

Arya’s relaxed mood died the instant Missandei’s scream reached her ears. She took off running, without knowing what the danger was, drawing her sword as she went. She’d been wrong to bring them out here. It was a stupid idea and now she would pay for it. If anything happened to Daenerys and Missandei, she’d be blamed and rightly so. She stood before the Mad King twice and survived, a noteworthy achievement few people could claim. If and when it came, she expected her third time would break the run of good fortune. Would it be today? 

Her training took over as she got close. Instead of rushing straight in and making things worse, she stopped and took stock of the situation. Missandei was clearly terrified. She had her hands up near her face and was shaking, staring down at her feet. The food she’d been gathering was lost, dropped, spilled and tainted by sand. Daenerys was about three feet away. Like Missandei she’d emptied her hands, but that’s where the similarities ended. If Missandei was scared, Daenerys seemed determined. She recognized the expression the Princess wore. She’d seen it once before when she stood up in the Water Gardens to defend a soldier she didn’t know. She was going to try again, placing herself at risk in the process. As her guard and a decent person, Arya couldn’t allow that. She was the one who brought them here, the risks were hers to take. If something happened to her few would care, but the same could not be said of Missandei or Daenerys. 

Crouching down she crept closer, moving as quickly as she dared. Thankfully Daenerys caught sight of her and stopped whatever scheme she had concocted. Arya pressed a finger to her lips to indicate the need for quiet. Daenerys nodded but pointed to the threat. 

The two tan snakes were growing agitated. When the frequency and intensity of the hissing increased, Arya knew she couldn’t wait any longer. Killing the first snake would be easy, they were too busy with Missandei to worry about her approach. The challenge would come in trying to slay the second snake before she was bitten. And she definitely did not want to get bitten, because her opposition was filled with poison. 

Just before she made her attempt, she remembered the existence of the knife hidden in her boot, the same knife she used to murder two of her fellow recruits. With a smile she retrieved it and gripped it in her right hand. Now she could kill both snakes at once, if she timed it right.

She heard Missandei scream a second time as Arya threw herself onto the snakes. They sensed her presence and poised to attack but Arya was quicker. She cut the first snake in half with a clean stroke of her sword. The second was trying to get his fangs around her hand when she drove the knife down through the top of its head. 

While she recovered Daenerys rushed to Missandei and escorted her away, whispering what Arya could only assume were comforting words. She stayed still a moment, checking her limbs one at a time for any signs of fresh injuries. She didn’t think the snakes got her, but there could have been a third she didn’t see. When she was satisfied that she hadn’t been poisoned, she was hit with a wave of relief. No matter how noble her motives, getting bitten so far from Sunspear would have been a death sentence. The odds she’d remain able to ride all the way back to the city with venom in her veins were poor. 

She returned her weapons to their respective homes and then hurried to the women. “Are you alright?” Arya asked the both of them. 

“I… I…” Missandei stammered. 

“Shhh,” Daenerys soothed, “you’re okay now. There are no snakes, no Masters, you’re safe.” 

Masters? What was that about? She thought Missandei’s reaction was a general fear of snakes. In most of the Realm they weren’t so prevalent or deadly, meaning few got as familiar with them as the Dornish. Now, Arya had to consider if Missandei’s anxiety was rooted elsewhere. Either way, she knew it was not the right time to inquire. “The snakes are dead.” 

“Thank you,” Daenerys said, holding Missandei tightly. 

Arya stepped away to give them some privacy. “I’ll go prepare our things. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

She left the food where it was, knowing it’d be of no use to anyone covered in sand, the snakes could keep it. She did retrieve the blanket and secured it to her horse. Since Missandei still needed time, Arya approached the dead snakes. She was careful, aware there could be more. It was a worthwhile risk, especially since she knew the value of venom. Oberyn was an expert in poisons and he’d given her a rudimentary understanding. It was because of this that she knew the snakes were poisonous and where to slice to remove the relevant glands. She cut carefully, not only to avoid damaging the goods, but also to prevent accidental exposure. 

She was just finishing when Daenerys arrived. “What are you doing?”

“The poison is valuable,” she explained, leaving out how desperately she needed the money. The cost to get her helmet fixed was higher than she could afford, and she’d given two of her last three coins to those thieves last night. “Prince Oberyn studies poisons and is always looking for supplies.” In addition to being a suitable justification, it also had the benefit of being true. She planned to sell one snake’s venom for herself and gift the other one to Oberyn. “Is Missandei okay?”

“She’s not fond of snakes,” Daenerys said simply. “Thank you for what you did.”

“I’m happy to help, especially since it was my fault. I shouldn’t have brought you…”

“Don’t do that!” Daenerys insisted with feeling. “Don’t let something you can’t control taint what was until very recently a perfect day. I don’t regret coming here and I know Missandei doesn’t either.”

“We should probably head back. When we get closer to the city, you can tell me if you’d rather return to the Water Gardens or make our next stop.”

“There’s more!?” Daenerys wondered with poorly concealed excitement. 

“If you two are up for it,” she clarified, “there is always tomorrow, if Missandei would rather rest.” 

“I’ll ask her.”

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I had hoped to get this chapter out sooner, but life didn’t cooperate. The next chapter is one of my favorites. It’s the last in Dorne, so I tried to pack in as much as I could. 
> 
> Until then,
> 
> RC


	6. Chapter 6

The long ride back to civilization did Missandei well. With every mile she returned to herself a little more. Daenerys had always admired her friend’s resilience, appreciating the strength necessary to persevere through everything that had happened to her. It was evident again, as she worked to put the event with the snakes behind her. 

She offered and even recommended they return to the Water Gardens but Missandei opposed the idea every time Daenerys brought it up. She didn’t want to be the reason the day ended early. Daenerys reminded her they still had tomorrow, but she remained stubborn. 

Their next stop was in Sunspear. Arya guided them away from the market, away from the Tower of Sun and its twin the Tower of Spear, deeper into the parts of the city known only to locals. 

Daenerys smiled when she realized what the building was. The running children gave away Arya’s plan. It was reminiscent of the orphanage she frequented in Flea Bottom. She climbed off her horse with urgency. After Arya tied up their mounts, she removed her cloak, revealing the Martell armor underneath. 

“I heard you make trips to the one in King’s Landing and thought that perhaps the children of Dorne would enjoy meeting a Dragon.”

That was too sweet. Not only would it be a treat for the children, but also for Daenerys. Her time in Flea Bottom was some of her most cherished. She hadn’t thought to ask about making a trip while in Dorne, but she wished it occurred to her sooner. She didn’t know who told Arya of her habit, but it was kind of her to make this happen. 

On their way through the doorway Arya stepped close enough to whisper to her. “Sorry,” she said, “you’ll need to be a Princess for a few minutes.”

“Don’t apologize for this, I’ll be whatever I need to, for as long as I can stay.” It wasn’t an exaggeration either. She loved the innocence of children. They asked questions about her castle, about her dresses and if her ancestors really had dragons. They asked for nothing more than her time and she’d gladly provide it. Her interactions with the orphans were a sharp contrast to most others in her life. The vast majority of those she met in the Red Keep would never be described as innocent. 

The woman running the orphanage was surprised to see the Princess, but she was welcoming and gracious, nonetheless. Arya stayed back, letting Missandei and Daenerys meet and talk to the kids. She was quickly overwhelmed by the large number of small hands reaching for hers, and the varying voices demanding her attention but even as she went to play, she knew the only reason any of this was possible was because of Arya Sand. 

R-C

Her decision to bring Daenerys to the orphanage wasn’t a selfless one, at least not entirely. Unable to trust Mormont’s opinion, she wanted to see Daenerys and the children together with her own eyes. She predicted it would tell her a great deal about who the Princess really was, especially since this hadn’t been an appointment she planned for. Would she be terse and short, eager to leave or would she jump in and embrace the experience fully? She couldn’t deny that she’d seen sides of Daenerys that were unexpected. It was hard to reconcile her thoughts on the Targaryens with her memories of Daenerys in recent days. Which Daenerys was the real one? Was she a Targaryen like any other or an outlier in her family, the one good apple when the rest were rotten to the core? Was it possible for a Dragon to be good? She’d yet to catch Daenerys in a lie, and the Princess appeared sincere in most things. She had a distaste for politics that rivaled Arya’s, but she played her part well when required. She’d bought Arya dinner the night before, not because she had to, not because Arya asked, but because she could. It had been delicious, she’d admit, even if it felt wrong taking a gift from her. In the desert, she’d comforted Missandei without complaint, remaining with her until the tears had stopped and the fear faded. Just like with Arya, she hadn’t had to do that. She could have left Missandei to recover on her own, but she didn’t. 

Now she was sitting under a tree in the yard with no care for the damage to her dress. She was reading a story to the assembled collection of children and Arya couldn’t tell who was enjoying it more, Daenerys or her audience. Not far away Missandei had an infant in her arms, rocking the babe back and forth, while she kept a trio of dark-haired girls hanging on her every word. 

Everything she saw and heard was leading to the same conclusion -- Daenerys really was grateful that Arya brought her here. She and Missandei both appeared comfortable and happy. 

“Can I get you anything?” a woman asked as she continued to observe. 

Arya turned toward the speaker and smiled. “No thank you, I’m fine.” 

The elderly woman was introduced to her when they arrived, though she couldn’t recall her name. She ran the orphanage for Prince Doran and the Martells who Arya knew funded the place nearly singlehanded. 

“She’s made so many very happy today,” she noted, as she looked toward where the Princess held court. 

“She wanted to be here,” Arya said. She may not have known that Arya planned this visit in advance, but once she learned of it, she didn’t hesitate to move ahead. She could have stayed a reasonable amount of time and then made up an excuse, but she remained. Arya had a feeling she’d need to pry Daenerys away when the time came. 

R-C

“I like your hair,” a young girl said to the Princess. After several hours tending to a large group, most had gone to get washed up for dinner, giving Daenerys the chance to speak privately with the few that lingered. 

“You do?” she asked, squatting down to look at the girl. She had on a purple dress, and though it had some dirt on it, it was far from the messiest she’d seen. “I like your hair too,” she said, pointing to the black locks that went just past her small shoulders. 

“Yours’s bett’r.” she mumbled. 

“You like the braids?” she guessed. 

The girl nodded emphatically. “Uh-huh.”

“My friend Missandei did my hair for me this morning. She’s over there,” Daenerys said turning a bit to point her out. “Want to go see if she’ll braid your hair too?”

At the proposal dark eyes widened and she couldn’t stay still. She was bouncing at the thought of it. Daenerys silently wished everyone she dealt with could be so easily be impressed. She held out a hand for the girl to take. “What’s your name?”

“Corrinne,” she said, clinging to the royal. 

“Hi Corrinne, I’m Daenerys and it’s nice to meet you.”

Missandei was only too happy to help. She passed the baby to Daenerys and pulled Corrinne into her lap so she could braid her hair. Once the girls nearby learned what she was capable of, Missandei became even more popular. Before long they had secured a promise from the handmaiden that she’d braid all of their hairs, Corrinne first, then the other three. One look at the smile on Missandei’s face made it clear she didn’t view the extra work as a hardship. 

As she cooed to the baby in her arms Daenerys doubted anything happening in the Water Gardens could compare to this. It was exactly what she needed, and she’d find a way to thank Arya for allowing it. 

R-C

Arya hated to force Daenerys away, but they were already late. If they didn’t leave now, and hurry, they wouldn’t be back at the Water Gardens when everybody assembled for dinner. 

Missandei and Arya went ahead, leaving Daenerys to say goodbye to the elderly woman. Arya was standing next to her horse when Missandei called out to her. She turned and saw the handmaiden staring at her intently. Before she could inquire about the reason, Missandei said, “Thank you for saving me, I meant to say so sooner, but…”

“I’m glad I could help. I hope it didn’t ruin your opinion of Dorne,” she teased, only half in jest. 

“It didn’t,” she verified, “and thank you for bringing Daenerys here, it means a lot to her.” 

Daenerys joined them to say as much. “Thank you, Arya, that was incredible.” 

“Did you enjoy yourself Princess?” Missandei asked as they all got settled on their horses. 

“It was great,” she confirmed. Her wide smile faltered a bit. “Spending time with those children though makes me miss my niece and nephew even more.” 

“You still aren’t permitted to see them?” 

“I tried to ask my father about it, but he didn’t hear me. When I asked Tywin, he said it wasn’t worth endangering the negotiations to bring it up to the Martells.” 

Arya listened without comment. Daenerys wished to see Rhaegar’s children? She could certainly understand that. She’d gone so long without seeing her family that she couldn’t even say if they were alive anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” Missandei said sympathetically. “Maybe tomorrow, when the negotiations are finished, they’ll consider it.”

“Maybe.” Though she agreed, Daenerys’s tone made it clear she wasn’t holding out much hope. 

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, if Daenerys wanted to meet Elia’s son and daughter. Maybe she could ask Oberyn about it, when she delivered him the venom from the snakes she killed. 

R-C

Spirits were high as they crossed the yard on their way to dinner. She was relieved to see people talking quietly, confirming they weren’t late. When Tywin spotted her and immediately turned, she knew he wasn’t bringing good news. She hid her smile behind a more neutral mask and waited for the onslaught. He’d find fault with something she’d done, many somethings she suspected, and he wouldn’t hesitate to point out every one of her shortcomings. It occurred so frequently it wasn’t even surprising anymore. What was more unexpected was when she went a week without receiving one of his lectures. 

“What’s wrong?” Arya asked her, likely reading the change in her mood. She noticed the Lannister and took a fraction of a step forward, angling her body slightly toward the Hand. “Where have you been?” he hissed. The lack of volume did nothing to take the accusation from his question. 

“A…Arya took us on a tour of Sunsspear,” she informed him. She hated that she stuttered in front of someone so intimidating. He was nearly as bad as Viserys at seizing upon a weakness. 

At mention of Arya he turned his attention to her. She didn’t know what he was looking for until he asked, “Are you healing well?” He gestured to her face to make clear what he was asking. 

“It’s nothing,” she said dismissive of her injuries. 

“I spoke to the Maester, he says your friend will make a full recovery. I’m pleased by that. You were both quite skilled.” 

Arya ducked her head slightly. “That is very kind m’lord,” she said formally. 

With their exchange over he returned to Daenerys and picked up where he left off. “You can’t just disappear. What if you were needed here?”

She wanted to scoff. She wouldn’t be needed. She wasn’t important enough to be summoned. “I… uh… went to the orphanage,” she told him, leaving out the part about seeing the desert and nearly getting bitten by a snake. Revealing that wouldn’t help her any. 

“I heard the Princess likes visiting the less fortunate and I thought it would be good for the people of Dorne to see how generous she is,” Arya said, sounding confident and proud. With a stab of jealousy, she hated that Arya seemed more like a Princess than she did. She quickly pushed that thought away. It wasn’t Arya’s fault she wilted in a confrontation. 

“Yes, well that was kind of you,” he said falsely, “and I understand you’re new to the Princess’s service, but she has obligations to the Realm. She needs to remain close at hand, in case she is required.”

This was normally the point where Daenerys would offer a quick, quiet apology and promise to do better in the future. Arya did no such thing. “Was she needed today?” Arya asked him, putting him on the spot. He’d either need to let the matter drop as unimportant since she hadn’t really missed anything, or he could lie and risk Arya challenging him. 

He ignored her question outright. “Please ensure you’re here tomorrow afternoon to meet with the Martell girl who will be your sister.”

Arya wasn’t done. “I’ll have her back by midday then,” she said with a nod. 

Afraid of what would happen if Arya instigated a fight with her father’s Hand, she hurried to try and smooth the waters. “I’ll be there, I promise.” 

“Very well then,” he finished, looking at Arya more often that Daenerys, “you should go get ready, dinner will be served soon.”

“We will,” Daenerys said quickly. “Thank you.” He walked away then, leaving all three women unsure of quite what to say. 

R-C

It was hours later, and she was still upset as she made her way to Oberyn’s chambers. Who did Tywin Lannister think he was? Sure, he was rich and powerful but that didn’t give him the right to talk down to Daenerys like that. If Aerys was any kind of man, father or King he would intervene and put an end to that, but he either didn’t know or didn’t care. Arya wasn’t certain which of those options was preferable to her. 

She hadn’t planned to involve herself in the conversation, but then Tywin spoke to her directly, so she was obligated to respond. It was strange to hear Daenerys struggle to get words out. She never had that problem when it was just Missandei and Arya nearby. It didn’t happen when they were wandering the city or visiting the orphans. She hadn’t even done anything wrong. Yes, they went outside the Water Gardens but that wasn’t a crime. Daenerys knew her father, brother and everyone else would be busy, so she took the opportunity to see a bit of Dorne. He hadn’t even needed Daenerys for anything, he just wanted her on a leash. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so offensive. 

She wasn’t sure what she’d find when she reached Oberyn’s door. More than once she called on him late in the evening like this and found him already engaged, with Ellaria or others, and on one memorable occasion, both. 

She knocked and waited. In her hand she had the snake’s venom. It was wrapped in a cloth to protect it and the person holding it. He opened the door fully dressed and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Arya Sand,” he said loudly, exaggerating her bastard name. “Come in, come in.”

She knew from his greeting they weren’t alone. She walked in carefully and tried to read his face for any hint of who she’d meet. 

Tywin Lannister sat at the table, with a glass in front of him. “I can come back,” she proposed. 

“That’s alright,” Tywin said, standing. “I should be going. Thank you for the drink Prince, I hope you’ll consider what I said.”

He sized Arya up as he passed, not unlike how he’d done in the yard. Oberyn walked him to the door and closed it once he was through. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said when they were alone. 

“We were done anyway. He came to inform me that Elia’s children would not be considered when deciding who leads after Rhaegar.”

Arya could certainly understand why Oberyn wasn’t happy about that, but it was hardly a surprise. “Did you think they would be?”

“Of course not, the Prince has a son he favors.”

This reminded Arya of Mormont mentioning Daenerys’s nephew. She had questions about him but didn’t think this was the appropriate time to seek clarification. “Daenerys’s terrified of him. She could barely speak to him earlier.”

“They call us Snakes,” Oberyn said going to his wine and taking a long drink, “but we spend less time slithering than any Lion or Dragon.” He set his empty cup down and immediately got started refilling it. He also made one for her. “Be wary around him, and never trust him. He’ll stab you in the back the first chance he gets, if you don’t turn, he’ll stab you in the front and claim you deserved it.”

“He just came here to tell you something you already knew?” That didn’t make sense. 

“No,” Oberyn corrected, “he came to me because Doran already refused him. He thinks he’ll have better luck.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants Elia to state publicly that Rhaenys and Aegon are denouncing their claims on the Iron Throne. He wants them to lie, so Prince Rhaegar and his bastard can save face.” He separated his points with a drink. “He says it’ll bring instability to Westeros if people think my niece and nephew want to rule.” His tone made it clear what he thought of the argument. 

“So, refuse him as Doran did, or tell him it’s not your decision. It’s done.”

He showed his anger then, on his face and in his eyes. His words matched. “It’s not over! My sister was his wife and he sent her away, he sent his children away. No Targaryen has even asked to see them!”

On that subject, she had more information than him. “Daenerys wishes to meet them actually, she told me so today. She asked her father and Tywin to arrange it, but they wouldn’t. She fears Elia won’t permit it.”

“My sister is not spiteful. She would not blame Daenerys for things she had no hand in. She’s stayed away because she knew she was not welcome. She wanted to keep her children from that. If any Lannister or Targaryen asked to see her, she’d agree.” 

“Could you arrange it?” she inquired. “The Princess would appreciate it.” 

He nodded to confirm he would and then asked, “Is that why you came?”

She smiled. “I came for the drink,” she said, raising it to her lips, “and to give you these,” she finished after swallowing. She laid the venom on the table and waited for Oberyn to peel back the cloth. “I took the Princess to the desert today we ran into some friends.”

“What kind?”

She told him of the snakes, their coloring, their aggressive nature and the what she could remember of their eyes. 

He assessed the amount of venom and correctly estimated the number. “Two?”

“Yeah, turns out my first act as Daenerys’s guard is to protect her from Dorne’s wildlife,” she joked. 

“Can I take a sample?” he asked. She knew him well enough to know he was already planning all manner of devious uses for the poison. 

“I brought you one, the other I was hoping you could help me sell. I need some coin to travel and I would like to get my helmet fixed before then. Ninety-Four dented it during our fight.” 

Oberyn reached out and traced the bent steel with his finger. “I hear he’s already training,” Oberyn said of the big man. “He’ll be assigned his post on schedule.” 

“Do you know anyone who would buy the venom?”

“Of course,” he responded with a smirk. “Me.”

“No,” she disagreed. “I don’t want to sell it to you, I’ll give you half and sell the other.” 

“I’ll gladly pay,” he told her. 

This was not a negotiation. She wouldn’t take Oberyn’s money, she owed him too much already. “No, just find me someone who might want it.”

“Leave them,” Oberyn instructed. “I’ll find you after the sale and pay you.”

“That’s fine,” she said, “and thank you.”

“Thank you. My enemies will not be expecting this.” Oberyn was famous for coating his weapons with deadly toxins. Some prepared for it, when they knew they would be facing the Prince, forcing Oberyn to find rarer and rarer poisons to counter their preparations. 

“I’ll let you return to your business,” Arya said as she stood, “I’m sure you have many things to do.”

With a grin he answered, “Only one and she isn’t here yet.” She chuckled at her friend’s sense of humor. With comments like that, one might be forgiven for thinking Oberyn didn’t care for Ellaria, but Arya had seen them together and she knew the truth. Oberyn would do anything, give up anything, risk anything for Ellaria and she’d do the same for him. They were the only couple Arya knew who reminded her of her parents. “Leave your helmet,” he said before she could get to the door, “I’ll have the smith take care of it. We can’t send you to King’s Landing with a faulty helmet, what would those pricks think?” 

R-C

The first thing she saw the next morning, was her repaired helmet next to her on the other half of the pillow. She didn’t know how Oberyn found her, she picked her place to rest because it was in an unused section of the servant’s quarters. She could only imagine Oberyn’s smug smirk as he snuck in to make his delivery without waking her. She’d hear about it for sure. Wiping the sleep from her eyes she sat up and massaged a kink in her shoulder. She carefully studied the cut to her chest left by Ninety-Four, it was healing well, and most importantly, showing no signs of infection. In addition to the helmet, Oberyn had left other gifts, chiefly a purse of coins that he used to hold down a letter. He must’ve found a buyer for the snake venom. As she lifted the gold to get at the page beneath, she realized just how heavy it was. It was too much, even without looking inside she knew that. She’d need to speak to the Prince, once she was sufficiently ridiculed for letting him sneak up on her. 

Arya,

Elia will meet the Princess after breakfast. She and the children will be upstairs in the sitting room, where you’ve found me so many times before. Make sure you aren’t followed. 

O

You must be tired to not stir as I lie next to you in bed composing this note. I think it possible to pleasure Ellaria here and not have you wake until she screams out my name for the third time.

Arya shook her head. Oberyn was nothing if not creative. He painted an all too vivid image with the words added below the signature. Her embarrassment wasn’t enough to overshadow the success she was feeling. Her helmet was fixed and knowing Oberyn it was by the best smith in Dorne. He wouldn’t take her gear to just any forge. She had gold for her trip and would be able to tell Daenerys that she could meet her niece and nephew. 

She got up and hurried toward the bath. After only two days, she knew Daenerys well enough to know she’d want to hear this news right away. 

R-C

Arya was being intentionally vague as she steered Daenerys and Missandei up the staircase after breakfast. Daenerys thought they’d be leaving again, but the opposite appeared true. Her guard was a woman of few words, Daenerys usually had to prompt her to hear what was on her mind. This was something else. Now she was avoiding Daenerys’s direct questions, something she hadn’t seen Arya do in their short time together. She was typically very direct, sometimes too direct. 

She silenced all Daenerys’s inquires with the words, ‘trust me.’ So far trusting in Arya had worked out well. Daenerys would do so again. 

Her resolve lasted only until she saw a giant of a man guarding a door. “Who is that!?” she wondered aloud. He wasn’t doing anything especially threatening, yet he still managed to appear menacing. 

“Areo Hotah,” Arya informed her. “He’s Captain of the Guard and Prince Doran’s bodyguard.” 

“We’re meeting with Prince Doran then?” she guessed. She didn’t know why that needed to be a secret, she’d just seen the man at breakfast. 

“No, our meeting is not with the Prince.” 

Before she could give Arya the opportunity to evade her question again, they reached Areo and he stepped aside without delay, nodding in respect to the soldier. 

Arya opened the door and waited for Daenerys and Missandei to go first. People were already waiting. Was this who they’d come to see? In addition to Oberyn and Ellaria, there were three young girls, who looked remarkably similar. Beside Oberyn was a woman who was close to his age, she had dark hair and wore an orange dress. She looked almost nervous, until Oberyn put a hand on her leg and calmed her. The final two guests were an attractive young man with light hair and dark eyes and a striking beauty who was most certainly Dornish, she had the dark hair, tanned skin and dark eyes she’d grown accustomed to seeing during her time in Sunspear. 

Arya entered last, closed the door behind her and then went to the middle of the room to make introductions. “Princess, allow me to introduce Princess Elia Martell and her children, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon.”

She heard a gasp that probably came from her. She smiled at her family and then turned to look at Arya. She had done this for her? This was an even better surprise than the orphanage. She’d all but given up on the idea that she’d get to meet them. 

Realizing how strange she was behaving, she pivoted to them quickly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” 

Elia rose from the couch and approached. “That you asked to see us is a testament to your character, Princess.”

Once things had calmed a bit, Arya finished what she’d started. “These girls,” she said gesturing to the ones near Ellaria, “are some of Oberyn’s daughters, I’ll let them introduce themselves, they aren’t big on formality.” 

She couldn’t help it, she looked at the Prince and raised an eyebrow. “Only some?” Three seemed like more than enough children for a man of his age. 

“Actually, there are eight, all told,” Ellaria clarified with a laugh. 

Daenerys’s shock was humorous and eased some of the tension in the room. She wanted to find the seat nearest her niece and nephew and begin to learn about them, but she needed to do something first. She saw Arya trying to fade into the background and she grabbed her for a hug. “Thank you!” she said fiercely as a startled Arya slowly and awkwardly hugged back. “I’ll never be able to repay you for this.” 

“Go on,” a blushing Arya instructed as she pulled away, “we can stay as long as we want.” 

With a bright smile she hurried off to meet her family. Yesterday was good, but today was already better. 

R-C

She waited until Daenerys was busy with her family and then slipped over to see Oberyn. He was regaling his daughters with a story from his youth in Essos. She smiled along. It was a grand tale, one she would have thought more than a little embellished, except she heard it told exactly the same way by a man named Mero. 

The story stopped when they noticed her. All three girls began talking over one another, each trying to get Arya’s attention. Best she could tell Obara wanted a repeat of their last sparring match. It was more than a year earlier and still she held a grudge, upset that Arya defeated her while she was wielding her favorite spear. Nym had questions about her training and Tyene wanted to talk about the snakes she killed the day before and the venom she took from them. 

“Let the girl breathe,” Ellaria cautioned. 

“Yell louder,” Oberyn said in contrast. “Believe me, she got plenty of rest last night. She can take it.” 

She rolled her eyes at her friend. It had begun. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” 

“Most certainly not. It was glorious. You were snoring there, naked as the day you were born. I even dropped your helmet once and you only grunted.”

“Horseshit,” she objected. She would have woken up if Oberyn made that much noise. 

Father, daughters, and lover all laughed at her misfortune. She didn’t mind. Ellaria was always kind to her, and Oberyn’s girls had enough of their father in them for Arya to appreciate each one for a unique list of reasons. “Don’t tell me your training made you lazy,” Nym said in mock horror. 

“Be careful child,” Ellaria warned, “she finished first in a group that started with more than three-hundred.”

This got Obara’s attention. “Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Then you must grant me another fight,” she said, already on her feet and prepared to go retrieve her spear. “It’s been a long time and you should want to test yourself against me!”

“I can’t,” she explained, “I’m acting as Princess Daenerys’s guard. I can’t leave her.”

Obara wasn’t interested in her excuse. “She’s in no danger here. Areo has the door. The Gods themselves couldn’t get past him.” 

“Keep practicing,” Arya suggested. “When I return, I’ll spar with you until you’re too tired to try and kill me again.” Tyene laughed at Arya’s joke, earning a glare from her sister. 

Curses were fired back and forth as each girl promised death to the other. Oberyn said nothing, watching with a proud smile. 

Obara wasn’t ready to give up on the idea. She bypassed Arya all together and went straight to the really authority. “Princess Daenerys?” she called, interrupting whatever Aegon was saying to his aunt. 

“Yes?” she asked, a tad warily. 

“Can I take your guard outside and kick her ass?”

It was difficult not to like Obara’s confidence. Unsure of the right answer, she looked to Arya for guidance. She shrugged. She wasn’t opposed to sparring, in fact it’d be fun, but she was working. Daenerys’s ruling provided another source of amusement for the Sand Snakes. “Don’t do any permanent damage!”

With all of them working together, Arya knew she had little choice. “Go get your spear,” she said to the eldest. “I’ll meet you in the yard in a few minutes.”

It wasn’t just Obara who moved, Tyene and Nymeria were up too. “Where are you two going?” Ellaria asked so Arya wouldn’t have to. 

“I want a turn,” Tyene said. 

“Me too,” Nym added right after. 

She shook her head. “I’m not letting you within ten feet of me when you’re holding that whip of yours.”

Nymeria pouted, an expression taught by her father no doubt. “It’s only eight feet long,” she countered, as if that made it less dangerous. 

“I know,” the guard assured her. “I need one foot of space to avoid getting hit, and the second foot is because I know how much trouble you have counting and well, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Mother, father and child all laughed. True to her nature Nymeria held a measure of control. “I’ll remember you said that when you’re bleeding at my feet.”

Arya was unrepentant. “It’s good to have a dream.” She’d had her fun, knowing Nym could take it. “Go get your whip, I’ll let you kick my ass too, just remember what Daenerys said, no permanent damage.”

“Me too?” Tyene inquired, sensing victory. 

She addressed the father instead of the daughter. “You didn’t give her any of that venom, did you? If she gets a lucky slash with that dagger, I don’t want to start frothing at the mouth.”

He laughed at the idea of her being poisoned. “You should be safe.”

“You too then,” Arya told Ellaria’s eldest. When all three were gone Arya went to Oberyn. “You gave me far too much.”

“I negotiated a higher price on your behalf. You don’t realize the value of what you had, but I do. You were paid fair market value.”

“And then some,” Arya amended. Since she suspected the venom never left his chambers, she flashed him a smile. “Thank you.” 

“Are we going too love?” Ellaria asked him. 

“I’d never miss a chance to see my daughters best a brave soldier of Dorne!”

Arya had to chew on her lip to keep from grinning. “Thank you for the confidence.” 

“You’ll be fine… I think.”

Ellaria giggled at her lover’s antics. “I’ll be out in a minute,” she told them as she went to make sure Daenerys was okay with her going. Obara had twisted her arm to get her to agree but if Daenerys didn’t feel safe without her there, the girls would just need to accept it. 

“I need to fight all three of them now, thanks for that,” she said as she approached where Daenerys, Missandei, Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon were. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me telling them you’re too frightened to face them,” Daenerys quipped back good naturedly. The woman talking now was a far cry from the one who could barely string two words together to answer Tywin. Arya liked this Daenerys better. 

“Are you alright with me going?” she asked seriously. “I can wait until Jorah is watching you, I don’t mind.”

“We’re safe here, go have your fun.”

“Thank you,” she said to Daenerys. As she moved away her eyes landed on Elia. “Princess, enjoy your visit.” 

“Can I join you outside?” Aegon asked. “I’ve been trying to learn the sword, though I still have a long way to go.”

Arya remembered feeling similar once, before Oberyn began training with her. “There is always more to learn. If you keep trying, you’ll get better.” Remembering the question, she answered it. “Of course, you can come along Prince. Once I’ve been sufficiently humbled by the girls, if I can stand, I’ll give you some tips.” 

Aegon jumped up and went in search of his weapon. When he was gone Elia said, “That was kind of you, he regrets waiting so long to learn, feels he’s already behind.” 

“It’d be an honor to train him, Princess.”

“Perhaps we should go see the show too,” Rhaenys considered. Arya smiled at the young Princess. Since Arya was a servant in the Water Gardens Rhaenys had taken a liking to her. In recent years she started flirting when their paths crossed. She was as straightforward as Arya would expect any member of Oberyn’s family to be. Though she made her feelings known quite explicitly on more than one occasion Arya hadn’t taken her up on any of her offers, despite her obvious beauty. She feared damaging her relationship with Oberyn and was also bothered by the discrepancies in their stations. Arya was a foster – a soldier at best, a slave at worst – and Rhaenys was a Princess. If King’s Landing wasn’t prejudiced against women Rhaenys would be in line for the throne, after her father. She wasn’t meant for the daughter of a traitor like Arya. 

R-C

“How do you know Arya?” Daenerys asked the Princesses as they prepared to go outside. 

Rhaenys was first. “She’s been around since she was se…”

“She’s been a friend of the family for years,” Elia finished. “She’s close to my brother Oberyn. He’s very proud of her.” 

She thought to her talk with Oberyn under the tree, how he’d asked her to keep Arya safe. “With good reason,” she remarked, complimenting her guard’s talents. “I understand they travelled to Essos together.” 

Elia laughed – a pleasant sound that made her look younger. As she listened it was easy to see the Elia Martell her brother loved and married. Realizing this only created more questions that begged to be asked about the whole situation. Perhaps when she returned to King’s Landing, she’d demand her brother answer some of them and try to learn the truth behind the end of the marriage and her exile. 

“Oh yes, we’ve been hearing about their adventures since they returned,” Elia recalled with an indulgent smile for the Targaryen. “Each time we hear one it’s more outlandish and death-defying.” She shook her head. “I believe it’s a game between them now, to see who can craft the most unbelievable story for them to play the hero in.”

Rhaenys backed up her mother’s claim. “First, they went to see a fight in the Pits, then Uncle Oberyn told us they fought in the Pits. Last time, the number of men and beasts they defeated was up to a dozen.”

Daenerys was developing a new appreciation for this side of Arya’s character. Around Oberyn and his family she was seeing a more relaxed, carefree woman. She teased and made jokes, laughing along when she was the brunt of them. Daenerys even thought she detected a hint of flirting going on between Arya and Rhaenys. It made Daenerys wonder if Arya would be leaving a lover when she joined her in King’s Landing. She hadn’t mentioned anyone, but that wasn’t proof. They’d known one another only a couple of days, maybe she just didn’t want to discuss it. 

The sun was warm, and the sky was dotted with big fluffy clouds. The combatants were already prepared. Oberyn stood nearby with his arm around Ellaria. Nymeria and Tyene were bickering over who would fight next, after Obara was done. Aegon was standing separate from the rest, sword in hand, taking swings at a man shaped target. 

Arya stood on one side of an open space while Obara occupied the other. They were opposites. Obara was moving, twirling her spear so fast it blurred. At seemingly random intervals she stopped spinning the weapon and would thrust it out in Arya’s direction. With more than twenty feet between them, she wasn’t in danger of being hit, in fact Arya didn’t even twitch. She just stood there with her hands behind her back waiting. 

“Are we going to do this?” she asked Oberyn’s daughter. 

“You’re unarmed,” she noticed. Daenerys gasped and beside her Missandei did too. Now that she mentioned it, they could see Arya had removed the belt that held her sword. 

Arya smirked. “Do you still wear that dagger strapped to your leg?”

Stabbing her spear into the sand she pulled the blade in question free. “Would you like to borrow it?”

Arya’s expression grew more devious. “Keep it, I’ll take it from you when I get over there.”

Obara scoffed and tried to feign disinterest but Daenerys could see anger was bubbling up below the surface. “You’re going to come over here, not get stabbed and take my knife off my leg, then beat me with it?” she clarified. 

“I’m ready when you are,” Arya said, poking her again. 

“Fine,” she said picking up the spear and approaching the guard. 

“I hope she knows what she’s doing,” Missandei commented in a whisper. 

She didn’t take her eyes off the match, but she responded. “Me too.” Daenerys was anxious to see what would happen. The last time, the only time she saw Arya fight she didn’t know who she was. She didn’t even realize it was a woman until after she’d won. She wasn’t religious but she considered saying a prayer to try and ensure Arya’s safety. This was only happening because she allowed Arya to participate, was that a mistake?

Arya didn’t move until Obara’s spear was thrusting toward the center of her chest. She twisted gracefully and then jogged away to put distance between them. Once she had it, she stopped and returned her hands to their place behind her back. 

Three times they went around and around. Obara would attempt, Arya would dodge it and then she’d go just far enough away that they could do it again. Not much was changing, except Obara getting annoyed with Arya’s unwillingness to fight. Her fourth try was angrier, a swipe at Arya’s neck. Arya ducked under it and before running away delivered a punch to Obara’s leather-covered ribs. She swung her spear in a wide, wild arc as she tried to catch Arya before she could escape. Daenerys held her breath until she was certain the guard made it out unscathed. 

The fifth attempt was when things got interesting. Arya sidestepped the spear as she’d done before, but this time she didn’t run, she stayed there, right beside the spear that nearly impaled her, grabbing the shaft with both hands. They struggled over the weapon, grunting with effort as they wrestled for control. Their hands were constantly moving, sliding up and down the spear’s long shaft to try and find a grip that provided them the advantage. As the bout continued Arya moved closer to Obara, gripping the spear closer to where her hands were every time. Rather abruptly Arya was in front of Oberyn’s daughter, close enough to reach out and touch her face. Without warning Arya pushed the spear sideways, away from her. Since she was grasping it so tightly Obara was forced to go with it. As they separated Arya’s quick hands reached out and stole the dagger from her leg, just as she said she would. 

The onlookers responded. Oberyn whistled, Elia clapped, Rhaenys cheered, Nym laughed and Tyene yelled, “What did you say happens after she takes your knife?”

Daenerys couldn’t deny she was impressed. She looked to Missandei and saw a dark eyebrow raise in silent question. Could it really happen just as Arya foretold? All she knew was that Arya had a better chance now than when they began. 

Once Arya had her weapon. They went back to the pattern from before. Obara would attempt, Arya would avoid and then pick a spot in the sand to wait for the next attack. 

As it happened the change occurred right in front of where Daenerys was standing. When Arya sidestepped the spear, Obara immediately began twirling it, hoping to catch Arya with the fast-moving stock. It was hard to see much, even up close. The spear was spinning, Arya was somehow dodging it, and then Arya was gone. She passed through the spear unharmed and came out on the other side. Obara realized it too and changed direction, sending the spear rotating the other way, she pivoted too but it was too late. Arya had the dagger up against Obara’s neck. She threw her spear down in defeat, cursing as she did. 

Arya lowered her weapon and stepped back. “There were three-hundred-and-twelve recruits in my group,” she said loudly. “You fighting like that would have beaten three-hundred-and-eleven of them.” 

“Too bad I was going up against the one that mattered,” she whined, picking up her discarded spear. 

“You’ve gotten better over the last year. If you’d been able to do that last time, you would have won for sure,” Arya said, continuing to praise the other woman, “but the training made me better. Keep practicing with your father and sisters and when I come back, I’ll let you try again.”

“I’ll be ready,” Obara vowed as she carried her weapon off toward her father. He greeted her with a hug, a kiss on the head and words of encouragement. Daenerys idly wondered what it was like to have a father like Oberyn. It looked quite idyllic. 

The remainder of the morning was spent like that. Arya gave each of Oberyn’s daughters a match and she defeated them all. Even in defeat Daenerys could see each woman was uniquely gifted. When Nymeria revealed her whip, Daenerys didn’t know what to think. After she saw the skill with which she used it, she understood even less. That match took the longest, with both fighters waiting patiently for the other to make a mistake. It was Nymeria who made an error first, if you could call leaning a little too far in one direction a mistake. That was all Arya needed to step inside the whip’s long reach and put Obara’s borrowed knife to her throat. “Her mother taught her to use that,” Elia explained as they watched. 

“Ellaria?”

“No, she’s only mother to my brother’s most recent children. Tyene is her oldest, the others have different mothers.” The way she said it, without judgement caught Daenerys off-guard. She remembered Ellaria saying she and Oberyn were not married during their initial meeting. Obviously in Dorne marriage wasn’t required to make a family. Even without knowing anything about her Daenerys was in awe of Nym’s mother. 

When it was Tyene’s turn she pulled out two long daggers and wielded one in each hand. “You going to insult me too?” she asked, clearly referring to the pre-match exchange between Arya and Obara. 

Arya only smiled and tossed her dagger from one hand to the other. “Wouldn’t make a difference if I did,” she said, “you’re going to run straight for me either way.” 

She was right too. Tyene did charge her immediately. That was the hardest for Daenerys to watch. They stood close and used their small blades to fend off one another’s attempts. There were punches, there were kicks and there were vicious swings of daggers that seemed far too serious for a friendly test of abilities. Oberyn tried to end the match when Arya cut the back of Tyene’s left hand and forced her to drop one of her daggers, but she refused to yield and they fought with one blade each until Arya knocked the weapon away and threw her to the ground. She dropped on top of her, landing with her dagger against Tyene’s chin. 

After they were done, Arya praised the girls for their talent. Oberyn and Ellaria were beaming with parental pride. Even in defeat, it was obvious they respected Arya and would heed her advice. When there was no one left to fight Arya summoned Aegon and after watching for a few minutes, gave him personal instructions. She changed his posture slightly, cautioned him against wasting too much energy on the big, heavy swings and then showed how quick, precise cuts could be more effective. They remained in the yard until it was time for lunch. 

As she went back inside Rhaenys hurried to walk beside her. “You’re so lucky to have Arya as your guard. I wish Uncle Doran would have assigned her to guard me.” 

“Enough now,” Elia chastised gently. “You’ll embarrass Arya if you talk like that.” 

“She knows how good she is,” Rhaenys said in opposition to her mother’s point. “She has to.”

Daenerys tried to placate her by agreeing. “I think I’m lucky too,” she whispered. 

R-C

Elia and the children took their leave while the others went to eat. Daenerys could say she genuinely liked his brother’s former wife, and his children. Rhaenys had a quick wit, an observant eye and a keen intelligence. They spent much of their time together comparing the books they read. She didn’t have the interest in swords her brother did, but she did enjoy riding her horse, sewing and music. That last attribute she definitely got from her father. 

Aegon was the quieter of the two. He was thoughtful, sincere and far too smart for Daenerys to keep up. More than once as they spoke, she was forced to admit she didn’t know what he was saying. When it happened though, he’d go back and explain it in a way she could understand. Elia told her that he switched hobbies regularly but only after he mastered his current one. His recent obsession, swordplay had his mother nervous, but he was stubborn and determined to learn. 

Before they parted Elia thanked her for asking to see them. Daenerys thanked her for allowing it. After meeting Elia, she was no closer to understanding why Rhaegar ended their marriage and sent her to Sunspear with the children, but she did think she could say she knew why Elia had avoided their party since they arrived. She was a proud, strong, independent woman, she was a Princess before she married Rhaegar and a Princess after. It likely wounded her pride to be sent away. It wasn’t unreasonable to want distance from people and things that would remind her of that. She did manage to get assurances from all three that they would receive and reply to Daenerys’s letters, so she’d be able to stay in contact once she returned to the Capital. 

For a day that started so well, the afternoon was quite painful. She was forced to attend a stuffy, boring, formal affair to celebrate the wedding. Daenerys was pleased to get the chance to finally meet the woman who would be her sister. Eliza Martell was a relative of Doran’s, but where exactly she fit on the Martell family tree, Daenerys couldn’t say. She was polite, soft-spoken and shy. Daenerys understood, she wouldn’t want to be in the center of attention like this either. She was petite, a little taller than Daenerys, but not much. She looked like the majority of the Dornish, she wore her black hair neatly styled and pushed back away from her face. She had dimples in her cheeks when she smiled, and perfect bronze skin. What set her apart was her big green eyes. 

She enjoyed her time with Eliza, but before long she was taken away to meet with a person of minor import, leaving Daenerys alone, and unable to leave. Mercifully Missandei kept her cup full of delicious wine. People came by occasional to ask a question or comment about one matter or another, but Daenerys only gave a minimum of her attention. She was much more focused on all the things she’d rather be doing. Dorne was a place that seemed teeming with possibilities. She’d already seen and done so many things she never experienced before. She was confident there were untold amounts more she’d yet to try and instead of filling her last day with as many as she could, she was stuck listening to people talk about their clothes, a recent trade deal, or an exceptionally good crop that was due. There was only one thing that made it tolerable – she realized it when she saw Viserys ignoring Eliza’s attempts to get his attention – since there was still so much of Dorne she hadn’t seen, it would demand a repeat visit. Maybe when Arya returned, she could come along and see more of the region without her father, Viserys, and Tywin to interfere. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There you have it, the last chapter in Dorne. It was a challenge writing Elia and her children since we know so little about them. Let me know how you think I did. They won’t be the last characters I bring back from the dead for this story. 
> 
> I enjoyed writing Arya testing Daenerys by taking her to the orphanage unannounced and watching her interact with the children. It seemed like something she would do, setting Daenerys up to see if she’d pass a random test. I didn’t want to make it too easy for her to accept that Daenerys is a good Targaryen.
> 
> The next chapter will begin the long trip back to King’s Landing. 
> 
> RC


	7. Chapter 7

It was unavoidable, trapped on a ship surrounded by Targaryens she was flooded with memories from her past, her first time sailing on a ship and her last. It was strange for them to be so similar and so different. Sailing to Dorne had been one of the worst experiences in her life. Joining Oberyn on his trip to Essos was one of the best. They overlapped and mingled together in her mind. 

On this voyage she was accompanied by the Targaryens and a collection of their loyalists. She hadn’t seen the King since he stepped onboard. She heard that he retired to his cabin. Daenerys, Missandei and the Mormont were spread out across the deck. Missandei was reading, while the knight was talking to Daenerys. On the opposite end, literally as far away as they could get Tywin and his Kingsguard son spoke privately. The crew ignored their passengers for the most part and tended to the needs of the vessel. An assortment of guards strolled about, either watching for dangers or stretching their legs, it was hard to tell. 

Only when she was confident she had her memories contained did she approached Daenerys. She intended to stay back and guard her from a distance, but the Princess had other ideas. She hopped up when she saw Arya coming and hurried over, effectively ending whatever Jorah was trying to say to her. “Arya, there you are!” she gushed. 

Missandei looked up from her book and gave the soldier a tight, but real smile. Arya replied with a nod before the handmaiden turned her attention back to the pages in front of her. 

“Don’t you love it out here?” Daenerys asked rhetorically. The words forced Arya to give up her quest of guessing which language Missandei was reading in. It probably wasn’t the common tongue, but apparently it could have been one of many others. If she did in fact know nineteen languages, she had plenty to choose from. 

Daenerys inhaled the salty air deeply and smiled, angling her face toward the sun. “I wish we could just stay out here forever,” she noted wistfully. 

The way she said it, with genuine wonder caught Arya’s notice. How was it that the Princess wasn’t free to do what she wanted? Unlike Arya she wasn’t a foster or a servant, there was no reason she couldn’t explore the little-known corners of the world. Recent days made it clear Daenerys wasn’t active in governing the Realm, so why didn’t she travel? The answer came almost as soon as she considered the question. Tywin. She reviewed one of their admittedly few interactions, where he made it known he wanted Daenerys close by in the event her presence was required. Could the Hand have the power to keep her in King’s Landing for the rare occasions she would be invited to join them? If Arya was right, then maybe Daenerys wasn’t as free as the guard initially assumed. 

Uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts, Arya tried to joke. “Are you certain you aren’t Ironborn? They’re the only ones I know who enjoy their ships as much as you.”

Instead of laughing Daenerys gave her question undue consideration. “Maybe,” she said with a smirk settling on her lips, “that would explain a great deal actually.”

“Now that the King has allowed you to travel to Dorne, it’s possible he’ll permit you to go other places as well,” Missandei offered from nearby. She closed her book and stood, going to Daenerys’s side. 

It was clear to Arya that Missandei was trying to find a bright spot in their circumstance. Daenerys must’ve known too. “Maybe,” she allowed without meaning it. 

She could have left it. She was a guard, barely an acquaintance after a week together. Missandei and Daenerys were closer and as such it would have been reasonable to let Missandei tend to the Princess’s emotions. She didn’t. “I wouldn’t mind that,” she said. “We’ve got a few months until the wedding. We could see a lot before then.” 

Her instinct to involve herself was proven wise when Missandei and Daenerys flashed her matching smiles for her efforts. Missandei picked up where Arya left off. “Where would we go Princess? Would you want to see the edges of the Seven Kingdoms or someplace beyond?”

“Everywhere,” Daenerys replied. “I’ve always wanted to see everything in the Realm, from Dorne to the Wall.” 

“I’ve only seen the Wall in books,” Missandei continued. Her obvious intent was to keep Daenerys talking about it. 

Daenerys got a faraway look in her violet eyes. “On my thirteenth nameday I asked my father if we could take a trip North. I had dreams of seeing snow.”

“Did you?” Missandei asked gently. 

Going to a bench she sat down and encouraged the others to do the same. Missandei sat while Arya remained standing. “No, my father didn’t hear my request, he was too distracted.” 

The sudden change in Daenerys’s tone and volume said more than her words. She didn’t want to be overheard speaking about her father, it was obvious this was not a happy memory for her. Arya was uncomfortable with the topic too. She didn’t want to think about the snow, about the North, about the life she had there. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

With an appreciative smile for her friend, Daenerys went on. “I was stubborn though and went to Rhaegar to get permission. I was so sure he would say yes, but he didn’t. He told me it wouldn’t be safe for me to travel in the North, when I asked why he told me the story of Jorah’s origin.”

Since she didn’t need elaborate further, Missandei must’ve known who Jorah was before he was a Dragon Knight. It was also easy to understand why Daenerys moved further away from Jorah and lowered her voice before telling that particular story. She wanted to limit the number of people who overheard her speaking about her father, but she also wanted to ensure Jorah didn’t know they were discussing him. 

Luckily, Missandei was focused on Daenerys, and Daenerys was lost to her recollections. It gave Arya the chance to rage in private. She was furious and suddenly wished she had someone to kill. She wanted to swing her sword and spill blood. How predictable that Rhaegar would use Jorah’s past and not his own to discourage Daenerys from seeing the North. The crimes the Prince committed against her family and all Northmen were just as inexcusable as Jorah’s. Arya wondered if the avoidance was his or Daenerys’s. Was it Daenerys who didn’t want to reveal to Missandei that her brother kidnapped an innocent woman, or was it Rhaegar who hid his crimes from his sister? She studied the Princess intently to try and learn which was more likely. 

She must’ve stared too long. “Is something wrong?” Daenerys asked her. 

“No,” she said simply. There was a long delay before she managed a more coherent response. “No, I’m fine, I just need to check on something below deck.” 

“Want us to join you?”

No, she didn’t. There was no mystery errand, what Arya truly needed was space to clear her mind and regain control of her anger. She couldn’t do that near the Mad King’s daughter. “No,” she said a little too forcefully. Daenerys flinched slightly and Arya tried again, “No, you stay here and keep talking. Make a list of all the things you want to do when you’re back on dry land, I’ll be right back.” 

“Oh…okay…” Daenerys replied. She was unconvinced but Arya couldn’t worry about that now. She’d find a way to apologize for her rudeness later. The only thing that mattered in that moment was getting some much-needed distance.

R-C

Sitting alone Arya recalled the scene in Sunspear. The dock was crowded with people who made the trip from the Water Gardens to see the Targaryens off. Arya stayed to the side, near Daenerys but distinctly separate. She’d tried to find Oberyn before they headed for the ships, but he hadn’t been in his room or at any of his other most frequent hiding places. She was disappointed thinking she wouldn’t get to see him before she left for King’s Landing. 

Her difficulty tracking him made more sense when she saw him standing on the dock waiting for her. He bypassed a King, multiple Princes and Princesses both from his family and the Targaryens, as well as a couple of Lions and went directly to her. “Ready to go, Arya Sand?” he asked, very aware of their audience. 

“Don’t really have a choice,” she muttered. “I’ll be fine,” she said with more confidence. “I’ll be back before you can miss me.” 

He reached out and tapped the sword she wore. It came with her uniform, after her final test, a sword that was hers, one she could keep and not just use temporarily. It was the first she’d ever had. “Keep practicing. Don’t let your time in the Capital dull your skills. A Snake keeps her fangs sharp always, because she never knows when she’ll need to use them.” He caught her off guard by pulling her into a hug. With his mouth over her ear he whispered, “Wolves keep their teeth sharp too.” 

“Yes, they do,” she confirmed grimly after they separated. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, listen to Ellaria, and…”

She never got to finish. “Listen to Ellaria?” he repeated through a laugh. “Did she ask you to say that?”

As they teased one another it was easy to forget everything happening around them. It didn’t last. “Be careful,” Oberyn told her. 

“I’ll do my best,” she promised knowing his worry for her was real. “Thank you for everything,” she said grabbing his hand and squeezing it to try and convey her feelings.

He scoffed but didn’t allow her to retract her hand. “You shouldn’t thank me, I couldn’t stop this, I tried but…”

It was her turn to cut him off early. Just as he’d done, she hugged him to afford them the chance to speak privately. “This isn’t your fault!” she told him with certainty. “I don’t blame you and I never will, no matter what happens next.” 

He held her a moment longer than usual before letting her go. “Stay safe,” Oberyn implored. Moments later the King finished his talk with Doran and climbed aboard his ship. “Time to go,” Oberyn said. His usual smile was firmly in place, but Arya could see a sadness in his eyes. She wished she knew how to rid him of the guilt he was suffering, but no words seemed adequate. 

“They can wait,” Arya said bravely. She couldn’t go until she made Oberyn understand. There was a reasonable chance they’d never see each other again and so their farewell demanded an extra few seconds. “You were my friend when I had none,” she remembered, “there was nothing in it for you, but you took a scared, lonely girl and gave her a purpose.” She touched her armor, resting a hand over the Martell sigil. “What I am, who I am is because of you. When you think of me, remember that, not this.” On the last word she waved her hand dismissively at their surroundings. 

With a glassy quality to his eyes Oberyn nodded to confirm he heard. She was relieved. She couldn’t stop him from worrying about her, but she didn’t want it to consume him. They’d had many more good times than bad together. She’d much rather Oberyn think of them. 

“I’ll be standing right here with wine when you return, whenever you return.” She appreciated Oberyn’s attempt to ease the tension. 

Only a few remained on the dock now. Their time was at an end. “After weeks on a ship, I’ll need it,” she said trying to match his lighter tone. 

His final message came with none of the humor. It was deadly serious. “You can do this Arya. Do whatever you must and then return home.” 

Her throat was suddenly thick, and she wouldn’t have been able to talk even if she knew what to say. She turned away first and took a long step toward the ship. Her path was blocked by a concerned Daenerys who was watching her closely. “Are you alright?” she asked, echoing the first words spoken between them. 

“I will be,” she said, knowing anything else would be a lie. She moved past Daenerys and onto a ship bound for the place she hated most. 

R-C

It was late. Arya was lying on her bed in the cabin she shared with Missandei. Daenerys was next door, in her larger quarters, private but still close in the event she had need of her servants overnight. 

The knock on the door compelled her eyes to open. She looked at her surroundings and realized Missandei wasn’t with her. The handmaiden said she was going to prepare tea for Daenerys but that was before she fell asleep. How long ago was it and why hadn’t she returned? Missandei wouldn’t knock on her own cabin door, but Arya couldn’t think of anyone else who would be calling on her. Daenerys was resting and even if she wasn’t, they were miles away from the world in every direction, she doubted there was a danger worthy of her guard. 

She got up and walked to the door barefoot. Daenerys was waiting in the narrow corridor, smiling warmly. “Princess,” she said formally as she tried to think of the reason Daenerys had come. “Are you looking for Missandei?” she guessed. To Arya it was the most logical explanation she could come up with for why Daenerys was knocking on her door. 

“Missandei is relaxing after a long day, I came to see you.”

Her? Why? She was immediately on edge, anticipating trouble. “Did you have need of me?”

With a shake of her head she responded. “Need, no, but I was hoping you’d want to join me anyway.” 

Join her? Where exactly did Daenerys plan to go? They were at sea. “Okay,” she said warily. 

“No,” Daenerys countered suddenly, her smile gone. “No, I don’t want you to accept just because you think it’s what I want you to say. If you choose to join me for a drink, I want it to be because you want to, not because you’re sworn to me.” 

She had no idea why this was so important to Daenerys. She almost refused. It wasn’t a lie to say she was tired and though a drink sounded pleasant, she worried about Daenerys’s motive for suggesting it. As was becoming habit when she thought negatively of the Princess her brain reminded her that Daenerys had never done anything to earn her contempt. “Are we going to your cabin then?”

Her smile returned when it became clear Arya planned to accept her proposal. “I hate being confined,” she admitted, “can we go up onto the deck? I’m sure it’s beautiful this time of night.”

She was working awfully hard to convince Arya. It was needless. “Sure, I’ll meet you out there in a few minutes.” 

“I’ll go get the wine,” Daenerys announced cheerily, already moving away from the door. 

She shook her head, knowing Daenerys wouldn’t see it. This was going to be interesting. 

R-C

She had everything set when Arya arrived on the deck. Two small stools with an overturned crate between them to serve as a makeshift table. There was wine and two glasses on their ‘tabletop.’ If she was uncomfortable with the accommodations the Princess didn’t show it. She looked content as she gazed at the star-filled sky. 

“Shall I pour the wine?” she suggested as she made her way over. 

“I’ll do it,” Daenerys said reaching for the bottle. “You sit and get comfortable.” She did as she was told. “Try it,” Daenerys urged as soon as the glass in front of her was full. “Let me know if it’s any good.”

She didn’t know who stocked the King’s ship for this journey, but she doubted they packed anything that wasn’t high in both price and taste. “I’m not an expert.”

“Sample it anyway,” she encouraged, “I trust your judgement.” 

Arya took a sip and learned her instincts were strong. It was flavorful and most assuredly out of her budget. “I think you’ll like it,” she guessed. 

Daenerys smiled. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“Is there something in particular you want to talk about Princess?”

She shook her head and Arya waited patiently until she swallowed the wine she was enjoying. “None of that, I’ve been ‘Princess’ all day.”

“Anything in particular you’d like to discuss, Daenerys?” she amended. 

“Anything,” she said before pausing, “everything. I want to know more about you. We are going to be spending a lot of time together and I think that’ll be easier if we know more about one another.” 

That was why she came to her cabin to get her and invited her for a drink? She wanted to learn more about Arya? “I’m not really that interesting,” she confessed to buy herself a moment. The more she talked to Daenerys, the greater the chance she accidentally revealed too much. If that happened, Daenerys would realize her identity and she’d be killed. If she refused to answer anything, it would only make her more curious. She’d need to tread carefully.

“I doubt that. You are a woman who succeeds in a man’s world. Few women would want to serve in the army, fewer still could do it. Of those, I’m not sure any others would aspire to finish first.” 

“I didn’t set out to be first,” she clarified. “I just wanted to finish, to earn a place in the army, that was my only goal. Finishing first, in the middle or dead last, didn’t matter to me as long as I was still there at the end.” 

Daenerys sipped her wine and nodded her head. “Was being in the army always what you wanted to do?”

She shrugged before the words came. “It’s hard to explain, I was always interested in it. I always cared more about swords and warfare than I did for sewing or dresses. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be considered.” 

“Was the objection that you’re a Sand or that you’re a woman?”

She took a drink to delay having to answer. She couldn’t tell the truth, couldn’t say the main obstacle to her joining the army was her role as a foster. She kept it vague. “There were a lot of reasons. Oberyn convinced his brother to give me a chance.” 

“I’m sorry you had to leave him. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been. I didn’t know him very well, but he seems like a good man. I like him.” 

Since her glass was empty, she reached for the bottle, topping off Daenerys’s first and then refilling her own. Talking about Oberyn was bittersweet. Since they were on the subject though, she told the truth. “He thought highly of you too. He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known, he was kind to me when he didn’t have to be. I wouldn’t be who I am today were it not for him.” 

“He is very proud of you,” Daenerys said leaning forward a bit. “Even when you were sparring with his daughters, I think he was secretly hoping you’d win.” 

She knew Oberyn was proud of her, he told her often, but it still made her uncomfortable to hear someone say so. She preferred when her feelings were felt and not discussed. “He will be just as proud on the day one of them beats me,” she predicted. 

“Does he truly have eight children?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “All girls.”

“That’s a lot. Ellaria told me she isn’t the mother of all of them.” 

If he’d been private about his personal life, she would have changed direction to avoid discussing Oberyn, but it was no secret he had his girls by different mothers. If he were here, he’d gladly tell Daenerys all the details, so she didn’t feel guilty for expanding her knowledge. “Oberyn roamed. As a young man he learned the spear, then trained to become a Maester. He gave up his lessons before finishing and went to Essos where he earned gold as a sell-sword. Obara’s mother was a commoner he met while travelling. Nym’s was a noblewoman, Tyene and all the one’s after are Ellaria’s. One of the others was born to a ship’s captain.”

“That’s amazing,” she said, hanging on every word. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to live such an interesting life.” 

“It’s not too late for you. You’re still young. You’ll have many more years to see all the places in the world.”

“I wish that were true,” Daenerys said, “but between my father and Tywin, they won’t allow me to travel. Maybe once they marry me off, I’ll get to see another kingdom but that’ll likely be it.” 

She was working to hide it, keeping the mask in place, but Arya could see that the conversation and Daenerys’s mood had turned. She knew a bit about not being happy in the life you have. She and Daenerys were undeniably different, yet they had some things in common too. “Your father won’t be King forever,” Arya reminded her. “You said your brother and you get on well, right?” She waited for an affirmative nod. “When he’s King maybe he’ll permit you to travel.” 

“You’re right,” she agreed. “Just because this is my life now doesn’t mean it has to be my life forever.” 

“So, what would you do, if you could go anywhere and do anything?”

“If I could do anything, I’d start by getting my own ship,” the Targaryen decided. 

“What is it with you and ships? We haven’t known each other long, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happier than you were on the Titan’s Daughter.”

She brightened at mention of their afternoon at the Sunspear port. “That is the happiest I’ve been in a long time,” she admitted. 

“Why ships?”

With a rosy blush on her cheeks she said, “You’ll think I’m mad.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said, trying to reassure her. She was curious but she didn’t ask in an effort to pry into Daenerys’s business. 

“It’s not that, I’m just afraid it’ll sound foolish.” 

“Try me,” Arya challenged. 

“I feel trapped,” she said quickly, rushing to get through her confession. “I always have, I know I’m a Princess and I am spoiled, it probably doesn’t make sense, but…”

“It makes perfect sense,” Arya promised. “Go on.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” She paused, sipped her wine and then tried to explain in more detail. “When I was a little girl and I felt lonely, I’d dream about all the places I’d go, all the people I’d meet, the friends I’d make. For hours I’d imagine it, until I didn’t feel alone anymore.”

She had never considered how isolating it must be to be the Mad King’s only daughter. Just since she’d been accompanying her, it was obvious Daenerys was largely ignored by both her family and her father’s men. “When did the fascination with ships start?” Arya asked gently when it seemed like Daenerys was done talking, once again without actually answering the question. 

Daenerys wasn’t looking at her anymore, she was staring off into the distance. “Young, I used to draw pictures of the ship I was going to make one day.” She laughed lightly at the memory. “I didn’t really understand what it meant to be a Princess, so I thought I could be a ship-builder too. I’d stare at pictures of ships for hours, imagining all the different pieces that I’d need to craft one.” 

She tried to imagine a miniature Daenerys drawing picture after picture of ships. “I sincerely hope you get the chance to realize that dream Daenerys.” She meant it too. She’d gotten the chance to achieve her dream and it was better than even her most extravagant fantasy. Daenerys deserved to feel that too. 

“Maybe, someday.” 

It was clear from her tone that she didn’t hold out much hope. That bothered the guard more than she cared to admit. Why didn’t Daenerys get to pursue her dreams? Was it because she was a woman or the daughter of a King? Neither seemed like a valid excuse to confine her to the Red Keep for the majority of her life. “I can’t take you to the Shadowlands or to see the Great Pyramid in Meereen but while I’m serving as your guard, we can try and sneak you out, when you want to get away.” 

Her mouth hung open and she stared at Arya for a few long seconds. “Really? You’d let me go…”

She couldn’t allow her finish. “Let you? I work for you. My job is to guard you, to keep you safe. Where we do that, whether it’s the Red Keep, the streets of King’s Landing or in the middle of the Kingswood, that’s entirely up to you.” 

Something about her words had Daenerys tearing up. “Thank… you. You have no idea how much it would mean to me to not feel stuck all the time.” 

“I’ll make sure you’re in the keep when you’re needed there, the rest of the time, it’ll be up to you to decide where we go. I’m your guard, not your jailor. My job isn’t to keep you in.”

“That would be great,” she said, likely as she built a list in her mind of all the things that were suddenly possible. “So, that’s why I like ships.” She emptied her glass of its wine and then shook her head when Arya went for the bottle. She left it on the crate. “That’s what I’d do, what about you? What would you buy if you had all the money in the world?” 

In her mind she pictured an old, familiar castle, with grey banners hanging from the walls and snow piled up on the sloped roofs. If she had an endless supply of money, she’d buy her family home. She’d return Winterfell to the Starks and settle there. Since she couldn’t tell that to Daenerys, she chose a less extravagant prize to admit to out loud. “Weapons. A sword, maybe a dagger, definitely a spear.” 

“You already have a sword and a dagger, I saw you use them in the desert.” 

“You have more than one dress, right?”

Daenerys did not see the connection. “Yes,” she acknowledged slowly.

“Right, because one isn’t enough, it’s the same with swords.” 

The Princess laughed at her logic. “I’ll take you at your word.” 

Arya stood and drew the sword off her belt. She held it out for Daenerys to see. “This sword is nice, but it’s not special, every recruit got one just like it. I’d love to have something unique, a one of the kind blade, maybe something made of Valyrian steel,” she fantasized. 

“You’ll have to show me what sort of sword you’d like sometime,” Daenerys said, visibly amused by Arya’s wish. 

Unrepentant she returned her sword to its place. “Sure, if you tell me about your ship.” 

“Deal,” Daenerys agreed, getting up and stretching her back. “I should probably get some rest.” 

She reached for the glasses, but Arya held out a hand to stop her. “I’ll clean up.”

“Are you certain?” she asked, sounding conflicted. 

“Get some sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“In the morning then,” Daenerys responded, barely getting the words out before a yawn struck. 

“Thank you for the wine Daenerys.”

“Thank you for agreeing to join me.” 

R-C

Guarding the Princess on a ship was a painfully dull task. There was no danger, real or perceived. The plentiful guards and the daunting sails depicting a three-headed dragon scared away even the most brazen raiders. By the end of the first week at sea Arya was restless. She’d spent the last year training. Lessons began at sunrise and she didn’t stop until well after sunset, it was vastly different from her current circumstance where there was little to occupy her. She felt lazy and bored. 

She did what she could to burn off excess energy. She ran laps around the perimeter of the ship, she climbed up to crow’s nest only to climb back down again. She did push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups, losing count of the repetitions she’d continue until her body collapsed from exhaustion. 

When asked she struggled to explain to Daenerys why she felt the need to keep training. “It’s what I’m used to,” she said after an extra long delay. “Before I was assigned to guard you, my days included running for miles, and hours of combat training, it’ll take some time for me to get used to the way things are now.”

If she thought she’d done a good job of justifying her conduct, she learned the truth when Daenerys replied. “Sounds to me like you’re due a break. After training so much, do you not want the chance to recover?”

That was just it, she didn’t. The mere thought of doing nothing all day, of just standing around and getting lazy like Mormont was unappealing to say the least. “I’d rather feel productive,” she snapped a little too quickly. “I just want to be of use.”

“You are useful,” Daenerys contended. “You keep Missandei and I safe.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not the most challenging task at the moment,” she pointed out. “I know it’s important,” she added, trying to soften the blow a bit, “I just don’t want my skills to dull while I’m away.” 

“The Red Keep has an impressive armory and designated yards for training. The Unsullied are incredible warriors and they train almost as tirelessly as you do. They’ll welcome your presence.”

“The Unsullied?” she verified in disbelief. She encountered the famed eunuchs in Essos. They were prevalent around Slaver’s Bay, used to keep their Masters secure. They were slaves and slavery was illegal in Westeros, wasn’t it? How was such a thing possible? 

“They are warriors from Essos. My father brought them to King’s Landing several years ago,” she said, misunderstanding the root of Arya’s shock. 

“I know, I saw them when I was with Oberyn.” She looked at their surroundings before she asked what she really wanted to know. “Is slavery not illegal in King’s Landing?” 

The question made Daenerys uncomfortable. She leaned closer and lowered her quiet voice even further. “It is. Exceptions were made to bring the Unsullied from Astapor. They are no longer slaves, they are soldiers like any other.” 

She didn’t know what to make of Daenerys’s response. It was said with feeling, as though she believed it, but the discomfort in her eyes remained. Something about all of this troubled her and Arya couldn’t comprehend why. If the King had given the Unsullied their freedom, then what was the problem? “I doubt it’s that simple,” she remarked, hoping Daenerys would contribute more information. 

“Few things are,” she affirmed. “Rhaegar and I insisted our father grant all the slaves their freedom. He says he will.”

Now she understood. “It isn’t freedom, if they can’t actually leave,” Arya said vehemently. She knew that well. No one called her a slave while she was in Dorne and yet, she was, because she couldn’t choose to go. 

“Believe me I know,” Daenerys assured her, still looking pained. “I’ve offered to help Missandei escape, but she won’t and…”

Missandei? She’d always wondered how a woman from Naath ended up in King’s Landing and serving Daenerys and now she knew. Other things were clearer too. She remembered Daenerys comforting Missandei as Arya spoke about Essos, and after their trouble with the snakes Daenerys said something about the Masters. “Missandei was a slave?”

“I didn’t ask for her!” Daenerys said loudly. “I didn’t want her, he just brought her back and presented her to me.” 

With her history that was not a distinction that Arya felt mattered. “You took her!” she accused. 

“Yes, the same way I accepted you, because I didn’t want to see what happened if I didn’t.”

Her righteous anger burnt out without warning after hearing Daenerys’s reasons. She couldn’t deny the validity of the point. She was almost certainly about to be killed when Daenerys intervened to save her. It wasn’t hard to imagine Missandei in a similar situation. “I’m sorry,” she said after she’d considered the predicament Daenerys was placed in. “It was unfair of me to judge you.” 

“I hate slavery. I hate that my best friend was someone’s property, I hate that technically she belongs to me now. I hate it and every time I think about it, it makes me sick.”

It had hard not to believe Daenerys when she heard the passion and saw the hurt the topic was causing her. “As I said, I’m sorry I assumed the worst.” 

“You’re right to think it. I would too in your place. I speak to my brother about it regularly and he promises that he’ll keep pressing our father to release them.”

“What if he doesn’t? Just how many slaves does the King have?”

“Eight-thousand-and-one,” she confessed, her words colored by her shame. 

Arya understood. “Eight thousand Unsullied and Missandei.”

“Rhaegar says if my father won’t agree, then he’ll make freeing them his first act when he is King.” 

Unlike Daenerys, Arya had no faith in the goodness of Rhaegar Targaryen. “You think he’ll keep his word?”

“Rhaegar would never lie to me.”

She thought of her Aunt Lyanna then. Rhaegar may not lie but she doubted he was telling Daenerys everything. “I guess that will have to be enough.” 

R-C

Later that night when Missandei retired for bed Arya was waiting. She didn’t want to cause the handmaiden any distress, but they couldn’t rightly discuss her freedom without acknowledging she was a slave directly. “I, uh, there’s something I want to ask you about.” Arya said sitting on her bed and looking down at the wood beneath her. 

“Daenerys told me that you two spoke about my past.”

To Arya’s relief, she didn’t sound angry. “We were discussing training and she mentioned the Unsullied. I wasn’t trying to pry,” she said, doing her best to justify her knowledge. 

“It’s alright, I should have told you after the snakes, I wanted to, but I was afraid.” 

“You don’t need to be frightened of me Missandei, I promise.” She’d liked the handmaiden from the start and didn’t want her to be scared. 

“No, I don’t mean afraid that way,” she corrected. She stopped talking and took a deep breath. Arya waited as patiently as she could. “Daenerys wishes for you to be her friend and so do I.” She looked across the cramped cabin at Arya and smiled. “We were beginning to become friends and I was worried that if you knew the truth about me, that would stop.”

Without thinking through the meat of Missandei’s explanation she sought to set her at ease. “You don’t need to worry about that. What happened to you, it wasn’t your fault! I understand that, better than you think, and I’d never hold you responsible.”

Instead of cheered, Missandei gave Arya a sad smile. “Daenerys told me you blame her for not setting me free.” 

Too late she understood what was really guiding Missandei’s doubt. She didn’t fear Arya would be angry at her, she resisted telling her because she didn’t want the guard to think less of Daenerys. “I did,” she admitted. 

“The first time she offered me my freedom was the same night I met her. She took me to her chambers, gave me gold, clothes and supplies and told me I could go.”

Arya didn’t know what to say. Daenerys had said she offered to help Missandei escape, but she dismissed it. If Missandei was confirming it, it was accurate. She stayed silent, staring at the slave, listening. 

“I said no,” she remembered. “She thought my reason was fear. She was so kind to me. She bought me clothes, paid me gold I know came from her own purse and gave me jewelry that was meant for her. She told me later she expected me to disappear every night after she fell asleep. She thought I’d take the gold and my new clothes and the jewels and run. She gave me the jewelry so I could sell it and fund my escape.” 

“That was good of her,” she said dumbly, unsure what else there was to add. 

“It was,” Missandei agreed. “At least once a fortnight she’d suggest I go. Before long I had more than enough to begin my life.”

“Yet you stayed, why?”

“Daenerys had no one. She was entirely alone. Even Jorah who loves her, controls her. She has gold and titles and pretty things and she’s every bit the slave that I am. The difference is I’d known I was a slave since I was a young girl, Daenerys slowly had to realize it, as she grew.” 

After seeing the way Daenerys was treated by the people in her life, she could relate to Missandei’s point. She’d wanted to help Daenerys too, it was why she spoke for her when Tywin was bullying her but what Missandei did went above and beyond common decency. “I think the way Daenerys is treated is shameful,” Arya began, “but that’s not your fault. You shouldn’t have to forfeit your life for Daenerys or anyone else.” 

“You did,” she said in challenge, “you didn’t want to leave Sunspear, but you did.”

“That’s not the same thing. I serve Dorne and Prince Doran ordered me to go. I did. You…”

“It is the same for me,” Missandei insisted. “I serve Daenerys as you serve Dorne. I don’t stay because she’s my Master, I stay because she’s my friend. For once, I serve because I choose to. She was willing to set me free because she is a good person. The fact that I have yet to accept changes little, she is still the only person to offer me my freedom.” Obviously Arya didn’t appear convinced because Missandei tried to explain it another way. “Imagine you were me,” Missandei suggested, “what would you give for your first real friend, for the person who was willing to put herself at risk to do what was right? Would you not wait a little while, to make sure your friend was going to be okay after you were gone?”

It was far easier to put herself in Missandei’s shoes than she cared to admit. She’d once been offered freedom by her only friend too and she chose to return to Sunspear anyway. She couldn’t fault Missandei for deciding to remain with Daenerys either. 

A few hours removed from the revelation that Missandei was a slave it was easier to think clearly. She’d seen the relationship between the women up close and from the start Arya noticed the depth of their bond. “If you want to escape,” she proposed, “I can take you with me when I return to Dorne. From Sunspear you could go to Essos, you could remain in Westeros, or you could make the journey to your homeland.” 

“You are kind, Daenerys was right about you. I will leave when the time is right.”

Sensing she wasn’t going to change her mind, she left her with one final piece of information. “When that time comes, if you have need of me, I’ll be there, no matter when it is.” 

“Thank you,” she said, visibly touched by Arya’s offer to help. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry there isn’t more in this one. It seemed like a good place to stop. I felt like we needed a little bit of bonding since they’re all going to be stuck together for a while. 
> 
> The next chapter will have landfall in King’s Landing, an argument between Daenerys and Arya and Arya’s less than ideal welcome to the Capital. 
> 
> RC


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: We’ll get to the Red Keep in this one. Before we do though, a couple things you should know; Lyanna is dead, died in childbirth with their baby, and since Rhaegar already has a son named Aegon, I renamed ‘Jon’ Aemon instead. I hope it’s not too confusing. Lastly, the Targaryens may have won but Rhaegar didn’t get to just walk away free and clear, you’ll see what I mean. 
> 
> Enough of that. Enjoy
> 
> R-C

As she ran around the ship her route took her past the Kingsguard. Jaime Lannister was considered to be one of the most gifted swordsmen to ever breathe. She’d heard about his talents from her father first, then later Oberyn. She didn’t know how much was actually true, but if even half was accurate he’d make a formidable enemy to anyone who opposed him. “Don’t you tire of going around in circles?” he asked as she got close on one of her rotations. 

“Nope!” she yelled as she passed him, continuing on without breaking stride. 

The next time she neared him he was ready with his reply. Surprisingly it was a compliment. “You’re good. I thought only Brienne of Tarth could fight.” 

She didn’t know who Brienne of Tarth was, but if she was good enough to illicit praise from the smug Lannister, Arya very much wished to meet her. She ran another lap of the ship before coming to a stop near where Jaime sat. “I don’t know her,” she admitted as she stopped running and dropped to the deck to begin a round of push-ups. 

“If you’d met her, you’d remember,” he predicted. “She’s big. Only a fool wouldn’t be wary if she approached with a sword in her hand. You though, you’re different.”

She kept on with the push-ups. Up and down. Up and down. “Thanks, I think.”

He chuckled. “I just mean you’re deceptive, easy to overlook. The King nearly did.” 

Actually, the King did overlook her. He fully expected her to fail when he ordered her to fight. The fact that she was more talented than he thought didn’t make his miscalculation any less severe, actually it made things worse in her mind. She didn’t bother sharing her point of view with the Kingsguard. She just kept working. Up and down. 

R-C

“I have a request,” Daenerys said as their destination became clearer on the horizon. It wouldn’t be long now. With favorable winds it would only take a few more hours. She seemed to sense this and pulled Arya aside, wanting to discus something before they arrived in the Capital. 

“Okay,” she replied. The way Daenerys deliberately separated herself from Jorah and Missandei to discuss her request had Arya wary. 

“I know you didn’t want to come here. I know you said it’s not my fault, but it is, and I’m sorry.” 

It took considerable effort to avoid sighing dramatically and throwing up her hands. They already had this particular conversation. “Daenerys, we talked about this. I understand why you did it, and believe it or not, I’m grateful. You don’t need to carry the guilt. In a few months your brother will marry Eliza Martell and I’ll return to Sunspear.” 

“I know,” Daenerys admitted, “it’s just that I know how hard it was for you saying goodbye to Oberyn and I’m responsible for that.”

“If that’s what you wanted to talk about, it’s not necessary.”

“It isn’t,” she said suddenly. She rushed to clean up her mess. “I mean it was, I did want to apologize to you again for my part in you coming here and I wanted to do it before we reached King’s Landing, but my request is something else.”

“Go ahead,” Arya encouraged when more information wasn’t provided. 

“You’re my guard, I understand that, and I know that means you’ll protect me, but the other night you told me that you work for me and I was thinking…”

“Just ask Daenerys!” Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to get any easier to ask for. Arya’s anxiety was growing the longer this dragged on. 

“I’d like you to protect Missandei too, if you can. I know it’s not your assignment but she’s important to me and if anything were to happen to her because of me…”

That was the private favor she needed to ask Arya for? She’d always assumed her role as Daenerys’s guard included Missandei too. She’d protected the handmaiden already, from the snakes in the desert. She’d do it again if required. “Daenerys,” she said, “I’ll do everything in my power to keep the both of you safe until the wedding.”

She threw herself into Arya’s arms and squeezed tight. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she chanted as she clung to her guard. “I won’t worry quite so much if I know she has you watching out for her.” 

Arya pulled away to end the extended embrace. “It’s going to be okay. I give you my word.”

R-C

She didn’t know how to feel as she stepped off the ship and onto the dock in King’s Landing. She adjusted her lone bag on her shoulder and had a look around. Despite being small, her bag held everything she owned with room to spare. Seconds passed slowly and her nerves frayed. A large part of her wanted to flee back to Dorne, even if she had to swim to get there, the rest of her was eager to get this over with. All those years in Dorne, she’d been haunted by King’s Landing, the Red Keep and the evil that had lived there for too long. Now she was going back. Her frantic emotions warred for control; fear, anxiety, and panic against hate, vengeance and determination. The road to the rest of her life went through the Red Keep and she’d need to face it all directly if she wanted to survive. 

Daenerys was standing next to her, looking at the Red Keep in the distance. “It’s a shame we had to come back, but I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.” 

“Seems your prayers for less wind weren’t answered,” she teased. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Daenerys countered. “The return trip took four days longer than when we were going the other direction, so someone must have heard.” 

Jorah arrived clutching the reigns for both Daenerys’s and Missandei’s horses in one hand, while he led his horse with his other. The animals had been carried on a different ship. Mormont had been the first one off to locate and prepare them. “Ready to go Princess?” he asked. 

“Are we?” Although she was in charge Daenerys looked to Missandei and Arya for approval. 

Missandei readily agreed. Arya on the other hand had a slight problem. “You two go ahead with Mormont, I’ll follow when I can.”

Daenerys who had been petting her horse turned on her quickly. “What? Why? What’s the matter?”

Arya studied her surroundings for an escape. There wasn’t one, she was fenced in on all sides, by people, animals and water. She shouldn’t have waited so long to confess, now any conversation she and Daenerys had would be far from private. Shame burned her face as she was forced to admit how pathetic she was in front of a group that included Mormont and others. “I don’t have a horse,” she said quietly, willing her eyes to stay on Daenerys. “Please just go with Jorah for now.” She hated how feeble she sounded, pleading to postpone her embarrassment by a few extra minutes. 

“Of course, you do. We went all over Dorne, you rode it to the dock, I remember you by my side the entire way.” 

The longer this went on, the larger the audience became. Every minute brought more people off the ships. As they wandered toward the keep, they inevitably passed Daenerys and Arya, most stopping to listen in. Hadn’t she been embarrassed enough? She addressed Mormont directly, guessing he’d be more amenable. “Take them to the Red Keep and I’ll get there when I can.” 

The soldiers shared a nod. “Follow me Princess,” he instructed, leading them away from the water. 

“What? No, I’m not leaving her like this,” Daenerys continued defiantly. 

Even Missandei tried to tempt her. “She’ll be along soon Princess,” she said. “By the time you’ve visited with your brother, Arya will be with us.”

She was stubborn and unwilling to heed the advice. “What happened to your horse?!” she wanted to know. 

At her wit’s end she threw her hands up. “It wasn’t my horse! It wasn’t mine to take, so I left it in Sunspear where it belonged.”

Daenerys’s posture shifted and she moved closer to the guard. “What? How is that…”

It was too late to stop. She’d already revealed the truth. She could hear the laughter coming from the nearby guards and advisors, but she refused to look and see which of them was amused by her misfortune. “I borrowed it from the stables at the Water Gardens. Doran allowed me to use it, but it was always his.” 

Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “Oh… I’m… “ She paused and then tried again, “Arya I’m…”

She didn’t want to hear it. She asked the Princess for one thing and she couldn’t bother listening. Her words were cold as she brushed off the attempted apology. “I trust Mormont will see you to the castle safely.” 

“Arya,” Daenerys said, lowering her voice to a whisper. It annoyed her that after the damage was done, after she’d embarrassed a woman she claimed she wanted to be friends with, now she was careful about her volume and the crowd of people close enough to overhear. 

“You should go.”

As Jorah led Daenerys away, Missandei remained. “You can ride with me,” she offered privately. 

She couldn’t even manage a smile for the thoughtful handmaiden. “It’s better this way. I need a few minutes.” 

Understanding what was left unsaid, Missandei turned away and hurried to catch up to the Princess and the knight. 

Many wanted her attention after Daenerys was gone, some offered sympathetic glances, others were rude, but Arya hated them all equally. She kept her head high and walked away from the dock, eager to get lost in the massive city. 

R-C

Daenerys was sick as she rode back toward the castle. She hadn’t meant to embarrass Arya, but she had. It was a misunderstanding but one she’d take the blame for. She just couldn’t understand why she was being so difficult. She knew Arya didn’t really want to come to King’s Landing, but she thought she’d make the best of it once they arrived. When she claimed she was incapable of acting as Daenerys’s guard, immediately after stepping off the ship, she assumed it was a trick of some kind. Until she heard Arya’s reasons and the accompanying laughter, she didn’t realize what the problem truly was. By the time she did it was too late. She couldn’t fix it, not with so many people around. She’d apologize later, profusely if necessary and she’d find a way to make it up to her. “She hates me,” she said to Missandei, not even bothering to use High Valyrian. 

“She doesn’t,” Missandei swore. “She’ll forgive you, once she calms down.” 

“I didn’t understand,” she said, aware just how weak that excuse really was. “She had a horse in Dorne.” 

“I know, I thought it was hers too.” 

Jorah reminded them he was there by sharing his opinion. “She’s a bastard, maybe she was poor.” 

Daenerys frantically tried to disprove Jorah’s argument. “She has a beautiful sword, I saw her sharpening it and her armor, I don’t think…”

“The sword and the armor would have been given to her,” the knight explained. 

She was clueless about such things. “Really?” 

“When she finished her training, she would have been given both. If she didn’t have a horse, I doubt she had a weapon or armor of her own beforehand either.” 

None of this was making Daenerys feel any better. With a gasp her hand flew out to grab Missandei’s arm. “The barracks,” she remembered, before she let her hand fall away. It had been so quick, so inconsequential when compared to all the other things she saw and experienced in Dorne, that she’d largely forgotten about their brief stop at the barracks to pick up Arya’s things. 

“What happened?” Jorah pressed. 

“When she took us into Sunspear we stopped at the barracks so she could gather her things.” 

“And?” Jorah asked, not understanding the reason for Daenerys’s pained expression and teary eyes. 

“She came out carrying a change of clothes, a small box and a cloak with holes in it.” She ticked off the items she remembered on her fingers as she went. “Could that really be all she has?”

“It’s possible,” Jorah said simply. 

Daenerys was afraid he’d say that. She tried to think back, to recall any time she saw Arya spend money. There hadn’t been many. She bought the milk on their first visit to Sunspear, she paid the would-be thieves on her second and that was it. She remembered buying Arya dinner because she didn’t have money and recalled how she put off getting her helmet fixed too. The facts were starting to pile up. “Do they let the poor join the army?”

“Sure,” Jorah replied. “Many with no other prospects serve to get a hot meal and a bed. Most bastards end up on the Wall though, pledged to the Night’s Watch.”

She was having trouble keeping up. “The Night’s Watch doesn’t take women.” 

“No, Arya was lucky to be born in Dorne. I don’t know anywhere else a woman and a bastard would be permitted to fight for a noble house.” 

“That’s not fair!” she resisted on Arya’s behalf. “She’s more than capable.”

“That’s just the way it is, Princess,” he told her as they made their approach to the keep. 

Maybe it was that way, but it didn’t have to be, and Daenerys definitely didn’t need to accept it. Arya was living proof that it was possible for a woman to be successful in a profession typically reserved for men. 

R-C

The long walk from the ship to the castle served her well. She blended in among the people and allowed herself to forget how angry she was at Daenerys. Once her anger was in the back of her mind, it was easier to push aside the shame too. Sometimes when she was being honest with herself, she wished she hadn’t been born noble. Yes, her birth afforded her certain luxuries and privileges in the North, but it also made her a target for Aerys. If her father had been a soldier and not a leader in Robert’s Rebellion, she wouldn’t have been punished as she was. Even if the Mad King singled out her family, it would have been easier to accept the sudden change in her circumstance if she was just a normal girl. As a noble, she had a much longer way to fall, and it made the landing especially unpleasant. One day she was a daughter of Northern royalty, a member of a proud, honorable family and the next they were ruined, and she was on a ship bound for Dorne to begin her life as a foster. It was quite the reversal of fortune. 

Her plan to walk to the keep made sense when she let Daenerys and the others go without her, but she should have thought it through. It wasn’t until she neared the gate and saw the guards stationed there that she realized her error. They weren’t just going to let her walk right in because she said she was the Princess’s new guard. 

She purposefully kept her hands away from her weapons, but it was a pointless concession. As soon as they saw her coming, the four men armed themselves. Three came forward while one stayed back. 

“Stop! State your business.”

“I’m Arya Sand,” she said clearly, “I accompanied Princess Daenerys from Sunspear. She asked that I join her after I settled my business on the ship.” 

She knew before the words were out, they weren’t going to believe her. She was right. With an idiotic laugh, one of the men nudged his partner. “Hear that, she’s got business wit’ the Princess. Yeah right, and I shit gold dragons.” 

“I dunno,” the nudged man said, “she’s wearin’ Martell armor.” 

“My arse,” the rude one objected, “she probably bought it off a merchant in the market, looks cheap.”

Arya ached to defend her honor. She wanted to show these pricks just how real the armor was. If she killed them with their own weapons, would they believe her? Even if they didn’t, there’d be no one left to block her entry. Tempted as she was to use violence, she still managed another pass at diplomacy. “Summon Princess Daenerys,” Arya tried, “she’ll confirm I am who I say I am.” 

“We ain’t gonna summon the Princess just so you can stare at her tits.” 

Arya’s patience was running thin. “As I said, she’s expecting me. Do you really want to delay me?”

“I’m sure,” one said dismissively. “We’ve heard it all b’fore.”

“Go on. You heard’em you ain’t getting in.” 

“For fuck sakes!” Arya cried. “Take me to the Princess, in chains if you have to. She will tell you who I am.” 

“You an idiot? You that eager to see the inside of a dungeon?” 

“We can defiantly help you out there,” he promised through a laugh. 

Arya tried to save herself, taking a step back. “I didn’t say anything about a dungeon. Take me to Daenerys, she’s waiting to see me!”

“I’m sick of this,” one of the guards decided, growing frustrated. Arya could relate. 

When a hand grabbed her upper arm, Arya tore it free. “Don’t touch me!” She wanted to go for her sword, but then what? Even if she could defeat all four of them, she doubted the Mad King would be happy to hear she killed his people. The only way she was going to live to see Sunspear again was if she could avoid him as much as possible. Committing murder on her first day wouldn’t benefit her in the least. The dungeon was equally unappealing. How long would it be before someone who knew her identity learned she was there? “Don’t touch me. I’m a soldier of House Martell and I’m here on business…”

“With the Princess, aye we heard. We just don’t give a shit.”

His friends laughed and together the three of them came at her. She managed to avoid the first two attempts to hit her, but her second dodge ran her straight into the third fist thrown her way. She didn’t fall but he knocked her into his allies. Together they pummelled her into submission. She could taste blood on her lip and in her mouth as she laid in front of the Red Keep and waited for it to be over. She never should have fucking come here. Just another glorious day in King’s Landing. 

R-C

“You must be tired after your trip,” Rhaegar said. “Come on, let’s find you something to eat and you can rest.” 

She smiled at her eldest brother. He’d been waiting for her when she arrived, along with his son Aemon. She felt guilty when she saw them, because she hadn’t wanted to return, and they were eagerly awaiting her arrival. They were happy to see her, peppering her with coordinated questions about her time in Dorne.

They were as different as any father and son could be, at least in appearance. Rhaegar looked Targaryen from head to toe with his light hair, pale skin and indigo eyes. He was tall and imposing despite his injuries. Aemon was tall too, though that was where the similarities ended. The son was leaner than the father, and he had dark hair and grey eyes. On the rare occasions he was willing to speak about it with her, Rhaegar told Daenerys Aemon had the look of his mother. 

“I’ll wait,” she said looking around her brother’s shoulder to check if Arya was coming. “Arya should be here by now,” she said to Missandei. “I know she’s mad, but…”

“Who is Arya?” Rhaegar asked, confused. 

“My guard.”

“Jorah is your guard,” he said slowly, as if she was suddenly too stupid to understand the common tongue. He shifted his focus to the knight. “Aren’t you?”

“It’s a long story,” Jorah supplied. 

“What happened?” Aemon wondered. 

She gave up looking expectantly toward the door and asked a question of her own. “Did you know they let women into the army in Dorne?”

Her inquiry gave her brother pause. “Uh, yes, I did know that actually, though I don’t think many women actually care to try.”

“Arya did,” she declared proudly. “She finished first in her training. They started with hundreds and she was the best.” 

“How does that make her your guard?”

She sighed and took one last look for Arya before diving into the whole sordid tale. “Tywin told Prince Doran that Viserys couldn’t stay in Sunspear until the wedding because he was too important to the Capital.” Father and son shared a look of disbelief. Daenerys agreed. “I know, but that’s what he said.”

“And then what?”

“Tywin wanted compensation for the loss of Viserys,” she remembered, trying to use as many of the exact words as she could recall. 

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. “Of course, he did.” 

“Doran agreed to lend father the use of the two best recruits from their most recent training.”

“And this Arya was among them?” Rhaegar guessed, when he was finally beginning to understand. 

“She finished first, so she and one other were brought in,” Daenerys said, feeling dread as she prepared for the part that came next. “Father didn’t believe Arya capable, so he ordered her to fight the other man, to prove she could beat him.” By look alone Daenerys tried to convey what had happened, what she wasn’t willing to say in words. She wanted her brother to understand that their father in his madness forced them to fight to the death. “Arya won, and Father was impressed.”

“So, he named Arya your guard?” Aemon guessed. 

Daenerys had been willing to let the story end there. She didn’t want to relive the chaos that came after the match. Jorah had no such reservations. “Oh no, he didn’t, he ordered her to kill the other soldier and when she refused, he was going to kill them both.”

Rhaegar was looking to her for confirmation and she could only nod. Her brother gave her a sad smile and reached out with his free hand to touch her shoulder in a comforting way. Few knew how deeply it pained her to see their father so wild, but Rhaegar understood, it troubled him too. “I spoke for her, requested she be my guard until Viserys returns. I was trying to save her.” 

“That was very brave sister,” Rhaegar acknowledged, “she’s lucky you were there.”

Remembering the exchange with Arya on the dock she couldn’t appreciate his opinion. She didn’t think Arya was overly grateful for her intervention at the moment, nor should she be. She looked toward the door again, while she tried to calculate how long it would take Arya to walk from the waterfront. 

The clinking of steel and iron drew their attention. “Bring’er then,” an unknown voice said from the opposite end of the long hall. “She wants to see the dungeon so badly, we’ll show’er.” 

“What was that?” Rhaegar asked. Her brother tried to turn, to face the noise but it was slow, even with the aid of the cane in his right hand. Daenerys supported his other side and did her best to assist him in rotating his body. 

She was so focused on helping her brother she didn’t really see what was going on. Missandei noticed first. “Princess,” she said. Daenerys looked over her shoulder at her friend and saw a single finger pointing. 

Two men were dragging a figure down the hall. Where the halls converged, they became visible to her. She couldn’t see the person’s face, their head was down, but the armor she recognized. Only one person she knew in the city wore Martell armor. “Arya!” she called. 

She took off running, forgetting about her role aiding her brother. He staggered and she barely slowed, choosing to believe Jorah, Barristan and Aemon would keep him from falling. Rhaegar had plenty of help, it was Arya who needed her. 

“What’s going on here!” she yelled as she closed the distance between them. When she was close enough, she saw that not only were they dragging Arya away, they had her in chains. What in the name of the Gods had happened? “Stop!” she demanded. 

She squatted down to get a better look at Arya and what she saw turned her stomach. Her helmet was missing, her hair was messed, her face was bloodied, and the armor that had been pristine just minutes earlier was scuffed and spotted with dirt and blood. Most alarming was her eyes, they were closed, like she was sleeping, unconscious or dead. A rock settled in the pit of her stomach. 

“Princess, welcome home,” one of the guards said when he recognized her. “Don’t mind us, we’re just escorting a prisoner to the dungeons.” 

“For what crime exactly?” she asked hotly.

She was vaguely aware of the others catching up to her. They moved slower because of Rhaegar’s injured legs. Normally she would have walked with them, but this was a situation that demanded urgency. 

“Unlock those chains!” she ordered. Neither man moved so she got louder and more insistent. “Now!” 

“What’s going on?” Rhaegar inquired. 

“Prince,” one of the men said before he ducked his head. “We was just taking this mouthy girl to the dungeons. She tried to get in but when we said no, she refused to leave!”

She waited for the order that Arya be released but it didn’t come, not from her brother or Jorah. Fine, if they weren’t going to do it, she would. “Release her at once.” 

“Daenerys what’s going on?” Rhaegar inquired from behind her. 

“What did she say she’d come to the keep for Ser?” she asked as neither of the men moved to do as she instructed. 

“Well,” he said rubbing his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding Arya under her arm, “she said she was comin’ to see you, Princess.” 

“Because she was!” Daenerys snapped. 

“She was lying,” his partner disagreed. “She was just trying to get inside to steal! Thieves are all the same.” 

She couldn’t believe this. Why was everyone acting like she wasn’t speaking? She was using the common tongue. She ordered Arya released, she’d ordered her unchained and she’d confirmed that she was a valid guest and yet she was being treated like a criminal. These men served all Targaryens, and last she checked, she was a fucking Targaryen. 

The anger filled her small body from head to toe. It was so hot and so intense she felt like she was on fire. In the background she heard her brother asking the idiot guards more irrelevant questions about their encounter with Arya. “I said release her!” she screamed as loudly and as forcefully as she could. The men dropped their prisoner as though she was suddenly too heavy to carry another instant. The chains collided with the floor, reminding Daenerys they were there. “I told you to unchain her already! If you refuse me again, it’ll be the two of you who see the inside of the dungeon, I swear it!”

The fools looked at one another in shock and then started arguing over who had the key. When they found it, one man set to unlocking the irons. “You,” she said pointing to the other, “when you accosted her at the gate, I’m sure she had a sword and helmet with her, go find them.”

He scurried away quickly and just seconds later Arya was truly free from her binds. Daenerys knelt on the floor in front of her and brushed back her dark hair to get a better view of her face. “Arya? Can you hear me?” she asked gently, running her hand down Arya’s cool cheek. 

It took a moment, but her eyes fluttered and then opened. Daenerys was beyond relieved. That relief only multiplied when she coughed, winced and then said, “I told them you were waiting for me.” 

She chuckled. “I was, and I’m sorry about before. Come on, I’ll help you up and we’ll find the Maester.” 

Arya appeared compliant for the length of a heartbeat, then she stopped allowing Daenerys to guide her. “Wait, my sword…” 

“I’m having it brought to you, your helmet too, I promise, just come with me for now.” 

R-C

The first thing she saw when she returned to the world was Daenerys kneeling in front of her. The second thing was a man who had to be Rhaegar, he was definitely a Targaryen, there was no denying that. After a moment her vision cleared enough for her to notice his cane, then she knew for certain exactly who he was. She knew the story of why the Dragon Prince needed a cane by heart. She’d heard it her whole life, how Robert Baratheon smashed his legs with his Warhammer when they met at the Trident. Perhaps things would have ended differently if Robert hadn’t savored his victory too long and left himself vulnerable to attack. If he’d struck the killing blow immediately after crushing Rhaegar’s legs, who would she be now? 

He gasped when he saw her, and she was perversely glad. She’d been told many times she looked like her aunt. She hoped she reminded him of the woman he kidnapped and raped each and every time their paths crossed. It wasn’t justice, but it was something. 

Daenerys was looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something. She went with the first thing to enter her mind. “I told them you were waiting for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R-C
> 
> Author’s Note: Poor Arya just can’t catch a break, but Daenerys did find her voice there too, so it wasn’t all bad. One final thing before I end this chapter – even though they made it to King’s Landing, this story is a long way from finished. It’s going to take a while for Daenerys to find her place and decide what she wants. I hope you’ll stick around. 
> 
> Thank you to all the people who are reading and commenting, it inspires me to keep writing. 
> 
> R-C


	9. Chapter 9

Poor Missandei was left with unenviable task of trying to keep her calm while Grand Maester Pycelle checked Arya’s injuries. In the face of such a daunting challenge, the handmaiden didn’t hesitate. She stood at Daenerys’s side, holding Arya’s helmet and sword, both of which had been recovered. Arya’s bag was also there. It was brought with the rest of her gear, likely as a peace offering to the furious Dragon. As he presented her with her guard’s belongings, he mumbled something about the tragedy of the unfortunate situation. She sent him away without acknowledging his attempt at making amends. 

“I can’t believe they hurt her! She told them who she was, told them she was invited, and they hit her anyway.” 

“Arya is strong,” Missandei noted, “we’ve known it since we saw her stand up to your father. She will recover.”

“She better or I’m going to find those stupid guards and make them wish they never met her.” The threat was out of her mouth before she could stop it. 

Missandei smiled indulgently. “I have never heard you speak to anyone in the way you spoke to them.” 

She was right, because to the best of her recollection, she had never spoken to anyone like that, ever. It wasn’t as if she planned it. She was just standing there, looking at Arya, getting angrier and angrier the longer it went on. The next thing she knew she was shouting, making demands and issuing threats. “I don’t know what came over me, but they were blaming her, and I just couldn’t take it.”

A soft hand touched Daenerys’s bare arm. “You tried to tell them. It was they who did not want to listen.”

Missandei was nothing if not a faithful friend. She’d take Daenerys’s side no matter the situation. “It was like hearing someone else using my voice.” 

Aemon joined them then. Her nephew chuckled as he approached them. “You couldn’t even wait until tomorrow to cause trouble?”

He was teasing her, she knew that, and yet she couldn’t contain the vehement defense of Arya that was on the tip of her tongue. “It’s not my fault the guards were too lazy to come and check to see if Arya was permitted. This is their fault, not mine! If they didn’t attack her, none of this would have happened.”

Aemon leaned back and raised his hands in a show of surrender. “I believe you,” he said, no longer joking. “Is she going to be okay?”

Daenerys had always been close to her nephew. Their bond was forged due to the closeness in their ages and the fact that they both suffered at the hands of Viserys and Aerys. Though Rhaegar and Aemon lived sporadically at Dragonstone over the years, she and Aemon practically grew up together. He was a quiet man, talented with a sword, who like Daenerys, often felt ignored by the King and his advisors. She was dismissed because she was a woman, Aemon’s crime was apparently his birth. For reasons she didn’t understand her Father despised Aemon, preferring to pretend he didn’t exist. He was quick to mock him for looking nothing like a traditional Targaryen and would refuse to acknowledge his grandson when Rhaegar tried to bring him into a conversation. In their younger days Daenerys and Aemon would hide away together in one of the keep’s rarely used rooms and whisper their plots. They had many grand, elaborate, childish ideas about how they could get away and all the things they’d do once they had. Daenerys’s favored scheme was a fantasy where she’d hatch dragons and use them to facilitate her escape. Aemon was more practical. He wanted to join the Night’s Watch. “Not even a King could reach me there,” he’d say. Over time Daenerys’s hope of reviving dragons died, but Aemon remained convinced the North was where he belonged. In recent months he had been bringing it up frequently, saying he’d be welcomed on the Wall in a way he never would be in King’s Landing. 

Missandei picked up the slack, answering for her when she was elsewhere. “We’re unsure, but she was awake and speaking when we took her in, so we are hopeful.” 

He tried again to coax Daenerys into conversation. “Sounds like a lot happened in Dorne.” He paused to give Daenerys a chance to respond, she didn’t take it, so he continued. “And Viserys had to stay, I bet he loved that.”

“It’s custom,” she explained. “Before the Dornish wife leaves her home and goes to marry, the would-be husband spends time there, to experience what her life was like.” 

“That’s,” he thought carefully about his choice of word, “interesting. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“I like it,” Daenerys retorted. “It’s a shame Viserys won’t learn from it.”

“That’s…”

The door opening nearby caused Daenerys to forget about Ameon and whatever he was saying. She rushed to the grey-haired Maester. “Is she alright?!”

“Princess Daenerys,” Pycelle said slowly. “Lovely to see you, how was your visit to Sunspear? Did you enjoy yourself?”

Was he serious? He was asking about that now? What was wrong with him? “It was fine,” she said. “How is Arya?” 

“Who?”

She considered striking him. He spent nearly twenty minutes with her and never bothered to ask her name? “My guard,” she snapped, on the verge of being rude. “The woman from Dorne…” She trailed off to give him a chance to provide some sort of reply. 

“Oh yes, well she’ll be fine,” the Maester said with a note of disinterest. “The lads at the gate were a little rough perhaps but there will be no lasting effects.”

“Thank you Grand Maester,” she said formally, remembering her manners. “Is it alright if I go and see her now?”

“She’ll be available to serve after a good night’s sleep,” Pycelle predicted, misunderstanding the reason for her request. 

“Thank you,” she said again, and then she stepped aside to let him pass. It took her limited self-restraint to avoid knocking the old man down as he lingered, blocking her path to Arya. 

“Daenerys, my father wishes to speak with you,” Aemon said. “He asked that I find you and let you know.” 

She nodded but didn’t turn. Whatever Rhaegar wanted to talk about, it could wait until after she confirmed with her own eyes that Arya would indeed be okay. “I’ll see him when I’m done here.” 

R-C

“Fuck,” she groaned and then immediately regretted it. Her head felt like an overripe melon about to split. The long-winded Maester had done little more than hand her a damp cloth to clean her face and comment on the shade of her bruises while writing in the book he carried. The rest of the time he talked. After realizing she was from Dorne he proceeded to tell her all of his opinions on the region, its people and their many faults. After the second sentence she wasn’t ashamed to admit she stopped listening. This wrinkly old prick and his views carried little weight with her. 

Once he was gone, she set the goal of putting her armor back on. The Maester insisted she remove it so he could assess her for injuries. She wanted to refuse, the steel held up and even if she was bruised, what difference would it make? Nothing would heal her except time. She relented in a weak attempt to get him to stop talking. She already had a headache and he was only making it worse. In the end he said what she already knew, she’d need to rest. The pounding in her head and the ringing in her ears would fade first, after a few days, while the litany of cuts, scrapes and bruises would take longer. He offered her a tonic that would help with the pain, but she refused to take it. If she was going to survive as a Stark in the Red Keep, surrounded by Dragons, Lions and all other manner of deadly predators, she was going to need to be thinking clearly. He left the glass vial in case she changed her mind. The green liquid wasn’t the least bit tempting. It wasn’t worth the risk.   
The drumbeat inside her skull made it difficult to focus. When she lifted the armor, she was struck by a wave of dizziness. Her eyes were suddenly too heavy to keep open and she put a hand flat on the bed to try and stabilize her wobbly legs. “Fuck,” she cursed. How hard did they hit her? 

She was too busy staying upright to notice the door opening behind her back. 

R-C

Daenerys was so desperate to get in to see Arya, that she hadn’t given much thought to what she’d find. That made her woefully unprepared when she rushed in and saw Arya standing with her back to the door nearly naked. 

She was wearing only the thin garments that typically went beneath armor. Calling them clothes would be a generous description. Her upper body was bare except for a stained shirt that had been strategically cut and trimmed to Arya’s unique specifications. It didn’t start at her neck as most shirts did, the collar had been removed, along with the sleeves and a large portion of the bottom. What was left was little more than a band of fabric that stretched across her chest, covering her breasts but little else. Her arms, stomach, neck and shoulders were all exposed. Her bottom half was shielded by a modified pair of what had once been pants. They didn’t extend past the middle of her thighs anymore, leaving the majority of Arya’s legs bare. She knew she was staring but couldn’t help herself. Her tongue was suddenly too large for her mouth, making speaking impossible. She just kept watching. She’d known Arya was strong, but her lean build and the constant layer of armor she wore hid how powerful she truly was. She was bent over the bed, a pose that caused the muscles in her back to contract as she held herself up. She felt guilty when her eyes strayed from her back to her barely covered ass. Like the rest of her, it appeared firm and strong without losing its distinctly feminine shape. Her guilt aside, she didn’t tear her eyes away. Arya’s legs were the most telling, each individual group of muscles was sharply defined. She recalled Arya mentioning she ran often as part of her training. That wasn’t hard to believe given the evidence on display before her. From the first time she saw Arya without her helmet, she was attracted, now it was clear the armor hadn’t been doing Arya a kindness, it was merely concealing how stunning she really was. 

Arya grunted, and wobbled slightly, relying on the bed to keep from falling. That simple sound ended Daenerys’s admiring early. “Arya!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing?” Jumping into action she rushed to Arya’s side and ducked her head under one of Arya’s outstretched arms, so she’d be in the best position to support her weight. 

“Daenerys?” she replied. The word was slurred more than spoken but she still sounded like the Arya that escorted Daenerys and Missandei all over Sunspear. When she peeked up at her face, she could see her eyes were barely open. 

“You shouldn’t be standing. What did the Maester say?” Only after she asked, did she realize how irrelevant the answer would be. Who cared what Pycelle said? What mattered was getting Arya back in bed, so she didn’t collapse. “Lean on me,” she instructed. 

Her practice with Rhaegar was invaluable. She was able to support Arya a little and assist in slowly rotating her body. Arya proved to be just as firm as Daenerys’s time staring suggested she would be. “What you doing?” she mumbled. 

She didn’t answer until she had Arya standing at the side of the bed, with her back to the mattress. “I came to check on you. We’re just going to sit you down, then we can talk.” 

Arya might be smaller than Rhaegar, but the process was the same. Slowly, she guided her toward the bed. 

When she was sitting Daenerys finally felt like she could breathe. “You shouldn’t be getting up. Someone should be here to get you whatever you need.” She looked around for a servant, but they had the rooms to themselves. Was it common for Grand Maester Pycelle to leave the injured alone? Regardless, she was here now, and she could ensure Arya was properly cared for. “What was it you were looking for?” 

“I was trying to get dressed.” She spoke into her hand as she held the bridge of her nose. 

“You were leaving?” A knot tied itself in her gut. They still hadn’t had the chance to talk about their argument at the docks. but Daenerys remained committed to fixing things between them. She would have done it already had it not been for the inappropriate way Arya was received at the gate. Now their earlier fight was pushed to the background and Daenerys had a whole other thing to apologize for. As the list grew, she acknowledged that she wouldn’t blame Arya if she chose to return to Sunspear at the earliest opportunity. She’d support her, even if it meant standing up to father and Tywin and ruining the wedding in the process. Arya had suffered enough. Daenerys wouldn’t make it worse by holding her against her will. 

“I’m the Princess’s guard.” That was her clearest sentence yet. Daenerys could only hope that foreshadowed a quick recovery. 

She had been getting up to go back to work? That was oddly kind of sweet. Still, there was no rush. “I want you to rest Arya. I’m not leaving the keep for the rest of the night, I’ll be safe here, you don’t need to worry.”

Daenerys wasn’t going to budge on this. While they spoke Arya would regularly wince or hiss through gritted teeth. Sometimes she closed her eyes and massaged the spot where her nose connected to her face with two fingers. She was in pain and Daenerys refused to let her pretend otherwise. 

Neither woman spoke for a while after that. Daenerys watched closely for any chance to be of use, but Arya didn’t ask for anything, didn’t move, she just stared down into her hands and took slow, measured breaths. 

“I wish Oberyn was here,” Arya said tentatively. “He would have made a terrible Maester, but I trust him.”

Mentioning Oberyn reminded Daenerys of the promise she made the Prince. Less than an hour in the capital and she’d already failed to keep Arya safe. That she was hurt by men loyal to her family only made her transgression worse. 

“I find it hard to believe that old guy is the best in the Realm,” Arya went on. 

Daenerys chuckled. When alone, she and Missandei said the same thing and they weren’t alone. A strong majority of those who interacted with him felt Pycelle stopped being useful ages ago. “I hear he was a talented Maester once,” she said, passing along what she’d learned from the gossips. In addition to his abilities, he was also favored by those in power, a group of men that included the King and his Hand. Daenerys wasn’t stupid enough to think it was his skill and not his connections that kept him in his highly respected position. 

“I’m sure he was more than just talented, I bet he was the best at one time. Unfortunately for us, I think that time was long before either of us were born.”

They laughed and Daenerys was thrilled Arya was up to making jokes. Her joy was short lived, however. The act of laughing had Arya stopping abruptly and groaning. “Lie down!” she insisted. She wasn’t going to comply, so Daenerys kept up her onslaught. “Please Arya, I’ll stay with you. I’ll let you guard me from the bed, just lie down.” 

The effect of her offer was the opposite of the one Daenerys was trying to achieve. Instead of lying back onto the pillow and resting her head, she again tried to stand. “Arya what are you doing?”

“Yo… you shouldn’t need to be stuck here, just because I’ve got a headache.” Her face contorted in pain, but she pushed through and carried on. “You said you wanted to get out of the keep more. You shouldn’t have to spend your first night back in this room. You deserve….”

While she appreciated not only that Arya listened when they spoke, but also that she seemed committed to helping Daenerys get more freedom, there would be a time and a place for that, and she was certain it wasn’t now. Arya’s health had to be the priority. “We will go out soon, just like we planned, but first you need to get better, so you can join me.”

“Go with Mormont,” she said after almost a minute of nothing. The way she said his name, made it known Arya wasn’t over their almost fight. They were behaving like children. “Don’t let me slow you down.” 

It was kind, what Arya was doing, but there were things she didn’t know. Even if Arya was perfectly healthy, they wouldn’t be going anywhere at this hour. After weeks away from home, all she wanted was a hot bath and to sleep in her own bed. She’d gladly see as much of the world as she could before Arya returned to Dorne but not tonight. As for Jorah, her feelings on her former guard were complicated. She liked Jorah, he was easy to talk to, kind to her and didn’t yell or bully her to ensure compliance but it was far from a perfect relationship. Although he told her many times that she was his highest priority, he never missed an opportunity to side with Tywin or her father against her. With all three of them united, she didn’t stand a chance. Jorah would listen to her complain about being trapped, he’d offer to help and then nothing would change. His words, comforting as they were, meant little, because the King wanted her close and Aerys always got what he wanted. Lastly, Daenerys couldn’t just leave. Not when there were apologies she needed to make. She didn’t care where they were or what they were doing as long as she got the chance to fix the mess she made.

“Will you lie down? It’d make me worry about you a little less if you’d actually using the pillow.” 

“I’m fine, really. It’s just a few scratches.”

She resorted to begging when she couldn’t think of another way to convince her. “Please, Arya.” 

Daenerys waited right there, ready to help but Arya appeared in control as she lowered her top half and lifted her legs up onto the bed. “Better?”

“Thank you, now we can talk without me worrying you’re going to fall over.” While Arya was finding a comfortable position, Daenerys tried to pick an easy topic for them to start with. She smiled when she discovered the perfect one. “Missandei has your things. Your sword, your helmet and your bag are all safe.” 

“Thank you and please thank Missandei for me.”

“I will.” She took a deep breath and brought up the fight at the gate. “Can you tell me what happened Arya?”

She opened an eye and watched the Princess. “When?”

“At the gate,” she clarified. “What happened? Why wouldn’t they let you in?”

“They didn’t believe me.”

Didn’t believe what? She showed up on the day they King returned from Dorne, in Dornish armor. “They said that?”

“I asked them to let me pass, told them you were waiting for me, but they didn’t believe me,” Arya remembered. “I asked them to bring you out or to send for you, but they said no.”

Since her outburst at the guards, Daenerys’s fears about Arya’s health and wellbeing kept her rage from reaching the surface. She was too worried to feel much else. Now though, with Arya in front of her, that worry shrank to a manageable level. She was going to be okay, both the Maester and Arya herself said so, leading Daenerys to concur. Without the fear to serve as a distraction, her fury raced to the forefront. None of this should have happened. It was absolutely avoidable. Not only was it wrong, it was entirely unacceptable for someone the Princess cared about to be treated that way. 

Arya wasn’t done. “They thought I was a thief I think, one accused me of wanting entry so I could steal.” 

Daenerys was horrified, but vaguely recalled one of the idiots making a similar claim to her and Rhaegar. “I doubt many thieves have armor like yours.”

She shook her head and then groaned in pain almost immediately. Once the worst was over, she provided a response. “They told me my cheap armor didn’t fool them and speculated that I got it from a trader.”

She was almost afraid to ask, but she needed to hear it all. “And then?”

“They wanted me to leave, I wouldn’t, and they threatened to throw me in the dungeon. One grabbed me, I broke free and backed up but by then it was too late.”

“How many were there?”

“Four,” she recounted, “but only three came to me, the other stayed back to man the gate. 

“Only two brought you in,” Daenerys said, finally feeling like she had an accurate version of the story. Unfortunately, with understanding came disgust. Why couldn’t they listen? Why not take two minutes and check to see if she was welcome? Arya hadn’t done anything wrong and she got attacked. “Did you injure the third one?” It was the most probable explanation for why only two came in. 

“I didn’t touch any of them,” she replied bluntly, surprising Daenerys some. She’d seen Arya fight multiple times and knew how capable she was. She doubted the dim-witted men who dragged her in would be enough to detain her if Arya resisted. 

She tried to hold her tongue, she really did. She still hadn’t repaired their friendship, she didn’t want to make it worse, because she was curious. In the end the words got out all the same. “Why not? They attacked you without cause…”

“Imagine I did fight back,” Arya said fiercely, opening her eyes fully and looking at Daenerys directly. “Imagine I beat or killed all four of them and then walked right into the Red Keep to find you. How would you feel if the first thing I told you was that I just murdered four of your father’s men?”

She did as Arya requested and considered it. “I wouldn’t care!” she decided. She meant it too. Arya had tried to remain civil it was the guards who got physical. If Arya killed or maimed the lot of them, she wouldn’t care. “They attacked you, you would be justified if you defended yourself.” 

The sad smile on Arya’s face was one she didn’t understand. She thought Arya would be pleased to have her support. “You might be willing to overlook it, forgive me even but do you think your father, your brother or the Lannister would feel the same way?” 

She hadn’t considered that. She could see Arya’s point. The King had almost killed her once. She’d seen her father’s method of problem solving enough to know, eventually luck runs out. How many times could Arya go before the King and survive? 

“You’re right,” she said sincerely. “I wasn’t thinking. You did the right thing, though I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Grey eyes found violet and there was a seriousness there. “Stop that, you aren’t responsible for everyone who wears a three-headed dragon on their chest. Life is hard enough without you taking burdens that aren’t yours to carry.”

“I’ll try,” she hedged, “I’ll try to remember that.”

Arya decided to finish her story since she was nearly at the end. “After I broke free of the one guy, the other two joined in. They knocked me down and were kicking me for a while. I must have blacked out at some point because the next thing I remember is you talking to me.”

It was difficult to hear, but she was glad she knew. “That won’t happen again. I’m going to have those men demoted.” She said demoted, but she was privately thinking of demanding an even higher price for their misdeeds. 

“Can you do that?” she asked, clearly skeptical.   
Probably not. Daenerys didn’t have the authority to make decisions related to the army, but Rhaegar did and she could speak to him, she could make him see it her way. “I can’t, but I’ll ask my brother to do it. He was there when they brought you in.” 

“I saw him,” she confirmed, “but I don’t think he’ll help.”

“Why not?” Once I tell him what they did to you, he’ll agree with me.” 

“I don’t think you should mention me to him at all.”

“Why not?”

“It’s probably nothing, but when he saw me, he looked upset. I don’t think he’s happy that you brought me back from Dorne with you.” 

She tried to think back. She didn’t see what Arya did. By the time Rhaegar had made it down the hall, Daenerys’s sole focus was Arya. She helped her stand, escorted her upstairs and she hadn’t seen her brother since. “He was likely just upset his men attacked an innocent woman.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. Forget I said anything.” 

“Feeling better?” Daenerys wondered.

“Yes, thank you. I am grateful for the company, but you don’t have to stay. I know you’ve missed your brother, why don’t you go and see him?” 

She couldn’t leave until they finished. Her cheeks were coloring even before she started speaking. “Arya about what happened on the dock, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” the injured woman assured her before she got the words out. “I should have told you sooner, I was embarrassed.” 

Hearing Arya confess that she was embarrassed only made her Daenerys feel worse. “No, it’s not okay,” she disputed. “I’m ashamed of the way I behaved. I was confused and I didn’t understand and by the time I did, it was too late.” 

“We need to trust one another,” Arya said. “For me to be your guard, you need to trust that I’ll be able to protect you. If you can’t trust me, this’ll never work. If you’d rather Jorah be your guard…”

She couldn’t let this happen. She made a mistake, but she was determined not to let it undo everything. “No, no, I don’t want Jorah and I do trust you!”

“Do you really?” she asked. “This is your safety we are talking about, it’s important.”

She took time to think about it. She hadn’t known Arya long, but she reviewed what information she did have. Arya protected her from Viserys, Arya saved Missandei from the snakes, Arya stopped her from being robbed. There was still so much she didn’t yet know about Arya, but she’d already proven worthy of Daenerys’s trust. “I trust you, I do, I’m sorry for what happened.”

“I was going to tell you, I just wanted to do it in private.”

What more did she want to hear? “I said I’m sorry and I do trust you,” she summarized, hoping they were the magic words Arya needed to hear before granting her forgiveness. 

“You say you trust me, but when I asked you to go on without me, you refused.” 

That wasn’t fair. Yes, she had refused, but only because she didn’t know why Arya was sending her away. She thought she didn’t want to serve as guard anymore. “I didn’t know what was going on, I just wanted to understand.” 

“I know that, and I regret not telling you sooner. We could have avoided all of it, if I’d been braver.” Daenerys didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept her mouth closed. It didn’t sit right, hearing Arya take even a portion of the blame, when Daenerys knew she deserved it all. “In the future, if I ask you to do something you don’t understand, can we agree that I probably have a reason? Just trust me and then I will answer all your questions when it’s safe.” 

That seemed reasonable. “That’s fair.”

“Good,” Arya said after a yawn, “then you’re forgiven.”

She smiled as she grabbed the bottom of the blanket and pulled it up over Arya’s body. “Get some rest.” She must have been sore and tired, because she didn’t put up any fight at all. She just yawned a second time and said, “Thank you Daenerys.”

She stood off to the side and watched Arya for a few minutes, thinking about their conversation. She did trust Arya, but she could recognize that it might not be obvious to the Dornishwoman. Daenerys vowed to do better, to show Arya through her actions that she understood. 

She didn’t know how long she remained there, but by the time she was ready to leave, Arya’s breathing had evened out. Daenerys walked over to her slowly, taking care not to make any noise. She adjusted the blanket a little and then smiled at her guard. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m going to fix it.” She placed a light kiss in the center of her forehead. “Feel better,” she whispered. 

R-C

After setting Arya’s sword, helmet and bag so they’d be among the first things Arya saw when she woke, Dani slipped back into the hall where her handmaiden was waiting. “How is she?”

Beautiful was the first word that came to mind. She thought about what she walked in on, what she’d seen, and her list of adjectives grew. She swallowed them down and managed a more appropriate response. “She is better, I think. She was drowsy and slurring when I got there. She could barely stand, but the more we talked, the more clearheaded she became.”

“That’s great.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed. 

“Why is she not with you?”

“She still has a headache, I told her to rest.”

“I’m surprised she listened,” Missandei admitted. 

“Me too, I think she’s in more pain than she says,” Daenerys speculated. “When I said goodnight, she didn’t even try and argue.” 

Missandei’s lips turned down. “Is she resting now?”

“Yes.” She neglected to mention how difficult it was to leave, how she stood there watching her sleep, just to steal a few extra moments with her. “Come on,” she said reaching for Missandei’s nearest hand. “Would you like to join me for tea?”

“I would, but the Prince is waiting to see you.”

Daenerys was dejected when she realized her plan for the evening wouldn’t become real. She was glad Missandei was there. She had forgotten Rhaegar wanted to talk to her. “Oh yeah, I should probably do that.”

“I’ll make the tea,” Missandei proposed, “and I’ll meet you in your chambers when you’re finished.” 

“You don’t have to do that.” Tea sounded good, but Missandei was owed a rest too. Whether they were in the Water Gardens or on the ship, the handmaiden was always working. “Go relax. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Thank you. Until tomorrow.” Her dark eyes showed her obvious gratitude and Daenerys couldn’t help but notice the difference between Missandei and most other people in the castle. When Missandei said ‘thank you’ she meant it, unlike the vast majority who only said it because it was expected or polite. 

She let Missandei start to go before she attempted to get the last word in. “Say hello to Grey Worm for me!” she called after her friend. She was rewarded by Missandei’s musical laugh just before she rounded the corner. Daenerys stayed where she was after Missandei had gone. Eventually she turned and went the opposite way. 

R-C

Selmy wasn’t at the door, so she knocked and waited, knowing it would take time for Rhaegar to get up and answer. Tywin had tried assigning a servant to the Prince’s chambers multiple times, but within a day, Rhaegar would dismiss them. He claimed he needed one place where he could be alone. Daenerys understood that. 

“Daenerys,” he said as he leaned on the cane with one hand and pulled the door open with the other, “there you are.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long I was with Arya.”

“How is she?” he asked as he crossed the room to a high-backed chair. Out of dozens tested, he found this style provided the right mix of comfort and design to meet his specialized needs. Since his injury, Rhaegar couldn’t stand for long periods of time without his cane. He preferred sitting in chairs with plenty of support, especially around the lower back. He could no longer run, and he felt unsteady on a horse, though it was possible for him to ride. “Please sit. Would you like something to drink?”

She wasn’t opposed to a drink but didn’t want her brother to worry about serving her. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” She dropped down onto the long, padded bench across the table from where Rhaegar would be. “Arya is alright, she’s strong. She’s got a headache and she’s covered in bruises.”

“I’m glad she’s going to be okay,” he replied, just after he laid his cane down next to the chair. Once he was sitting his handsome face looked much more natural, his speech no longer separated by labored breathing. 

“It never should have happened,” she reminded him. “Arya didn’t do anything wrong! She told them I was waiting for her, they should have brought her in.”

Rhaegar nodded in agreement but then his words revealed how he really felt. “It was an honest mistake Daenerys. They can’t let in every person who arrives at the gate and says they have business.” 

“I don’t think attacking an innocent woman without even trying to verify her story is an honest mistake,” she contended. “They dragged her in, unconscious and in chains. If we hadn’t been there to stop them…” she trailed off, not wanting to think about what would have happened to Arya if she hadn’t been there. 

“The men were just doing their jobs.”

“Do we pay them to beat innocent women who come to the keep to serve?” she inquired. 

He sighed heavily. “No, but they probably aren’t used to women serving in such ways.”

Why was he making excuses for them? “Go see her,” she encouraged. “See the bruises and the cuts and then you tell me if you think they were justified.”

“It’s over,” he said, using his tone to make clear it was the Prince and not the brother saying so. “She’ll recover and it can be forgotten.”

Was he joking? If it was Viserys and not Rhaegar Daenerys would assume he was saying exactly what he knew would get under her skin, but Rhaegar wasn’t the sort to do that. “It isn’t over,” she countered intently, “not for Arya, it isn’t.” And not for her either. 

“What would you have me do?” Unlike his last remark, this was a genuine query from a concerned brother. He wanted to know how to help her past this. 

“Punish them!” she said without delay. Since Rhaegar was making an effort to discuss this rationally, she did the same. Instead of claiming Arya’s injury alone warranted repercussions she went another way. “They represent our family, they serve and fight in our name, do you really want the men serving us to think beating women is okay?” 

He shook his head, and she expected the words to match, but they didn’t. It wasn’t a shake to convey a negative feeling, it was a shake of disbelief, and it was aimed at her. “You’ve never seen a war, you’ve never been within a thousand miles of one, you have no idea. There isn’t an army in the world that doesn’t beat women, even ours.” 

Was she hearing him correctly? Though he rarely talked about his time fighting Robert Baratheon, Daenerys had never heard him speak so crudely. “And that makes it okay?” she spat. “She came to help, on my order and on Father’s and she got attacked, but it’s forgivable because everyone else is doing it?” 

He sighed again and tried to calm her in the process. It wouldn’t work this time. “That’s not what I meant. I only want you to understand those men did exactly what any other in their place would do.” 

“Fine,” Daenerys allowed, “then we don’t need four new guards, we need a whole new army.” 

Rhaegar threw up his hands. “Daenerys be serious.”

“I am serious,” she assured him. “Forgive me if I think we should live in a city and a castle where the men sworn to protect us aren’t so eager to show their strength that they’ll pummel a woman without cause.” 

Sensing they were not going to agree on the larger point, Rhaegar took a moment to gather himself and then repeated his original question. “What would you have me do, Dany?”

“Punish them,” she said again, though she went further this time, “demote them, send them to the dungeons, take their pay, I don’t care.” She took a moment and then summarized, “Something that shows what they did is not acceptable.”

“Those men have families, sister,” he told her, “they have wives, and children and homes. Do you wish to punish all of them too? If we take their pay, demote them, or throw them in the dungeon, the families will suffer.”

She hadn’t thought about that and it gave her pause. She had no interest in punishing wives and children for the acts of a few but doing nothing felt equally wrong. “What would you suggest?” she asked Rhaegar. He had experience leading men, and soldiers, so he’d know. 

There was a delay before he replied, in which Daenerys hoped he was giving her question due consideration. She was disappointed. “Nothing,” he finally said. “I won’t punish entire families just because the girl got a few bruises, it’s not right.” 

Where was his concern for what was right when they were beating her friend? “What about Arya?”

“She’s one person,” he explained, “what was done to her was unfortunate but not worth harming a dozen people.”

Loathe as she was to admit it, she could see his point. Her instinct was to insist that Arya was worth more than two dozen people, to her at least, but she knew that argument wouldn’t sway her brother. Instead she searched her mind for a more moderate solution that might satisfy everyone. She found it rather quickly and admonished herself for not seeing it sooner. They should assign the guards to new posts. That would inform them that their behavior was inappropriate while not inadvertently punishing their entire families. As an added benefit it would spare Arya the indignity of having to see her abusers each time she entered the keep. She was confident this idea would meet Rhaegar’s approval. “What about…”

“I said no Daenerys!” he said rather forcefully.

“I know and I understand what you’re saying, but…”

“But nothing. I said no, and that’s final.” 

Why was he acting like this? Yes, she’d gotten a little excited before, but they’d been speaking about it calmly without difficultly. Why was he angry all the sudden? “What’s wrong?” 

“This girl shouldn’t even be here. You shouldn’t have invited her here and Father shouldn’t have agreed to bring her. That’s bad enough, but you’re taking her side over your family, over the men who have protected you and watched over you your whole life.”

That was not what she was doing, and it stunned her to hear Rhaegar accuse her of it. She didn’t blame every guard or every soldier, she blamed the four men who actually committed the crime. Likewise, her decision to support Arya wasn’t rooted in a desire to go against her family, she supported Arya because she was the victim. “That’s not…”

“It’s done! I won’t speak of this anymore!”

He was dismissing her. Using his title as Prince to simply disregard anything she might have to say. She’d been in the room when he did it to other people, but she’d never been on the receiving end before. What was going on? What happened while she was away to change her loving, kind brother into a man who snapped at her and was okay with allowing an innocent woman to be hit? Arya deserved justice, in fact it was one of the reasons Daenerys postponed her plans and paid Rhaegar a visit. She thought he would help her, and even after Arya predicted he wouldn’t, she still gave him the chance. The guard was right, he didn’t want her here and he was upset at Daenerys for bringing her. 

Well that was fine, he could be angry all he wanted, because she was angry too. She was angry he wouldn’t listen, angry he wasn’t even trying to resolve this fairly. She’d been willing to accept a more measured response but that was before Rhaegar started acting like an ass. If he could do it, why was she still restrained by her manners and what was proper? If he could dismiss her ideas and feelings, then she could do the same to him. He wasn’t the only one in the capital with the authority to replace some guards. “Fine, we won’t talk about it.” 

He had the audacity to smile, like he was winning. Daenerys’s smile matched his, but only because she knew what he didn’t. He wasn’t going to get his way this time. Arya was due justice. “Thank you, I think in time you’ll see this is for the best.”

“No,” she promised, working to appear calm when she was anything but, “I won’t. I didn’t mean I’ll let the matter drop. I believe those men are vile and should be reprimanded for what they did, but as you said, you won’t discuss it any further, and I’ll accept that.” She stopped there and watched him try and reconcile her comments. If he had any doubts about where she stood on the subject, she erased them when she said, “I’ll speak to Father in the morning, I’m sure he’ll agree what happened today was unacceptable.” 

Rhaegar was silent. She took a perverse pleasure from her success, likely the same feeling her brother had moments earlier when he thought he was seconds away from getting her to give up on this all together. It was exhilarating and it overshadowed the gravity of her words. Bypassing Rhaegar and going directly to their father would lead to only one place and they both knew it. It was likely this knowledge that left Rhaegar speechless. He knew Daenerys well, and he knew how much it upset her when their father resorted to violence to solve every problem. Never in her life had she ever threatened or even jested about using the King’s illness for personal gain, but that was exactly what she was threatening. 

There would be guilt later, for fighting with her brother, for arranging the deaths of four men, for manipulating her father, but now there was only Arya. Arya, who had been wronged and deserved compensation. 

“You can’t be serious,” Rhaegar began when he found his voice. “You know what he’d do, that’ll be even worse for the families.” 

“Then perhaps you should have listened to my other idea instead of declaring the discussion over.”

He rubbed one of his large hands down his face, as if intending to scrub through the skin to get at something beneath. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Fine,” Daenerys said, standing up. “We won’t. I’m fine going to Father for help.” 

It didn’t take long for the Prince to adjust his attitude. “That won’t help anyone, least of all you. Sit down and tell me your idea sister.”

“Assign them to new posts, less prestigious ones, they’ll keep their jobs, their wages, and their families won’t be burdened but they’ll know they can’t do such things without consequences.” 

This time she trusted he actually was giving her suggestion its due. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, “they’ll be moved far away from the keep. Neither you nor the girl will need to see them again, would that be satisfactory?”

She nodded. 

It was quiet for nearly a minute before Rhaegar asked, “You really would have done it, wouldn’t you?” When she didn’t immediately respond, he clarified, “You would have gone to Father and told him about the four men, even knowing what he’d do.” 

“Yes,” she admitted. 

“Why? Who is this girl? Why do you care?” 

“Her name is Arya,” she said to start with. It didn’t escape her that he kept referring to her as ‘the girl.’ “I told you what happened, Father was going to kill her because she refused to execute her friend.” 

“Yes, I know, but who is she? Where is she from? Who are her parents? Where is her family? Why do you care about her so much?” He fired the questions off quickly, leaving no time for Daenerys to respond. Something had her brother on edge, he was leaning forward in his seat, gripping the arms of his chair tightly. 

“She’s a soldier,” she began, struggling for the appropriate combination of words to describe Arya. “I care because it’s the right thing to do. She’s a good person and she didn’t deserve to be attacked like that for trying to do her job.” 

She provided plenty of information, but obviously not the things her brother wanted to know. “Where did she come from? Who is she? Where is her family?”

“She’s a Sand, I don’t think she has any family left,” Daenerys noted sadly. 

“She’s from Dorne? You’re sure?”

“Her name is Sand,” she said again, “she’d have to be from Dorne to get that name, right?” 

“I’ve never seen anyone from Dorne who looks like her.” It was a poorly concealed accusation and one that made Daenerys uncomfortable. “What else do you know about her?”

She thought for a moment, searching for the best way to make her brother see Arya was a good person. “She’s a soldier,” she said, repeating her original point, “she finished first in her training and Prince Oberyn thinks she’ll be a commander one day.” 

“She knows Oberyn Martell?” More accusations. 

“They are friends, Oberyn helped Arya train. She’s close with his lover and his daughters too,” Daenerys recalled, thinking back to how proud Oberyn was when Arya won all her matches against his children. 

“What!?” Rhaegar shouted. For a moment she thought he was going to rise right out of his chair, but he didn’t. “I’ll speak to Father tomorrow, we need to send her away, back to where she belongs.” 

Now it was Daenerys’s turn to be outraged. She did actually abandon her seat. “Absolutely not. Arya is my guard, and my friend and you can’t just dismiss her.”

“Yes, I can,” Rhaegar pushed back. “Oberyn Martell hates me, if he sent that girl here, he did so with malicious intent. I won’t have them hurting you to get their revenge.”

There was a compliment in there somewhere, or at the very least a concerned brother but Daenerys let it pass without acknowledgement. “You’re wrong,” she declared with certainty. “Oberyn didn’t send Arya here, he didn’t want her to come at all, he opposed Prince Doran when he suggested it.” Rhaegar opened his mouth to make his next unfounded claim, but Daenerys wasn’t done. “Arya didn’t need to spend weeks on a ship to hurt me, she had plenty of opportunities in Dorne.”

“Oberyn is devious and methodical. If he trained that girl, it was not with good intentions. She isn’t here by accident. You can’t trust her. I’ll see that Jorah is renamed your guard and we’ll send her to Sunspear.”

She couldn’t believe this. When Arya said Rhaegar looked upset earlier, she was quick to defend him, to assume Arya was mistaken but maybe the guard was right. Why couldn’t he trust her judgement? He was her brother, and she was his sister, her opinion should matter to him. Why wasn’t he listening to her? He hadn’t listened when Arya was in chains either. It wasn’t until she started screaming that people paid attention. If that’s what it took, she could arrange it. “No!” she yelled loudly, moving to stand right in front of Rhaegar. “You don’t get to do that,” she pointed a finger at him, “you don’t get to spend two minutes with her and decide you know everything about her.”

“Dany wait…” he said, trying to raise a defense. She loved her brother, but she didn’t want to hear it. He was judging Arya unfairly. 

“No, you know what, you can think whatever you like but I know who Arya is and I do trust her, even if you don’t.” 

Rhaegar’s posture and toned softened as one. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t know if she persuaded him to change his mind or if he was just attempting to calm her. “You don’t know her, but I do. I’ve seen her fight and I know that if she’d wanted to, she could have killed all four of those fools at the gate. She didn’t, because she didn’t want to upset you and Father.” 

Her contention that Arya was capable of defeating four Targaryen soldiers singlehanded, had Rhaegar upset again, stealing weight from his prior apology. “How well do you really know her after only a few weeks?” he challenged. 

She was getting angrier with every word, just like she had in the hall when she threatened the guards who hurt Arya. “I know enough!” she insisted hotly. 

Rhaegar tried again to reign her in. “Dany.”

“You weren’t there when Viserys was angry, when he had me trapped and was seconds away from beating me. It wasn’t you who came in, refused to obey a Prince and then grabbed his arm to stop him from hitting me. That was Arya. Just like it was Arya who kept Missandei and I from getting bitten by two poisonous snakes when we were in the desert.” Making a list of all the things Arya had done for her reinforced Daenerys’s feelings. She was right to defend Arya, she was right to trust in her, and she wouldn’t let anyone accuse her when she wasn’t guilty, not even Rhaegar. “Arya stood up to Tywin when he was upset with me, and without her cutpurses would have taken my gold in the Sunspear market.” She felt like her skin was on fire as she continued. “One of us is wrong about Arya, but it isn’t me.” 

Furious, she left the room without another word, slamming the door behind her. She heard him calling her name, but she kept going, even after he said, ‘please.’ She fumed as she marched down the hall to her bedchamber. Yanking on the door with slightly more aggression than was standard, she entered without looking. It took several seconds for her to realize she wasn’t alone. Missandei and two cups of tea were waiting. “Why aren’t you with Grey Worm?”

The shoulders inside Missandei’s silk dressed shrugged in a display of uncertainty. “He’ll understand. Come now, before your tea gets cold, then we’ll talk.”

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There you have it. I’m interested to hear what people think of this one. Rhaegar seems a little on edge, I wonder why that is? Could it have something to do with Daenerys’s new grey-eyed friend? Daenerys stood up for herself and went to some pretty wild extremes to be heard too. Maybe she finally found someone worth fighting for. I promise more Arya in the next chapter, and more of Daenerys expressing herself. I think her days as a meek and compliant Princess are coming to an end. I hope you’ll keep reading. 
> 
> RC


	10. Chapter 10

The pounding in her head reminded her of the Titan of Braavos and how it released a warning to any who got too close. Ternesio told her many that heard it would turn and seek a different harbor, too afraid to continue on to the Titan’s city. She didn’t have that option. She was in the Dragon’s lair now, living among them. Her head and her instincts agreed there was danger all around, but she couldn’t seek out another place. Her future, the life she built for herself in Dorne was waiting and the only way to get back to it was to survive the coming months. 

The sky was still dark on the other side of the window, but Arya knew it was time to get up and prepare for the day. She smiled when she saw her sword resting on an unused chair. Her helmet was also in view, on a nearby table. Daenerys had kept her word and found the items lost during her assault. 

She made it three steps before the throbbing grew more insistent. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to push her discomfort away with slow, rhythmic breathing. She’d been through much worse than a few punches and kicks. She refused to let the pain keep her from her duties. She’d come to guard the Princess and that is what she intended to do. It would have been easy to use her injury to postpone the start of her new job for a day or two, but she didn’t want to give anyone the impression she was incapable or lazy. Just as she had with the recruits and instructors during her training, she needed to be the best to earn their respect. She couldn’t prove them wrong from her bed. She recalled her last visit in the barracks, when a large number of her fellow recruits stood at attention to honor her. That memory was proof that she could change minds. The end result would be worth all the extra effort and temporary hardships. 

With determination she opened her eyes and went to where her armor was. It weighed more than she remembered or maybe her arms were just weaker. It was akin to how she felt after a long day of strenuous training, when even the simplest of tasks was a trial. How long had she been sleeping? Not long enough for her entire body to turn soft, right? She decided a bath would do wonders. She dressed quickly and prepared to go and find the servant’s quarters. Her headache flared but the potential of relaxing in warm water helped her persevere. 

R-C

“I want to do something nice for Arya,” Daenerys said as Missandei stood behind her, styling her hair.

“That’s nice,” the handmaiden said without stopping her work. 

“It’s the least I can do, after everything that happened yesterday,” she lamented sadly. She hated that she’d unintentionally upset her friend. That alone was bad enough but said nothing about Arya getting pummelled by Targaryen troops upon arriving at the keep. 

“I thought you said Arya forgave you, that you agreed to trust one another,” Missandei clarified. 

“We did but shouldn’t I do more?” She felt like she owed Arya more than an apology and a promise to do better. “She doesn’t have anything. I can help her.”

Missandei’s hands stopped and she moved to a place where Daenerys could see her. She squatted down until her eyes were in line with the sitting Princess’s. “You are a good person, that’s why you helped me when I came here, and why you want to help Arya now, but you must be careful.” 

By tone alone she could tell the importance of Missandei’s message. She didn’t understand her reasons, however. “I have so much,” she explained, “too much and I would gladly…”

“Do you remember when I came here?” Missandei asked, interrupting what the Targaryen planned to say. “You offered me my freedom as soon as you learned who I was. I said ‘no’.” 

“You always say no,” Daenerys remarked with a smile. 

“I do, but my reasons were different then,” she admitted. 

“They were?” This was something she didn’t know. “Why?”

“I didn’t trust you,” she confessed, breaking eye contact for the first time. “In Astapor slaves who try to escape are taken to the Walk of Punishment. Sometimes the Masters hire actors to offer help, just to see if a slave would be interested. I didn’t know if your offer was genuine.”

As with every time she heard of Missandei’s life before King’s Landing, Daenerys was horrified. For a woman born and raised in a castle, in a place where slavery was outlawed, it was hard to imagine the world her friend came from. “I meant it,” she said passionately, “I did then, and I do now.” 

Missandei smiled. “I know, but it took time for me to believe that. It wasn’t until I got to know you that I saw you were a woman worth trusting.” 

She was pleased Missandei’s original opinion of her had changed. Hair half-done she threw her arms around her friend, hugging her tightly. “You can trust me,” she said, echoing what she told Arya the day before. 

Missandei answered without releasing her. “I know.” She waited until she was back behind Daenerys, once again braiding her hair before she brought their talk back to her predicament with the guard. “You need to give Arya space, as you did for me. Let her see that she can rely on you before you ask her to accept your help.” 

Daenerys wanted to proclaim that her motives were honorable, because they were, but she knew Missandei had a valid point. She offered up what she knew was an easily defeated argument instead. “Arya already knows me. We’ve spent weeks together.” 

“But you just learned she doesn’t have money yesterday,” Missandei pointed out accurately. 

“That doesn’t matter. Arya is still Arya, whether she has gold or not.” 

“Yes, she is,” Missandei agreed, “but if you buy her things now, it’ll seem like charity.” 

It wasn’t charity. Arya was her friend and she wanted to do nice things for her. The fact that she needed them, only made Daenerys more eager. She was about to say so, when Missandei added, “I know it’s not, but consider how it’ll appear to her.” 

Missandei had proven wise beyond her years, so Daenerys did as she asked and tried to consider things from Arya’s point of view. She hated to admit it but she could see how her gifts might be misinterpreted. “What should I do?” 

“Start small,” Missandei advised. “Provide her with a horse to use temporarily.”

She was going to do that anyway. That wasn’t a gift. “That’s not…” Missandei stopped braiding, a sign that Daenerys’s latest objection was unwelcome. She took heed. After a deep breath she reigned in her emotions. “I’m sorry, go on.” 

“Allow her to borrow a horse, then when she prepares to return to Dorne, inform her that she can keep it, as a gift from you. By the time she’s due to leave, she’ll have learned to trust in you, just as I did.” 

“Missandei, you’re a genius,” she exclaimed. That was a great idea! Arya wouldn’t refuse that, if only for the sake of practicality. Her duties required her to accompany Daenerys and sometimes that would involve a mount. She wouldn’t want to limit Daenerys’s travel to distances they could walk, and she’d be of little use if she was always chasing after her charges, so she’d have no choice but to agree. Once she had a horse, Daenerys could go about the process of proving trustworthy. In time she’d convince Arya her kindness was a genuine act of friendship rather than pity. Now that she had a plan, her excitement bubbled over and she turned her head, forgetting the need to be still. “Anything else?” 

She thought for a moment, humming to tell the Princess she was considering it. With gentle pressure she adjusted Daenerys’s head, picking up the incomplete braid. “With Arya, I suspect one practical gift would be better received than many smaller ones.”

She managed to avoid turning this time but couldn’t hold her tongue. “But she needs so many things. Did you see her clothes? She barely has any!” 

“Okay,” the handmaiden allowed, “let us assume that you could convince Arya to accept new clothes, nice ones, what do you think would happen when next week you wanted to give her a new saddle or a chest to store her clothes?” 

By the time Missandei finished her question, she could see the flaw. “She’d refuse,” she predicted. 

“Yes, but if you give her one meaningful gift, one item she could use, she’s more likely to accept it.” She let that sink in before she inquired, “Do you know what she’d like?” 

She did in fact. “A weapon,” she said proudly, pleased she knew what her friend would appreciate. “Apparently soldiers can never have enough.” She was sure her disbelief was evident to Missandei. “She told me she’s always wanted a hand-crafted weapon made just for her.” She thought back to their conversation on the ship. What else had she said about it? “Oh,” she jumped slightly in her chair, “Valyrian steel, she likes Valyrian steel.” 

With endless patience Missandei settled Daenerys back down and then picked up where she left off. “That’ll be very expensive.”

“I don’t care about that,” she insisted. “If that’s what she wants, then that’s what I’ll get her.” 

“It will take time to have something made, and you’ll need to secure the gold.”

As badly as she wanted to refute the objections, she couldn’t. “Yeah.”

“But that works in your favor,” Missandei informed her, “because you’ll need time to earn Arya’s confidence. By the time the gift is ready, hopefully she will be willing to take it.”

She didn’t deserve Missandei. With just a few words she’d completely reversed the way Daenerys viewed her situation. Instead of being disappointed with the delay, Missandei gave her a task she could implement immediately, one that would lead her to where she eventually wanted to be. “You’re right,” she said, “thank you.”

When the knock on the door came, she was dressed and ready to go. She smiled and called for her guest to enter, expecting to see an attractive, albeit bruised woman. For once she wouldn’t be sad staying inside the castle, especially knowing Arya had to be hurting from her injuries. An easy day talking and getting to know one another sounded ideal. 

When the door opened and it wasn’t Arya Sand, Daenerys couldn’t be bothered working to keep her smile in place. If Jorah noticed, she couldn’t tell. 

“Good morning Princess,” he said warmly. When he spotted her handmaiden, he gave only a nod and a stiff, “Missandei.” 

She’d grown accustomed to Jorah’s kindness, but it didn’t escape her that his tone changed markedly when he addressed Missandei. The difference annoyed her and soured her previously good mood. After all this time, people still treated Missandei like a slave. His position afforded him an opportunity to really get to know her and yet Jorah wouldn’t give her his respect. Maybe it was because of Arya that the discrepancy bothered her so much. Arya had always acted as if Missandei was as royal as Daenerys. 

She was pulled from her thoughts about Arya by Jorah’s large hand touching her shoulder. “Well,” he inquired, “what do you think?” 

What did she think about what? She hadn’t heard anything he said. “I’m sorry, I got lost in thought. Good morning Ser.”

His smile dimmed a bit but didn’t disappear. “Imagining all the places we are going to go?”

What? Where was he expecting her to go? Did he say, ‘we?’ She looked to Missandei for clarification and saw a sad expression on her friend’s face. It said, ‘You missed a lot.’ She punctuated the silent message with a slight, reassuring smile, as if trying to pass a reserve of strength through the gesture. 

She focused on Jorah and started with an apology to smooth the waters. “I’m sorry Ser, as I said, I was in my head, so I confess to being a bit behind.”

Jorah’s smile shrank further. “Oh, well that’s okay. I was just saying…” he stopped abruptly without filling in the information she lacked, changing direction instead. “What’s on your mind this morning?” His hand stayed on her shoulder and he was plenty close already, but he leaned in all the same. 

“I was thinking about Arya,” she said truthfully, seeing no reason to be ashamed of that fact. “We were talking about going to check on her when you knocked.” 

“Oh,” Jorah responded simply. That response did what her earlier missteps couldn’t -- it removed the smile from his face completely. “I’m sure she’s fine.” 

“Have you seen her?” she asked quickly, standing up a little taller. In her excitement she nudged his hand off her shoulder. Did he have more information than she did? Had Arya been able to rest? Was her pain manageable? What did the Maester have to say? How long before she would be back to her old self? 

Jorah appeared uncomfortable when he answered. “Well, no but…”

If he didn’t know, there was one way they could find out. “I appreciate you stopping by for a visit, but…”

She was already moving to the door before Jorah’s body blocked her. “Princess, I did not come by to visit, I am your guard and since the Sand is unable, I’ll be happy to…”

Really? Was he trying to use Arya’s beating to steal her job? “That’s quite alright Ser Jorah,” she said emphasizing his title for added formality, “I have a guard and as I said, we were on our way to see her.” 

His posture softened and his voice matched. He reached for her arm, but she crossed it over her chest in a not so subtle show of her disapproval. “Daenerys, she can’t guard you, she can’t guard anything. She was off the ship for an hour before she got herself sent to the dungeon.” 

Did he think he was helping himself with these comments? What happened wasn’t Arya’s fault, in fact Daenerys thought she displayed incredible restraint not killing the pigs who detained her. “She is my guard and she is quite capable I assure you. I’ll be safe in her company. I have no plans to leave the keep today, so Arya can recover and protect me from the bed Grand Maester Pycelle gave her.” 

From the corner of her eye she caught sight of Missandei, trying to urge caution by mouthing the word, ‘no.’ It was already too late. 

Before she could wonder why, she learned the reason. Jorah pounced on the opening. “That’s just it,” he insisted, “I spoke to your brother and we agree that you’ve been cooped up too long; the ship, then the Water Gardens, then the ship again, since you don’t have any appointments until this afternoon, we can spend the morning in the city.” He was done until he wasn’t. “Missandei can join us as well, if you want,” he added as an afterthought. 

She couldn’t say what it was, whether it was the tone he used or the words he chose, but whatever it was, it had all of the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Her mind was sounding alarms and waving banners to get her attention. Something about this felt wrong. 

Normally her joy at leaving the castle would have outweighed anything else she was feeling, but not this time. She repeated Jorah’s words in her head and listened for what had her unnerved. He sounded kind, as he always did when he spoke to her, so nothing unusual there. She noted that his decision to include Missandei was a cheap tactic to try and earn her favor but that too was common. The only lie she could find, was really more of a misrepresentation. He implied that she’d been trapped while in Dorne, but her memory was full of her adventures with Missandei and Arya outside the Water Gardens. She hadn’t felt confined at all, quite the opposite actually. 

Was that the reason her instincts were screaming? She didn’t know, but Jorah was looking at her strangely, awaiting a reply. She had to say something before the silence stretched too long. “Ser,” she began, but that’s as far as she got. 

“So where would you like to go first?” 

Finally, she understood why Missandei had tried to warn her, it was because she knew what Jorah planned to suggest. The knight’s original confusing question also made more sense. She opened her mouth with no clear idea what she’d say, that is until a realization rushed over her like a bucket of ice water. It chilled her to the bone in the same way as well. He was manipulating her. It couldn’t be any more obvious. The way he was framing things, as if he’d travelled miles and negotiated for hours to get Rhaegar’s approval. He’d probably passed her brother on his way to her room. Also, why were Rhaegar and Jorah discussing her day without including her? She was a grown woman not a child and it was past time the people in her life treated her accordingly. 

She always interpreted Jorah’s tenderness toward her as a sign of his affection, now it appeared more sinister now. It wasn’t familiar or comforting, soft or sweet, it was too much, too false, like he was trying too hard. How had she never noticed this before? Was it always like this? 

It was the last detail she noticed that tipped the scale, however. Jorah had presented her with an idea for how they might spend some of the day, then when she tried to respond and share her thoughts, he cut her off and assumed her compliance. He didn’t care what she had to say, it didn’t matter what she wanted to do. It was as if he and Rhaegar had already made up her mind for her and they expected her to go along with it and be grateful. 

“Thank you for the offer Ser,” she said, calling on her years of practice being thrust into uncomfortable conversations. “I think that I’d rather stay in today.” She managed a smile, but it was empty, as was her gratitude for his effort. 

Jorah was momentarily taken aback. Though her arms were still crossed, he held out one of his hands with the palm up, an open invitation that she didn’t take. He turned his hand over, balled it into a fist, then opened it, placing it on her forearm. “Daenerys,” he said, “think about this. You know how rare it is that you are not needed here.” He paused to give her a chance to reflect. “How long will it be before you get this chance again?” He answered for her, which she was starting to see was a pattern. “It could be weeks or even longer. It’s been a while since you’ve seen the children at the orphanage, and I know we saw the port yesterday, but the Targaryen ships will be cleared out by now and it’ll be bustling with activity. All the ships that couldn’t get in yesterday, will be trying to find a berth, add to that the ships who are due in today and I’m sure they’ll be working tirelessly to get them in and out. The capital never has a backlog like that, are you sure you want to miss it? 

Jorah made a compelling argument. She did love going to the waterfront and since her father’s ships occupied most of the space yesterday, it was bound to be busier today as a result, perhaps busier than she’d ever seen it. She wouldn’t mind being there to witness that. 

“If they’re that busy, they probably don’t need us getting the way.” 

Jorah was smiling again, and that simple change set off more alarms. She rationalized that the unease would continue until she sat down and sorted her feelings. She’d need to dedicate some time to her revelation about Jorah manipulating her. Did he do it often? If not, how many of their days together were tainted? She’d need time, wine, and a long talk with Missandei to sort everything out, but that would come later. 

In the immediate, she had a choice to make. What was best, should she stay with Arya or venture out? Jorah was right about one thing, it could be a while before the opportunity presented itself again. Could she handle that? Could she miss it and not be overwhelmed with guilt? If she did go, could she enjoy it knowing Arya was hurt? Would Arya be angry they went without her? She’d likely be happy for Daenerys but what if she wasn’t? Would it upset the fragile peace between them? 

She remained undecided until Jorah tried to tempt her with another plea. “Come on, you won’t regret it. You’ll have a great time, I promise.” 

He was trying awfully hard. why was that? Why would he care if they went strolling through the city? She couldn’t recall too many times Jorah persisted after Daenerys made it clear she wasn’t interested. So why was today special? What did it matter if they left the castle? There’d be nothing in it for him, he’d just have to follow her around, through the market, in and out of shops, up and down the waterfront. Why would he want to do that? 

When the answer dawned on her she was angry, angrier than any other time she’d quarrelled with the knight. This wasn’t about doing something nice at all, that was just a pretty lie to cover more manipulation. He didn’t care if she was happy, he wanted her with him, away from the keep and away from Arya. What this was all about, she was beginning to understand, was that Jorah wanted to be her guard again. 

How long had he been working on this? Since Arya got hurt? Before that? Was it Jorah who told the guards at the gate to be wary of anyone trying to gain entry to see her? It was possible, but she chose to believe Jorah wasn’t that malicious. No, he probably began plotting when he heard what happened. 

If she had agreed, how long would he have waited before he started trying to convince her that Arya was unsuitable, that he and no one else should protect her? 

His generous offers hadn’t been for her benefit, everything was about softening her up and making her more receptive to his arguments. His goal was to be renamed Daenerys’s guard. In hindsight she could see he’d been trying to accomplish that since the night Arya came into their lives. 

She wasn’t sure how to feel. On one hand she was pleased she discovered his reasons before falling for his lies, but there was embarrassment too, for not catching on sooner, and rage, she had plenty of rage. 

Jorah was one of the few people she truly liked. She was happy to spend her time with him, and now this. Had he been manipulating her for years or was it an occasional occurrence? Even if this was the first and last time, it didn’t really matter, the damage was done. One day soon, after she had time to comprehend everything, she and the knight were going to talk, and she was going to get her answers. 

In the meantime, she’d made up her mind. Jorah’s self-serving offer to take her into the city was about to be declined. 

It was Missandei and not Jorah she heard first. “Give her a minute,” she was saying. 

Obviously, they’d been talking again, without her. It was fine. She didn’t need to know what was said. She smiled sincerely for her handmaiden. “Thank you Missandei, why don’t you go see if you can find the Grand Maester, I’d like an update on Arya’s condition.” 

Without delay, Missandei was obedient. “At once, Princess.” 

As she walked past Daenerys set a hand on her arm and stopped her from continuing on. “Thank you Missandei, for everything.” 

The handmaiden hugged her and while she always enjoyed a hug, she knew Missandei had a motive beyond the embrace. She was proven right when almost immediately she felt warm breath against her ear. “Are you going to be here when I get back?” 

“Definitely, meet me and we’ll go find Arya.”

The hug ended and as Missandei backed up, Daenerys noticed a spark in her eye. She looked happy. Was it because she knew what Daenerys had to say to Jorah? 

Alone with the knight, all the kindness in her face seeped out and she again folded her arms over her chest. “Sit down,” she directed. 

“Princess are we not…”

“I said sit! We need to talk.”

He wanted to object, she could see, but he didn’t. Smart decision. “Princess…”

“I understand you are unhappy with how things happened in Dorne,” she said, feeling no guilt for not letting him finish. 

“It isn’t right,” he replied, “you’re far too important to be given an inexperienced guard.” 

It was by design and not luck that she was standing. and he was sitting. For once she was the taller of the two. She moved closer so he’d have to look up at her. “That was not your decision to make. I chose to speak for Arya, and everyone agreed, Tywin, Doran, even my father.” 

“They shouldn’t have!” he said emphatically. “I’m your guard!”

“You’re not my guard!” she fired back. He had been looking down, but his eyes snapped up to meet hers. 

“Princess…”

“Arya is my guard, my only guard. You may not like it, you may not approve, but that is how it is.”

“It’s too dangerous…”

“We spoke of this in Sunspear and I thought you understood and then you come here today and try and step in as my guard.” 

“She’s hurt,” he said in his own defense. 

That argument was growing weaker by the minute. “And what of tomorrow?” she inquired. “If Arya is healthy and ready to serve as my guard would you not find another excuse to disqualify her?”

“Princess, I just want…”

She’d heard enough. That was a yes or no question. She let him have four words and none of them were remotely close. “Oh right, what was I thinking? You wouldn’t need to, because after a day with you, doing all my favorite things, I wouldn’t hesitate to reinstate you to your rightful place. That was what all this was about, wasn’t it?”  
He kept his head down, hiding his face, but she saw some extra redness on the parts of his cheeks that were visible. “I only want what’s best for you, I always have. It was kind of you to try and save the Sand, but she doesn’t belong here. You should not need to suffer with a substandard guard, just so she doesn’t have to admit her limitations.”

Daenerys was furious. How dare he? Arya was the best guard she ever had, up to and including Jorah Mormont. Arya had done nothing to deserve Jorah’s scorn. Daenerys had two choices, she could continue this argument and try and educate Jorah, or give up on this ignorant, bullheaded man and join Missandei to check on Arya. It wasn’t a difficult choice. 

“As much as I am enjoying this debate Ser,” she said through a thick layer of sarcasm, “I have somewhere else to be. Worry not, I’ll be with my guard. You, I’m sure are equally busy.”

He stood up. “There is nothing urgent,” he said. “Daenerys please, I only want to help you.”

She reached her limit with all of this. This wasn’t even a real argument. She was Daenerys Targaryen, a Princess and he was a member of the Kingsguard, sworn to her father. He didn’t get to hold her in a pointless conversation against her will. 

“We are done!” she told him plainly. “You serve my father Ser. As I understand the arrangement, Arya acts as my guard, while you fulfill duties normally completed by Viserys. You should go and do those, whatever they are.” 

“There’s nothing, you know there is nothing.” He was growing frustrated by his inability to calm her. He threw up his hands before saying, “Why are you being like this?”

Why? Maybe because she realized he had been manipulating her. She thought they were friends but were they really? That was a question for later, now she just wanted to leave. “If Tywin doesn’t have anything for you, check with Rhaegar or the King, I’m sure someone has need of you Ser, but it isn’t me.” 

As she marched past, avoiding his eye, he grabbed her arm. “Daenerys, wait!”

“Unhand me!” she roared. It was a command and not the polite requests he usually heard from her. 

After his arm dropped, he wasn’t quite ready to give up. “I’m sorry if I upset you Princess, I’m just trying to understand…”

He was still talking as she continued out into the hall. Soon enough the faint unintelligible sounds he was making faded to silence. 

R-C

A helpful servant pointed her to the Princess’s bedchamber. As she headed in that direction, she felt the eyes on her. More than once she heard fragments of a hushed discussion. She heard words like; ‘guard, Dorne, Princess; and ‘saved.’ Obviously, people knew about her less than welcoming reception at the gate. Gossip it seemed wasn’t a hobby practiced only in Dorne. Word of her spread through the Red Keep just as quickly as it would’ve the Water Gardens. She walked with her head held high, even as it throbbed. 

While she knocked on the door Arya prepared herself for the next few hours. She’d guard the Princess, just as she had in Dorne. She’d stay back and do her best to avoid anyone and everything else. Her obligations were to Daenerys and Missandei alone. She’d keep them safe, she’d do her duty, the rest didn’t matter. She didn’t care about politics or courtly intrigue. The King, his Hand, the Crown Prince, none of that was important to her. One of the benefits of agreeing to support Daenerys’s desire to leave the castle, was that it would limit the amount of time Arya had to spend there as well. That was a win for Daenerys and a win for her too. 

Missandei answered the door, smiling when she saw the guard. Unseen, behind the handmaiden Daenerys was speaking. “Where do you think she is? The Grand Maester didn’t seem to know. She promised me she’d rest, she couldn’t have gone too far, could she?”

Missandei stepped back and motioned Arya in. The two servants shared a look, deciding which of them would reply. Arya took the lead. “I did rest, as promised. I assure you, I’m fine.” Her line was delivered with confidence and Arya was relieved. How many times she had to stop and rest while getting cleaned and dressed was a secret she’d take to her grave. 

Daenerys leapt from her seat as if lighting struck it. “Arya!” she shouted, a sound that worsened her discomfort significantly. She steeled herself as Daenerys rushed over. “How are you feeling? Why aren’t you resting? Does the Maester know you’re up? Missandei would you summon him please.” 

Arya chewed on her lower lip to keep from laughing as Daenerys’s concern teetered dangerously close to panic. When she planned to summon Pycelle, Arya had to intervene. “I don’t need the Maester, he said I would feel better after a good night’s sleep, and I do.”

“Maybe you should lie down anyway.” 

“I’m fine,” she exaggerated. “Now, what does the Princess have on her schedule today?”

Her transparent attempt to change the subject failed. “Are you sure?” Daenerys pressed. “It’s okay if you need the day to recover, we have other guards you know.”

The prospect of lying in the servant’s quarters, staring at the ceiling wasn’t the least bit appealing. “Do you wish to replace me already?”

“What? No, of course not. I just want you to heal.”

“I’m nearly good as new,” she lied.

“Arya, I don’t think…” 

Seven Hells, she was stubborn. With no desire to extend this argument and her headache, she changed tactics. “Missandei handmaiden to the Princess, since my question remains unanswered, I turn to you, where will you be accompanying the Princess today?”

Daenerys scoffed and rolled her violet eyes. Missandei responded, matching Arya’s formal tone perfectly. “Well, Guard Sand, protector of the Princess, we will be attending a meeting this afternoon. Until then the Princess has no obligations.” 

“Enough,” Daenerys complained through a chuckle. “I get the message, you’re fit for duty, I’ll try to control my worry.”

Arya cracked a smile. “I’d appreciate that.” She waited to make sure the topic of her injury was truly closed before moving on. “So, a meeting?”

“Yes,” Daenerys confirmed after a sigh. “My father is gathering everyone in the throne room, where he plans to tell the court of his successes in Dorne and learn what happened in the capital while we were away.” It was obvious she wasn’t looking forward to it. “We’ll have to sit there and listen while they congratulate each other for preventing the collapse of the Realm.”

With little interest in returning to the throne room, she plotted an escape for the both of them. “Are you required to be there?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Would anyone notice if you weren’t?” 

“Unfortunately,” she repeated. “Tywin sent word that I’m expected to be in attendance.” 

She couldn’t avoid the Iron Throne and the King who sat there forever. She knew she’d need to face her fears at some point, but she was about as happy as Daenerys that it would be today. The Gods wanted to test her right from the start, it seemed. She’d have to stand there, in the same place her family was destroyed, surrounded by some of the same people who were there that terrible day. If she showed any outward signs of her emotions, if she was anything other than Daenerys’s Dornish guard, if anyone learned the truth, she’d be the next in a long line of Starks to die in that room. She tried to appear casual when she said, “Meeting in the throne room, got it.” 

“Afterward, we’ll see about getting you some armor.”

It was undeniable Daenerys was talking to her, but the words didn’t fit together quite right. “I have armor,” Arya pointed out, bringing a closed fist down on her breastplate and creating a clang for effect. 

“I should have thought of it sooner,” Daenerys commented. “If you had Targaryen armor yesterday, you would have been allowed entry. What happened to you was my fault.”

She didn’t want to hear Daenerys blame herself again. They’d spoken about it already and it was done. “Do I have to?” she wondered. 

Daenerys looked at her, confused by the question. “Do what?”

“Do I need to wear Targaryen armor?” The mere idea made her sick. She was glad she hadn’t eaten breakfast she didn’t think she’d be able to keep it down if she had. 

“It would prevent any misunderstandings,” Missandei contributed. 

“Exactly,” Daenerys agreed. “No one would question you, you’d be one of them.” 

That was the problem. Arya didn’t want to be one of them. She thought of her father. What would he say if he saw his daughter wearing a dragon? “Do I have to?”

This time her question got through. “Do you not want to?”

She hadn’t planned for this conversation, she hadn’t organized her words and prepared carefully crafted statements. She worked frantically to do that now, checking every phrase to make sure it didn’t reveal too much of her history. How could she explain her reasons without admitting her hate for Daenerys’s family? “I worked hard to earn this,” she said rapping her knuckles on the armor again, “wearing the Sun of the Martells is a show of respect for the people who let me fight for them.”

“I’m letting you fight for me too,” Daenerys retorted, sounding hurt. 

She hadn’t wanted to offend Daenerys. She was the one Targaryen Arya didn’t despise. If it was important to her, she’d wear the armor. “Yes, you are, which is why if you want me to wear a Targaryen sigil, I will.”

Her willingness to abide by Daenerys’s ruling had a direct impact on the Princess’s mood. She said nothing for a moment and then decided. “You’re right. The Martells let you train, they supported you and I will too. You can wear Martell armor, if you’d prefer.” 

Relieved she sought to show Daenerys how grateful she was. She reached out and took her hand. “Thank you.”

R-C

Arya was behind Daenerys and Missandei by half a step. There wasn’t likely any real threats lingering around the Red Keep, but she remained vigilant anyway. Grey eyes swept from side to side, studying each face in turn, determining their purpose. Did they belong where they were, doing what they were doing? So far everyone did. 

It was a short walk to put herself in the mindset of someone who meant the Targaryens harm. She considered how she might strike the heavily protected Princess and was careful to watch for those who approached with similar ruses. She tried to think like an assassin, how would she do it, if her target was Daenerys? She’d wear Targaryen armor, the very kind she was so opposed to accepting. It would provide cover and allow her to be sufficiently armed. The castle guards were permitted to get close to Daenerys, it would only take one moment of inattention for the deed to be done. An assassin in a guard’s mask could slip a dagger or a sword into Daenerys’s chest as he walked past, and no one would notice until it was too late. As she thought about it, she realized the real problem wouldn’t be in reaching Daenerys, it would be escaping afterward. Once the Princess was slain, once everyone was looking for the killer, getting outside the Red Keep would be the true challenge. She quickly ended that thought and circled back to the beginning. She didn’t care how an assassin might avoid detection after it was over, her job was to prevent him from getting close enough in the first place. Jorah made it sound like the job was easy, but Arya was coming to doubt his assessment. The large number of people Daenerys interacted with daily meant Arya would need to be constantly on guard, ready to intervene in an instant if danger presented itself. 

With her newfound realization about the fragility of the Dragon Princess fresh in her mind she tensed when she saw a three-man patrol moving in their direction. Her left hand shifted subtly to her sword while her right brushed against Daenerys’s back. It was a light touch, a grazing of her fingers on a silk-covered spine to steer her to the side ever so slightly. She didn’t have to wonder if Daenerys felt the contact because the muscles under her fingers tensed in response. Daenerys was watching her, looking for an explanation, but the guard didn’t dare divide her focus. Her eyes moved from face to face, checking for anyone overly interested in Daenerys or Missandei. She reviewed their hands, confirming none were preparing to draw a weapon. As the groups met, Arya stepped up, coming parallel to Daenerys and blocking the royal with her body. Now if anyone wished to harm her, they’d need to go through Arya, literally. The men continued on down the hall and around the corner, passing Daenerys without an issue. 

She tried to fall back but Daenerys’s hand grabbed hers with surprising speed and strength. “What was that?”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I know they’re loyal to your family, I just want to be careful. They had weapons…”

“It’s okay,” Daenerys assured her, squeezing her hand. “I don’t mind. You have my permission to do whatever you feel is best to keep us safe.” 

That was good to know. Protecting Daenerys would be much easier if she was committed to following instructions. “Thank you. I’ll try to minimize the interruptions, but when men with swords are nearby, I may guide you away or move closer.” 

There was a spark in her eye when her lips curled. “I don’t mind when you’re close.” 

What was she supposed to say to that? Luckily before she had to decide they were required to separate. “Daenerys,” a voice called out. 

When she turned, she was stunned silent. Standing there was a young man roughly Daenerys’s age. She hadn’t seen him before, and she was confident she would’ve remembered. The man was tall and lean, he wore expensive well-made clothes and had a longsword attached to the belt around his waist. Arya wanted to be ready in case he had ill-intent, but she couldn’t move. She was frozen, left staring at a face that was entirely too familiar. It was like seeing one of her memories brought back to life, the sharp features, the grey eyes, the dark hair. He looked like a member of her lost family, a mixture of her brother Robb and her father Ned. If she’d ever wondered what her father looked like in his younger years, before Arya was born, she would have guessed it was a lot like this man. 

She heard incoherent, distant sounds as Daenerys greeted him and began a conversation. She could see lips moving but couldn’t understand any words. She tried harder, forcing his appearance to the back of her mind. With effort, the conversation became clearer. “I heard you and Father got into a disagreement.” 

Daenerys looked at her and moved closer. Her companion followed a second later, with Missandei. “It’s not important now,” she said. “I’d like you to meet someone.” With a bright smile she brought them together. “Arya Sand, this is Aemon Targaryen. Aemon, this is my new guard, Arya.” 

“Pleased to meet you, glad to see you’ve recovered. 

She raised an eyebrow in unasked question. Had he been there when she was brought in? She remembered seeing Daenerys and Rhaegar, but no others. “Y…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Very kind m’lord.”

He laughed, and Daenerys followed. “Aemon’s fine, no one calls me a Lord around here.”

Daenerys smiled and touched Arya’s covered arm. “Aemon’s like us, not big on titles.” 

She forced a tight, likely unbelievable smile and nodded dumbly. Aemon was unbothered, addressing Daenerys. “I can use titles if you prefer Aunt Daenerys.” 

Missandei, Daenerys and Aemon all laughed. Arya couldn’t because she was too busy assessing how drastically her world had changed with those two words – Aunt Daenerys. She searched for another plausible explanation, one that didn’t involve her family, but they were few and far between. Daenerys spoke of having a nephew, but Arya erroneously assumed it would be a young boy, not a man older than her. If the child was Rhaegar’s and it appeared he was, then his mother could be only one person. She tried to deny it. It could be anyone. Grey eyes and long faces weren’t exclusive to Starks, but her logic died early. Rhaegar was married to Elia Martell. He remained married until after he kidnapped Arya’s Aunt Lyanna. When her grandfather and uncle were killed by the Mad King, Robert Baratheon and her father went to war. It was hard to imagine Rhaegar found the time to bed another Northerner and father a child while all of that was happening. Given Aemon’s age and features, it only made sense if his mother was Lyanna. Arya had always dreamed of finding out what became of her family, but she never imagined it like this. 

“Arya, are you alright?”

She smiled a little more honestly, pleased to have something to distract her from her thoughts. Missandei and Aemon were looking at her too. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“Is your head okay?”

“It’s fine Princess, I promise.”

“If you’re sure…” She waited to see if Arya would elaborate. “Could you escort Missandei inside, I need to speak to Aemon privately for a moment.” 

She was uncomfortable with the idea of leaving Daenerys alone, but nodded anyway. “Of course.” She avoided Aemon’s grey eyes and took her leave with Missandei by her side. 

“How badly does your head hurt?” Missandei asked once they were away from the Targaryens. 

“Not too bad,” she said, giving the handmaiden a more truthful answer than the one the Princess received. 

“She’s worried about you.”

“I know, but it’s getting better.” She waited as long as she could before she asked, “What are they talking about?” She looked over her shoulder to see Daenerys and Aemon locked in a debate of some kind. 

“Daenerys had a disagreement with her brother last night, I suspect Aemon wishes to talk to her about that. He’s often in the middle when the Prince and Princess argue.” 

Arya opened the door and held it for Missandei to pass through. 

She intended to ask what the siblings had fought about, but her surroundings stole all thoughts from her. She couldn’t be bothered by such trivial inquires, not when she was standing in front of the Iron Throne for the second time in her life. Her gaze shifted from the throne to the spot several feet away where she’d once knelt. A shiver stronger than any she felt since leaving the North shook her. 

The throne itself was empty, just a collection of swords forged into a chair by dragonfire. She remembered how scared she’d been the first time she made this walk. Her father had her under one arm, while his other was wrapped around Sansa’s shoulders. Her mother was holding Rickon, while Robb tried to reassure Bran. 

The seats were already arranged, staggered in tiers, on both the right and left of the throne. Some chairs had none behind them, others had as many as three. On the floor, between the door and throne were rows of chairs that were meant for the audience, be it the court or other invited guests. 

Missandei waited until she took it all in and then provided guidance. “We’ll be over here,” she said, pointing with a finger and then taking them there. “As Daenerys’s guard and handmaiden, we’ll remain behind her, in case we’re needed.” 

“Anything else I need to know?” 

They were in front of a chair on the level right below the throne. “Daenerys will sit here,” she said, touching the third and last chair on that tier. “We’ll be back there,” she continued, moving to demonstrate where they fit in this highly organized puzzle. 

She tried to mask her nerves with humor. “All I have to do is stand here? Even I can’t fuck that up.” 

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” Missandei advised. “It’ll be hard, but no matter what happens, don’t get involved unless Daenerys is in danger. Do you understand? Say nothing unless Daenerys is at risk.” 

She did understand. Missandei was trying to warn her about the things she might have to witness. The slave didn’t know it, but nothing the Mad King could do would surprise her anymore. After last time, she was immune to his depravity. “I know all about what happens here.”

When she turned, Arya saw a glassy quality to Missandei’s eyes. “You do?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. She was all too aware. 

Missandei’s next words kept the memories at bay for the time being. “Luckily, Daenerys rarely needs to attend meetings like this.” 

She could only nod. She wouldn’t complain if this was her last time in the Mad King’s throne room. 

R-C

“What happened?” Aemon asked her. She told him not to worry, she tried steer the conversation elsewhere, but he kept circling back to it. She knew Arya was gone, but she peeked over her shoulder just to be sure. She’d done as Daenerys instructed and accompanied Missandei to the throne room in advance of the meeting. This meant she could speak to Aemon and keep the fact that she and her brother had disagreed over Arya hidden from the Dornishwoman. 

“I told you, it’s not important.” She tried one more time to get him to drop it. 

“If that were true,” Aemon replied, “Father wouldn’t have been up all night.”

She was annoyed by the stab of concern she felt for her eldest sibling. She didn’t like seeing him distressed, but she wasn’t in the wrong this time. He was the one who overreacted and misjudged Arya. “We disagreed. We’ll get past it soon.”

“About your guard?” Aemon guessed. 

“How did you…”

“You wouldn’t have sent her away if it wasn’t about her.” 

Damn him for being smart. Aemon and Rhaegar had always been close. She chose to discuss it with him in the hopes that he’d have insight into the reason Rhaegar was so hostile. “He thinks Arya has unkind motives for helping me.”

“Could he be right?” he wondered. Her face must have shown displeasure because her nephew backed up raising his hands as he went. “I just mean he wouldn’t say that without a reason.”

That was a large part of why Daenerys, like Rhaegar hadn’t slept particularly well. His reaction to Arya was unusual. Her brother was typically a generous, fair man. “He’s wrong,” she declared confidently. “I just wish I understood where this comes from. Did he tell you anything?”

Aemon shook his head and inadvertently knocked some hair into his eyes. He wiped it away promptly. “He never tells me anything,” he remarked under his breath, and Daenerys knew they weren’t talking about Arya anymore. All his life Aemon had asked questions about her mother, and all his life Rhaegar refused to answer them. When Daenerys asked for him, he was equally evasive. Even the staff, who were quick to gossip about almost anything were mum about this. Aemon was desperate to know who he was and where he came from, but all Rhaegar would say was that his mother loved him very much. She apparently died tragically just hours after giving birth. For her part Daenerys didn’t understand why Rhaegar kept the secret, why no one in the castle would tell them? Whatever the story was, it couldn’t be worse than the pain Aemon felt not knowing, could it? 

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I’ll try asking him about her again, the next time I have a chance.” 

“Maybe it doesn’t matter. Whoever she is, she’s gone, and I’m here.” 

Daenerys didn’t buy it. She knew this mattered to Aemon. He would have given up asking long ago if it didn’t. “I’ll ask anyway.”

“Thanks, and I’ll talk to him and see if he’ll tell me why he hates your new guard.”

She smiled at him. They’d been like this most of their lives, working together to survive. There were things she could do that he couldn’t and things he could accomplish that she was incapable of. It was their way to swap as necessary. “Thanks.”

“He can never stay mad at you. He’ll forgive you before your nameday celebration.” He smiled proudly, pleased with his ability to insert her nameday into a discussion that was in no way related to it. By mentioning the upcoming occasion, he was trying to get a reaction out of her. One of the many things they talked about and agreed upon was their dislike for how the royals in the keep celebrated such events. In their opinions the feasts with hundreds of people were a bit much. 

The way she was standing granted her a clear field of vision starting at Aemon’s back and extending to the corner. Many had come and gone while they’d been talking and Daenerys didn’t let it interfere with their conversation, until she spotted Rhaegar. The Crown Prince was walking with his guard Ser Barristan Selmy on one side and Varys, the Master of Whispers on the other. “We’ll finish this later,” she said. 

They’d been using that phrase since childhood anytime one wanted to inform the other that they were no longer alone. He understood the meaning right away. “Ah, he’s coming?” She confirmed it with a look. “Let’s get you inside then.” He held out an arm for her to take. She did not want to have another fight with her brother, certainly not with so many people watching. She linked her arm with Aemon’s and headed for the door. 

Aemon was reaching for the handle when they heard it. “Dany, wait!” Rhaegar was asking her to wait and he was doing it publicly, so she couldn’t refuse. By using her name, he made it impossible for her to claim she thought he was speaking to someone else.

“I can stay,” Aemon offered. 

“No, it’s okay. He won’t yell in front of all these people. Go ahead. Tell Missandei and Arya I’ll be right in.” 

He delayed a moment, giving her the chance to change her mind. She waited where she was, making Rhaegar come to her. It was a petty expression of her annoyance. “What are you doing out here?” he asked as he limped up to her. 

“You wanted me to wait,” she reminded him coldly. 

“That’s not what I meant.” He and Varys shared a look that Daenerys couldn’t make sense of. “Where is your guard? Varys wishes to meet her.”

What business did he have with Arya? “She’s inside. I’ll introduce you, if you like.”

“I’d appreciate that Princess, I’ve heard many things.” Given he had an army of spies gathering secrets every hour of every day she imagined Varys heard more than most. She also knew that if her brother had been the one doing the telling, Varys likely heard a skewed version of how Arya came to be there. The bald man leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I’d like to meet her and decide for myself.” 

As a Princess with few official duties, she had little interaction with Varys. She could count on her hands the number of conversations they had that went beyond meaningless pleasantries. That said she knew enough to wary of him. While there were many within the Red Keep’s walls that thought Tywin Lannister was the real authority in King’s Landing, there was a smaller number who felt Varys ruled from the shadows. Daenerys was of the opinion that both wielded power, more than most thought, but in each case, less than they wanted. 

“Why is she in there?” Rhaegar snapped. “She’s your guard. She can’t guard you if she’s in there, while you’re out here.” 

She thought about telling the truth, explaining that she sent Arya away because Aemon was pestering her with questions about their disagreement. She would have enjoyed seizing the upper hand for once, but she couldn’t, or more accurately wouldn’t. Bringing up their fight in front of Varys would embarrass her brother and she didn’t want that, even if it was what he deserved. 

She decided to ignore Rhaegar completely. “Follow me, Lord Varys, I’ll take you in to see Arya.” This time when Rhaegar tried to stop her, it didn’t work. 

R-C

She was standing with Missandei while the handmaiden listed all the people she knew. Arya didn’t need to know their names to know who they were, Lords and Ladies who were desperate to get ahead, the sort wiling to do anything to get what they felt entitled to. It was rather pitiful actually, these were some of the most influential men and women in the Realm and instead of doing something meaningful they sat around here feeling important. Some faces she recognized, others by name and reputation only. The most troubling were the few that sparked a memory. A handful in attendance were there the day King Aerys sent Arya Stark to Dorne. She didn’t know how to feel when it occurred to her that they likely didn’t remember. What Arya would never forget, what was burned into her as the single most important day in her life, was to the men and women watching, just another in a series of days in which the Mad King dispensed justice. 

Her stomach twisted when Daenerys entered with one of the men who stood by and said nothing as her family lost everything. He, and all the others never said a word in defense of her father not even when the Mad King’s attention fell to the children. 

When Daenerys waved her over, she looked to Missandei for permission. Could she go without offending anyone? She smiled in approval. On the walk over Arya wondered if the man would recognize her. Would the armor fool him, or would he connect the Sand to the Stark she’d once been? If that happened, she knew her end would be violent, but quick. Wildfire was said to burn so hot, the victims rarely felt it. She didn’t believe that, but it was a nice dream to have. 

“Arya Sand, this is Varys, he’s the Realm’s Master of Whispers.” 

He ducked his head and a thick. pale hand emerged from the wide sleeve of his robe. She took it, when it was extended, and he trapped it between both of his. “I hope you don’t mind, I asked the Princess to introduce us. I’ve heard many great things about you, the Sand-girl said to train with the mighty Oberyn Martell.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she said as she took back her hand. “Prince Oberyn would enjoy hearing you describe him in such terms.” 

Varys’s laugh was a little too perfect and it had Arya on edge. “Well, I saw him fight in the Pits once, and I can attest to his skill, as I’m sure you can.” 

“It was an honor to learn from him.”

“And now you’re here watching over our Princess. I heard what happened,” he paused and lowered his voice a little, “quite a bit of nastiness if you ask me, forcing you to fight your brother in arms.” 

She felt like she was being tested, but the right answer wasn’t clear. “It ended well,” she said simply, hoping he’d move on. 

“If you know Oberyn, you must’ve met the lovely Lady Sand.” 

“I consider Ellaria a friend.”

“She’s a remarkable woman. I admire her.”

“Admiring her is a wise choice. She’s strong, smart and resilient.”

“I can see why you’d get along,” Varys said casually. “You embody many of the same qualities.” 

Another test, Arya treaded carefully. “That is very kind, but I assure you Ellaria is far stronger, smarter and tougher than me. I’m just a soldier.” 

“Oh, I think you’re much more than that,” Varys disagreed. The door behind the throne opened and the King and his party filed in. “Time to go,” the Spymaster said. “I do hope we get the chance to speak again soon. I think we’d have a lot to discuss.” 

He added a quick ‘goodbye’ for the Princess and was off to take his seat. His place was on the opposite side of the throne from Daenerys’s. As Arya accompanied Daenerys to her chair, the Targaryen commented on their encounter with Varys. “That was odd.” 

Arya didn’t disagree, she’d need to be careful around the Master of Whispers, or it’d be her secrets he shared with the King. Once Daenerys was seated, she retreated quickly to her designated spot beside Missandei. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter posted. The good news is I was too busy writing to edit, so there will be a lot more of this story to come in the future. 
> 
> I hope no one is bored. There are so many characters that need to be introduced that it’s taking some effort getting everyone together. I’ll try and divide things evenly to keep people interested. In this chapter we had Daenerys putting Jorah in his place. I figured it was about time he got called out for manipulating her. 
> 
> The next chapter will have a big decision from the King that will affect several different characters. Tyrion will make an appearance, because a story just doesn’t feel finished until he’s written in. There will be some Littlefinger and Arya and Rhaegar actually speaking to one another too. Hope you’ll stick around
> 
> RC


	11. Chapter 11

The first portion of the meeting happened exactly like her father’s minders designed it. Tywin spoke at length about the King’s trip to Dorne and the successful strides they’d made improving relations between the capital and Sunspear. The Lannister made it sound much more dramatic and inspiring than it was, and Daenerys would know, she was there. He acted as if her father had paddled their ships to Dorne singlehanded and then fought legions to impress the Martells enough to get their agreement on the marriage. It was nonsense. The bargain was struck long before the King announced his proposed trip. Their journey and everything about it had been a formality and little else, but Tywin was making it out to be quite the ordeal. 

She didn’t correct him, didn’t scoff or roll her eyes. She maintained the mask of an interested Princess and counted the seconds until it was over. If there was anything about Tywin’s dramatic retelling that nearly got her to break character, it was when he told of Arya and how she came to be in Daenerys’s service. In what Daenerys could only describe as a political masterpiece the Hand somehow shared the story without mentioning the King’s murderous desires. He claimed the fight between Arya and her friend was merely a ‘test of ability’ and neglected to mention how Aerys ordered her to kill the beaten man once it was finished. He said nothing of Arya’s refusal and the deaths that were on the horizon when Daenerys decided to intervene. No, in just a few sentences Tywin took what was a harrowing, terrifying experience and made it sound civilized and almost routine. 

When they moved on to the state of the Realm, Daenerys took it as permission that she no longer needed to pay attention. She’d been ignoring almost everyone around her for nearly an hour when the man on the throne said, “Is there anything else?”

It wasn’t what he said, but the way he said it that made Daenerys sit up a little straighter. From his tone she could tell the King was no longer interested. He’d run out of patience for the important meeting he required them to have. 

“Just one last thing, your Grace,” Tywin snuck it slyly. “As you know Lord Baelish, who has served as Master of the Coin will be leaving King’s Landing to attend to some personal business in the Eyrie.”

Misunderstanding, what the Hand was getting at Aerys maintained his level of disinterest when he said, “Safe travels Lord Baelish, the Realm thanks you for your years of service.”

From the seat next to Varys he nodded politely to the King. “It is I who thanks you, your Grace. I learned much while I was here, and I am grateful I had the opportunity to serve.”

It was all shit. Daenerys had plenty of practice telling when people were just saying what they felt they were supposed to. He wasn’t even being subtle about it. The only person who didn’t see through Baelish’s empty sentiment was the man it was aimed at. Her father ate it up, his mood improving as suddenly as it had fallen. This was what life in the Red Keep amounted to, managing the wild, swinging emotions of Aerys Targaryen. She couldn’t speak for anyone else, but Daenerys tired of it. 

“Yes,” Tywin agreed, “we do wish Lord Baelish well, but in addition, we need to name a replacement. The post of Master of the Coins is too important to leave vacant.” 

“Very well, spread word that we are looking for a capable man to serve…”

The King’s ruling was cut short. “Actually, your Grace, as we discussed we already have a replacement in mind.” 

With a glare that would’ve made the Princess wilt, Aerys stared at Tywin. He did not like being interrupted. “Who?”

“Tyrion Lannister your Grace, my son.”

As Tywin tried to seize control of the treasury by using his son, Daenerys had to wonder if her father had forgotten he agreed to give Tyrion the job, or if Tywin was just taking advantage of his illness to make everyone think he did. 

It wasn’t surprising that he would choose a member of his bloodline, it didn’t even come as a shock to learn Tywin had another son, what surprised her was that she hadn’t noticed him before now. Although they had never met, she was aware of his existence. The youngest Lannister was rumored to have little in common with his father and was infamous for being a dwarf. To the best of her knowledge, Tyrion had been in the West, at Casterly Rock while the remainder of his family served in the Red Keep. 

Behind Tywin were three chairs where usually there were only two. The first one was empty, as it always was. It was set out for Jaime but the Kingsguard never made use of it, choosing instead to stand near the King. In the second chair was Cersei. There was little debate within the castle, Cersei was her father’s daughter to the core. She was intelligent, cunning and clever, using Tywin’s position and her family name to get almost everything she wanted. The one notable exception just happened to be the one thing she coveted most – Rhaegar. 

To prove Daenerys’s point Cersei looked past her father and the King and settled her attention on the Crown Prince. It was no secret that both Cersei and Tywin wished to connect their family to the Targaryens through marriage. The lack of success wasn’t just because Rhaegar refused to entertain the idea, Aerys too remained adamantly opposed. 

“I assure you your Grace, Tyrion is up to the task. He’s been handling Lannister business in Casterly Rock…”

It would have been understandable for Tyrion’s focus to be on the exchange happening between the King and his Hand since it was entirely about him, but when she set her eyes on him for the first time, Tyrion was already looking back at her 

While his father continued to laud his accomplishments, Tyrion rolled his eyes and shook his head as though he disagreed with every word. It was too much and Daenerys couldn’t contain her laugh. She caught it quickly, covering her mouth with her hand and trying to hide her amusement with a forced cough. She doubted anyone was fooled, least of all Tyrion. When she was brave enough to glance his way again, he was grinning proudly. 

She focused on the King and regained her composure. He had agreed to give Tyrion the job and now they were just working through the logistics. 

Tyrion’s appointment was supposed to be the final piece of business, but the temperamental King was no longer bored. Before the audience was granted their leave, Aerys commanded everyone’s attention and began speaking about the upcoming wedding. He talked for ages about the grand feast he envisioned for when his son returned to King’s Landing with Eliza. 

“The wedding of the Dragon Prince will be upon us soon and that makes this the perfect time to make changes.”

“Changes your Grace?” Tywin said carefully. He was working to hide it, but Daenerys heard uncertainty. If her father was bringing up an issue that he hadn’t discussed with Tywin first, that didn’t bode well for anyone. 

“When Viserys is married, he and his wife will need a place to live,” Aerys declared loudly. 

Time passed as they waited to see what the King had in mind, but he wasn’t forthcoming, making it necessary for the Hand to nudge him along. “OF course, your Grace.” While he was addressing Aerys, his eyes were elsewhere, looking for someone who had more information than he did. Had the ruler sought counsel elsewhere? It wasn’t uncommon for Tywin and her father to disagree, so this might just be the latest example of their differing opinions. The more alarming possibility was that the King had made this decision, whatever it was, all on his own. If that was true, there was no telling what would come next. “Do you have a particular home in mind for the new couple?”

“Dragonstone. It’s the ideal location for them to begin their lives together.” 

Daenerys gasped. Was she dreaming? She wasn’t the only one taken aback by her father’s sudden decision to name Viserys Lord of Dragonstone. That title and the accompanying lands had belonged to Rhaegar since before either of the younger Targaryens were born. When Aemon was upset about his limited role in the capital, or in their family, Rhaegar calmed him by keeping his focus on the future. For years, he endured his grandfather’s scorn and Viserys’s abuse by reminding himself a better life was coming. When Rhaegar sat on the Iron Throne, Aemon would ascend to his rightful place. He’d finally be respected as a Targaryen and an heir. Once that happened Rhaegar would name him Lord of Dragonstone and he’d finally be invited to learn from the King in a way he never was under Aerys. 

That plan, as far in the distance as it seemed at times, was what helped Aemon survive the day to day struggles. Now, her father had taken that away from him. She tried to add her voice to the others trying to change the King’s mind, but no one heard her. 

As soon as Tywin called an end to the meeting, Aemon was gone. Daenerys rose too, to chase after him and make sure he was alright. Halfway to the door she knew she’d never reach it. There were too many people, and a large percentage seemed to want to talk to her all of the sudden. She’d need to find Aemon later. Among the people clustered around her was the newly appointed Master of Coin. holding a glass of wine. He was finishing a conversation with a noblewoman when he took a step toward her. “Princess, lovely to meet you.”

She gave him her standard, Princess smile, fake as it was. “You as well, Lord Tyrion, congratulations on your new position.” 

He flashed her a mischievous smirk. “Oh yes,” he began, “citizens of the Realm can sleep soundly tonight, a dwarf of no particular talent is minding the gold.” 

She didn’t know what to say. Was he serious? She tried to steer them back to a more stable topic. “Well, I’m sure your father wouldn’t have chosen you, if he didn’t think you were capable.”

He barked out a humorless laugh, before he took a drink. “My father thinks me many things Princess, but capable is not one of them.”

While she was busy trying to decide how to respond, Tyrion saved her the trouble. “He’s quite an ass, my father,” he remarked casually. Daenerys’s eyes snapped to his face and she found the youngest Lannister smirking proudly. “standing up there, proclaiming me the greatest Master of Coin that ever was. The only thing I know about gold is how to spend it.” 

“Oh,” she said dumbly, when all articulate responses failed her. 

He offered her his arm and she took it, out of a sense of obligation. He led her away from the crowd so they could speak more privately. “There are benefits to moving to King’s Landing,” he confessed.

“I imagine,” she said. “Did you enjoy living in Casterly Rock?”

“Your beautiful city,” he said with a grin, “is blessed with some of the greatest brothels in all of Westeros.” 

Her face heated in embarrassment, not unlike how it had when she and Arya stood outside a Dornish brothel analyzing its patrons. “I suppose it does.”

Tyrion continued on, unaware or unbothered by her embarrassment. “The girls in the West are talented, but after so many years, they become a little…familiar.”

Was he suggesting he bedded the entire Westerlands? He seemed as open about his trysts as Oberyn was. Perhaps they were friends. 

“You’d think a man as smart as my father would know better than to bring me to a place like this. It’s a recipe for disaster.” To emphasis his point he raised his glass to his lips and emptied the remainder of the contents. “Expensive, great tasting wine, beautiful women, warm weather, I really think I could like it here.”

Still fumbling around for a foothold in this odd conversation, she made another futile attempt. “Maybe your father wished to have you nearby,” she proposed, “he’s been in the Crownlands for a long time, and you were in the West.”

“Yes, and maybe tomorrow I’ll grow wings and shit gold dragons,” he fired back, with a straight face and a false sense of sincerity. 

For the second time Tyrion made her laugh, really laugh. She was amused by his bluntness, his boldness and the vivid imagery he described. Few cursed in her presence, thinking she was too delicate to hear such vulgar terms. It endeared her to Tyrion that he didn’t seem to hold the same view. All at once she decided trying to return the conversation to something more traditional had been a mistake. The proper course would be to try and match Tyrion’s attitude. She searched her brain for a reply that would show him she could play his game too. “It could happen,” she said, “but I think we can do better. Everyone has gold dragons, a man of your status should aspire for something rarer than coins.” 

He said nothing for a moment, providing Daenerys the time to worry she’d misjudged the situation. An apology was on the tip of her tongue when Tyrion raised an eyebrow and licked his lips. “I think you’re right. I deserve to shit something as special as I am. What would the Princess recommend?”

She laughed again. She couldn’t believe they were talking about this. It was pointless and crude and so very different from what the people around her usually discussed. “Diamonds?” she tried, her uncertainty bleeding through and making it seem like a question. 

Tyrion responded like it was. “No,” he resisted, shaking his head. “Diamonds would hurt coming out.” He said it seriously, as if he was running down a list of valuables in his mind to see if which was most appropriate. She couldn’t take it anymore. 

The tight grip she maintained on her emotions in public loosened and she folded over in a fit of laughter, clutching her stomach. By the time she was done, there were tears in her eyes. She wiped them away. “That… thank you Lord Tyrion, I think I needed that.” 

With a bow, Tyrion was the picture of gentlemanly manners. “Anytime Princess,” he said, “after a meeting like that, I thought we deserved a chance to lighten the mood.” 

“You did that,” she confirmed. A realization came to her. “You didn’t enjoy the meeting? A large portion of it was about you.”

“I know,” Tyrion gushed, “and usually I enjoy talking about me, especially the good parts.” 

There had been plenty of that, Tywin spoke for several minutes about Tyrion’s qualifications. “I thought your father made you sound quite distinguished.”

“Exactly,” he said, throwing up his hands. She was glad the cup he was holding was empty, otherwise she would’ve been covered in wine. “I like when people praise me for things I’ve really done or traits I actually have, not that crap.” 

“What would you have preferred he said?”

Clearing his throat, Tyrion mimicked his father’s voice. “Tyrion has historically been and continues to be a disgrace to the Lannister name. He is woefully unprepared to serve as Master of the Coins, but he is my son, so give him the job anyway.”

She chuckled but only after checking that Tywin was far enough away not to catch them. “That was a pretty good likeness,” she admitted, impressed he could sound so much like his father. “That version was a little limited on your many accomplishments, however.”

He shrugged. “It was, but at least it was honest.” 

She told him the truth as she saw it. “Well, regardless of how anyone else feels, I’m glad you’re here. I think this place could use someone like you.” 

“Someone ruggedly handsome, charming and intelligent?”   
Daenerys marvelled at the speed with which he could take what she said and turn it around. She snickered into her hand. “Yes, that’s precisely what I meant.”

“I knew it!” he shouted, raising his empty hand in a display of victory. Daenerys envied his ability to yell in a crowded room, with no care for the people who turned to investigate the disruption. Whoever it was that told her Tyrion had little in common with Tywin was underselling the contrast between them. 

“Tyrion,” Tywin called loudly, “there is someone I’d like you to meet.”

It was more command than suggestion and yet Tyrion didn’t rush to comply as Daenerys was prone to do. Instead he stayed where he was and gave his eyes a roll for her benefit. “I was hoping he’d forget I was over here.”

“Good luck, I think you’ll need it.”

“What I need,” Tyrion informed her, “is wine.” She thought it was another joke, but he meant it, moving further away from the throne. With her father and his both waiting, Tyrion dashed into a crowd and emerged with a filled cup. 

Ready now, his route took him past Daenerys, “There,” he said to the Princess as he snuck a sip. 

“You should probably get over there,” she suggested. “Your father doesn’t look happy.”

“Does he ever?” Tyrion asked aloud. 

She stayed where she was and let him continue alone. Once, just before he reached Tywin, Tyrion looked back, caught her watching him and winked. Daenerys could only shake her head and smile. 

Normally she was wary of strangers. It wasn’t that she didn’t like meeting new people, she did, but she also understood that the face they presented, especially in the beginning was rarely who they truly were. Most who met her were full of false words and empty compliments, eager to earn her friendship and favor. It often took days or even weeks to discover a person’s agenda. It was a treat when someone revealed their true self right from the start. Tyrion, like Arya appeared comfortable enough in who he was to forgo the pretense and get right to it. She appreciated that. 

R-C

When the meeting broke up Arya was unsure of what to do. Should she go to Daenerys or let her mingle without a guard listening in? She relied on Missandei for guidance. Since she was staying back, Arya would too. 

“The King is taking Dragonstone from Aemon,” Missandei said quietly. 

She thought of the young man who was most likely her cousin. “He was Lord of Dragonstone?”

“Not yet,” she explained, “Prince Rhaegar was the formal Lord of Dragonstone. When he was King, he intended to name Aemon his successor.” 

“Not anymore.” 

“This will be hard for Daenerys,” Missandei acknowledged. “She is close to both Rhaegar and Aemon. She relates to Aemon and understands his reasons for wanting to leave.” 

“Where does he want to go?” She didn’t care about the Targaryens or their family disputes, but she couldn’t deny she was curious. If Aemon was who she thought he was, then they shared blood and she wanted to know more about him. 

“The Wall. He’s been asking his father for permission to join the Night’s Watch for years,” Missandei told her. 

“He’s heir to the Iron Throne, why would he give that up and go North?” she asked, working to keep her voice as soft as Missandei’s. The last thing she needed was to get caught talking about the Targaryens. 

“The King never accepted him,” Missandei said, moving closer so they could whisper with ease. “By the time I arrived, Aemon was rarely included in decisions. Daenerys is more involved that Aemon. Prince Rhaegar and Daenerys try but to the rest, it’s as if he doesn’t exist.” She finished with a chilling realization, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard the King call Aemon by name.” 

That sounded terrible. If true, she could understand why Aemon and Daenerys bonded. It was likely they both felt trapped, it made sense for them to support one another. 

She searched the room for Daenerys and found the silver-haired Princess talking to the Imp. “You should go to her,” Missandei advised. 

Should she? She didn’t want to draw attention, but she was equally determined not to embarrass Daenerys by acting in a way that was outside the norm for a guard. “Really?”

Missandei nodded in Daenerys’s direction again. Tyrion was walking away, and Daenerys remained behind. “She’s likely bored.”

Okay then, she’d walk over, check on Daenerys and see if the Princess was ready to leave. That seemed reasonable enough. She could do that. 

R-C

After Tyrion, Daenerys intended to escape. She’d return to Missandei and Arya and then slip away while everyone else was occupied. There were enough people, moving about that no one would notice her missing. Clever as her scheme was, it didn’t account for Rhaegar coming back to continue their fight. What was wrong with him? He was usually so even-tempered. Typically, a disagreement between the siblings lasted only minutes before they traded apologies. She knew he could be tough and curt but never with her, Daenerys was the exception. She didn’t understand what it was about Arya that upset him so fiercely. 

She had Arya coming at her from one side and Rhaegar the other. She knew which one she’d rather meet first and took a big step toward her guard.

“You survived,” she said when Arya was standing in front of her. For the length of the meeting, Arya had been behind her, out of her line of sight. She took a moment to appreciate having her close again. She looked regal and strong in her armor. In a castle full of black banners of three-headed dragons, Arya’s sun marking set her apart. Assessing the armor caused Daenerys to think back to what she now knew was beneath it. Again, she was struck by just how well the steel and fabric combined to hide her curves. She could hardly be blamed for not realizing Arya was a woman at first, not when all the telltale parts were concealed so effectively. Even her boots were unique. Tan leather, with thick soles, extending higher up her legs than was customary for Targaryen soldiers. She tried to count the laces and gave up almost instantly. How long did it take her to tie her boots every morning? To complete the outfit, she wore her helmet. Daenerys focused on the steel divider and tried to pick out the dent Arya showed her. The castle had a forge, she could have the helmet repaired easily enough. Her study of the helmet ended when she became distracted by Arya’s eyes. They were so intense. The only other person she knew who had grey eyes was Aemon and his weren’t the same shade. Looking into Aemon’s eyes never made her feel the way she did now. 

“Are they always that long?”

She chuckled. By King’s Landing standards, that was relatively short. She didn’t think Arya would appreciate knowing that, so she kept it to herself. 

“How’s your head?” Regardless of Arya’s assurances, Daenerys wasn’t convinced her guard shouldn’t still be in bed. 

“All that talking didn’t help, but it’s getting better.” They stared at one another for a moment. Daenerys was trying to decide if Arya was being truthful and Arya appeared to be waiting patiently until she was done. “What’s next?” she asked, adjusting her position so they were side by side and no longer face to face. 

She didn’t really know. “Nothing, I suppose.” There was nothing else on her calendar for the day. Another afternoon spent sitting in her chambers, at least she had Missandei and now Arya to help her pass the time. 

“Nothing?” Arya lamented. “It sounds to me like you’re free to do anything and that’s much better than nothing.”

Was she imagining the devious gleam in her eye? It was hard to be certain. “That’s true,” she said trying to supress the smile she felt coming. 

“You did the Princess-y bit, for your family, for the Realm, now I think you should do something for you.”

Excitement was bubbling up inside her. Arya was right. She really could do anything. She sat through the meeting she had no role in, she played her part of the dutiful Princess, why should she just go upstairs and wait for the next time someone wanted to use her? She tried multiple times to get Jorah to allow her to leave the castle in moments like this, but he always refused. He justified it by whining about potential risks and her non-existent responsibilities. It was so repetitive and infuriating that she eventually stopped asking. Until Arya brought it up, she never considered that she might be able to go out into the city for a few minutes. Jorah wouldn’t approve, but he wasn’t her guard anymore. He was in the room, standing at a post not far from his usual one. . 

“I’ll go get Missandei,” she said as she was overwhelmed by the potential the day suddenly held. 

Right on time, someone arrived to fuck everything up. “Dany, how are you?” Why was he bothering her? Shouldn’t be he with Aemon or at least looking for Aemon? 

She turned to her brother and gave him her fakest smile, the kind she had never needed to use with him before. “I’m fine thank you. We were just leaving.”

“You can’t leave,” he said leaning forward on his cane to invade her space. 

“Yes, I can. I was asked to attend, and I did. I’m require elsewhere.” She was pleased with how confident she sounded. 

“Where?” he inquired. 

“Shouldn’t you be with Aemon instead of doing whatever this is?” she asked him plainly. 

He sighed and showed a bit of real emotion. “You know him, he doesn’t want to talk right now anyway. He needs space, so I’m going to give him some.” 

“I need space too,” she said, “if you’ll excuse us.” 

“You can’t leave,” he said again. “Have you said goodbye to Lord Baelish? He is expecting you.” 

She did her best to muffle the Valyrian curse she couldn’t contain. “Fine, I will say farewell to Lord Baelish and then we are leaving.”

Arya nodded and put a hand on her back, as she had in the hallway when the guards were approaching. Daenerys didn’t mind, in fact, she quite liked it. “Why don’t you leave us to speak, we haven’t had the chance to get acquainted yet.”

How dare he!? Who was this man and what had he done with her loving brother? “No!” Arya didn’t deserve an interrogation. “She’s my guard, not yours.” 

Arya’s hand remained where it was, but her thumb brushed back and forth. Daenerys felt it through her dress. If the purpose had been to calm her it didn’t work. She was still angry at her brother, but that was secondary to the way Arya’s touch seemed to ignite her entire body. She sucked in a deep breath as she tried to regain control of herself. Her hands itched to do something, her mouth was dry, her toes curled in her shoes and goosebumps popped up all over her arms. 

“It’s okay,” Arya said, granting her a slight smile to reassure her. Her hand dropped, leaving Daenerys feeling cold and disappointed. 

That was all the encouragement Rhaegar needed. He raised his free hand over his head and seconds later Jorah joined them. “Ser Jorah will escort you to Lord Baelish and I’ll keep your guard company until you return.” 

She looked to Arya one more time, to confirm she didn’t mind. She was as fearless as she’d been when she refused the King’s command. Daenerys was not. She didn’t like this one bit. Jorah presence was too convenient. Had they coordinated this in advance? Why should Rhaegar get to make demands on them? He wasn’t King yet. “You look beautiful Princess,” Jorah told her as they walked away from Arya. 

“Uh-huh,” she responded, not caring if it was petty. She wasn’t going to pretend their earlier argument hadn’t happened. Jorah may want to forget it, or move past it, but Daenerys wasn’t nearly as forgiving. Why did she have to be polite and proper when everyone else behaved like children? It was rude of Rhaegar to say she couldn’t leave when she wanted to. It was rude to send Daenerys on an errand so he could question Arya without her there. It was something else entirely when Jorah involved himself. She thought she made herself clear earlier, but he was still there, ready and willing to fill a void the second it presented itself. 

R-C

“There,” Rhaegar said as Mormont led Daenerys away. “Since you’re going to be protecting my sister, I’d like to learn more about you.” When she didn’t say anything, he tried to explain it in another way. “I’m just going to ask you a few questions.” Did he interpret her silence as stupidity? 

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated back. “My sister tells me you know Oberyn Martell.”

Was he serious? Why was he acting as though she was the dumbest person in the room? Was he toying with her, trying to encourage her to open up without asking what he really wanted to know. It wasn’t going to work and if it was games he was after, she could oblige. She reached up and removed her helmet, tucking it under her arm. With her free hand she ran her fingers through her dark hair, brushing it away from her eyes. 

It was subtle but his eyes widened, and he put more weight on his cane when he saw her face unobstructed. He kept waiting and she kept staring straight at the man whose cruel choice led her family to ruin. The longer their stand-off went, the paler the Price became. 

Finally, he tired of the silence. “Nothing to say for yourself?” he barked harshly. 

She smirked at him. “You haven’t asked me a question yet.” 

“Okay then, do you know Oberyn Martell?”

This was pointless. “You know I do.”

“Do you know all the Martells?”

“Most of them,” she said vaguely. She knew what he was getting at, but why should she make it easy for him. 

He changed tactics without learning anything. “Daenerys is very important, not only to the Realm but to me…”

She felt no guilt for not letting him finish. Prince or not, this was Rhaegar Targaryen. He kidnapped her Aunt that started the Rebellion. Today may not be the day she got to kill him, but it also wasn’t the day she let him bully her either. “Get in line,” she said coldly. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You were going to threaten me,” she clarified. “You were going to tell me how important Daenerys is, how special she is and then how if anything happens to her while I serve as her guard, I’ll be sorry. Did I miss anything?” 

“How…” 

Whether he was going to ask how she knew that, or how she felt brave enough to speak to him that way, it didn’t matter. “You’ll need to get in line behind Mormont,” Arya said pointing him out. “He already promised me a painful death if anything should happen to Daenerys.” 

Whatever he expected when he came over to talk to her, she could guarantee it wasn’t this. He was used to people being awed by him. To them, he was the handsome Targaryen, the brave warrior who sacrificed his legs for the people of Westeros. He was their Prince and their future King. To Arya all he’d ever be is the fucking bastard who kidnapped her aunt. 

“Daenerys is a Princess, you should address her properly and with respect, using a title,” he declared in an attempt to demonstrate his superiority. 

“I would, in fact I did, but then the Princess explicitly requested that I abandon all titles.”

He didn’t know what to say to that and she enjoyed his discomfort much more than was healthy. “I should really be getting back to Daenerys,” she said pointedly. 

His empty hand was suddenly filled by her forearm. “Wait!” he commanded. 

She considered pulling away, wanted to, but didn’t think the crowd of witnesses would side with her if she knocked their beloved Prince to the floor. “Yes?” 

“The Martells do not like me.” It was the plainest and most sincere thing she’d ever heard him say. “There is a history there and most of their reasons are valid.” 

She hadn’t anticipated that. She defiantly didn’t think she’d see the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms standing before her looking ashamed of his behavior. “That has nothing to do with me,” Arya said. “The Hand of the King requested guards, I was chosen, so I came.” 

Rhaegar took his hand off her and shifted to put his weight more fully on the cane. “You didn’t want to come?” he realized too late. 

“No,” she said simply. How was it that the Prince hadn’t heard the story? Aerys, Tywin, Daenerys, Jorah any number of them could have told him how it happened. To clarify things, she elaborated. “Prince Doran ordered me to, and I serve him. When no one else wanted a woman, Daenerys accepted me.”

“When I last saw Oberyn he vowed revenge. I thought you came for that purpose, as his agent.”

“I’m no one’s agent,” she assured him, “I’m nobody. If Prince Oberyn was seeking aid, I doubt he’d choose a girl fresh out of training.” 

She thought she made a compelling argument, but Rhaegar wasn’t buying it. “Where did he find you? Not too many people in Sunspear look like…” he paused and sounded almost pained when he finished with a weak, “you.” 

“We met in the Water Gardens,” she told him vaguely. While he focused on her connection to Oberyn, Arya was much more interested in what she learned. 

So Rhaegar was hostile because he feared she’d come to exact House Martell’s vengeance. She could also guess what he meant when speaking of her appearance too. ‘Not too many people in Sunspear look like Lyanna.’ He was giving Oberyn a lot of credit, assuming he picked her, possibly because of her resemblance to Lyanna, then trained her and manipulated events to get her invited to King’s Landing. That was a lot of moving parts, but then again, few men were more devious and deadly than Oberyn Martell, especially when the Viper felt wronged. 

“That’s it, you just met him in the Water Gardens?” Rhaegar poked, hoping she’d give up more. 

“You’d have to ask him why, he just said he saw potential in me and offered to help me train.” It was strange condensing her relationship with Oberyn to those few words. They had met in the Water Gardens and he had offered to train her, she was just overlooking the long years between the two events. 

“So, he didn’t send you here?” he asked directly, finally realizing it was easier and more effective than any other approach. “You’ll give me your word Daenerys is safe with you?” 

“Oberyn didn’t send me and you have my word, I won’t let anything happen to Daenerys.” He seemed satisfied and she probably should have let it go, but she made one final point. “For what it’s worth, if Oberyn or I sought revenge Prince, we wouldn’t use an innocent woman to achieve it.” 

R-C

There had been a line of people waiting to see the man known across the Realm as “Littlefinger,” but she waited without complaint. She even tolerated Jorah’s repeated attempts to engage in a conversation. He greeted her warmly when it was her turn. “Princess, what a lovely surprise.” Hadn’t Rhaegar said he was expecting her? Yes! That is exactly what he said, but it was a lie, so he could be alone with Arya. She seethed under the surface while she made small talk, asking about his destination and his plans for the future. “You’ll see me again,” he promised before they said goodbye. 

With her obligations met, she was ready to put an end to this. She crossed the room with purpose. Jorah’s longer legs allowed him to keep pace easily, much to her annoyance. “How’s it going with the Sand?” 

She didn’t want to do this again. They’d already spoken about Arya and she wasn’t interested in a repeat performance. He said her name like it was an insult. Daenerys wasn’t impressed. She wished more of the world viewed unwed parents the way the Dornish did. She happily recalled how Oberyn spent time with each of his daughters. Was his love for them any less real just because his affection for their mothers wasn’t everlasting? It didn’t seem that way to the Princess. Arya couldn’t control who her parents were and in what situation they had her. Daenerys had never married, though there had been plenty of interest. In her younger years she was eager to have a suitor take her away. Now she dreaded the day her father was lucid enough to decide to marry her off. Most of the marriages she saw were carefully crafted for political benefit. None looked particularly happy. She saw lying, she saw violence, and most betrayed their union with alarming frequency. If that was what it meant to be married, she could wait. Daenerys wasn’t a fool, she knew that when the day came, her father would have more say in her husband than she did. She was too important to wed for love, and not powerful enough to choose for herself. Given a choice, she’d gladly take a relationship like Oberyn and Ellaria’s over a typically King’s Landing marriage. 

“Daenerys?” Jorah asked, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“I’m sorry what?” she muttered, rising up onto her toes to try and spot her brother and Arya. 

“Are you okay? Are there problems with the Sand?”

He did it again, saying her name like a curse. “Must we do this here?” When Jorah didn’t apologize or relent, she sighed. “Everything is fine, Arya is great. Happy now?” 

“I’m sorry if I upset you earlier,” he said a little too sweetly. “I was concerned for you.” 

Daenerys knew his motives had little to do with her welfare and a lot more to do with his status. “Yes, well as I said, everything is going well. Arya’s recovering quickly.” 

“About what happened to her,” he began. Hadn’t they said all they had to on this matter? She didn’t think he’d bring it up again so soon. “That never should have been permitted.” 

She stopped her search temporarily and looked at Jorah. At least they could agree on that. Perhaps she’d gotten through to him with her outburst. “I know, three guards attacking one woman, how proud they must be.”

The knight’s cheeks reddened, and he looked down at the floor between them. “Yeah.”

Why was he suddenly uncomfortable? There was only one reason she could think of. Her weary frustration shifted to anger. It wasn’t just Rhaegar she was furious with anymore. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What did you mean? What shouldn’t have been permitted?”

“Oh nothing. You’re right, this is not the time or the place for this discussion. It’s not important, forget I said anything.” 

To Daenerys it was important, very important. “Tell me Ser, speak freely. What about Arya’s situation did you think was handled poorly?” If he wanted to make baseless claims, and somehow hold Arya at fault for the attack, then she was going to force him to own it. She hadn’t wanted to talk about this, but he insisted, and she was going to make Jorah regret his inability to let the matter rest. 

“As you said,” he tried cautiously, “three men shouldn’t be needed to apprehend one woman.” 

He was more confident by the end, looking at her again. “And?” she prompted. 

It took a moment, but Jorah’s original point came out. “She never should have come here. She should have admitted she didn’t have a horse before she got on the ship, then you could have selected another guard. She should have stayed in Sunspear.” 

It was probably advisable to say nothing and continue her hunt for Arya, but she just couldn’t. “So, if I understand your position correctly Ser, you are fine with the gate guards pummelling her for asking to see me, but Arya is an unsuitable guard because she’s isn’t wealthy?”

“Wealth is not the issue.”

“Neither is the horse, Arya and I are going to the stables as soon as we are done here to find her the perfect mount.”

“It is not your responsibility to buy her things.” He reached for her hand and she let him have it only momentarily before snatching it back. 

“She didn’t ask for it, and probably won’t accept it, but she’s my friend and a great wrong was done to her by men loyal to my family.” 

“That doesn’t mean you owe her anything.”

“You’re right,” she confirmed, and he smiled, thinking he won. “I don’t owe her anything, but if I choose to buy my friend a gift, there is nothing wrong with that.”

Jorah was becoming exasperated. “She is your guard, not your friend.”

He had some nerve. It was Jorah who said he could be both her protector and her friend. In fact, he claimed that him caring for Daenerys made him better at his job. Now he was standing there and saying Arya had to be one or the other. It was absurd. “Were you not my guard, and my friend Jorah?” she asked, putting him on the spot. 

“That’s not the same,” he whined. “You’ve known me for years. It’s different with her.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Daenerys contended, stopping short of telling him she already preferred Arya. 

“What happened at the gate wouldn’t have happened if she remained with you. She never should have left you, guarding you is her only responsibility.”

Every word he uttered made her angrier. “You know I was always protected, because you escorted me to the castle!” she reminded him. “At the gate, Arya did nothing wrong. She presented to the guards, identified herself and told them I was waiting for her, and they refused her entry. When she tried to explain further, they beat her and wrapped her in chains!”

“It wouldn’t have happened if she stayed with you, as she was told to do.” 

Did he think one of his weak arguments was going to sway her? Did he expect her to abruptly change her opinion and agree with him? He must, otherwise why continue? Maybe he just couldn’t help himself. “Perhaps the fault is ours,” she countered. “If we hadn’t left Arya, she wouldn’t have gotten knocked unconscious.” 

Jorah remained determined to find Arya guilty of something. “If she followed the soldier’s instructions, they wouldn’t have needed to subdue her.” 

“Subdue her?” she repeated bitterly. “They beat her, and their instructions were to leave. Tell me Ser, if it had been you at the gate, ordered to leave, while I was inside, would you have done as they instructed?”

He was finally beginning to see he was on the losing side. “I think I would have found a way to explain myself without causing a fight, so it’s not a fair comparison.”

“It’s exactly the same thing! I told Arya to meet us in the castle when she was ready. When she tried, she got a beating.” She’d had enough of this. “You know what, thank you for upsetting me for a second time. I appreciate the escort, but I’ll be fine from here.”

“Princess, I…”

She wasn’t going to waste any more time on this. The whole argument was needless. She knew how he felt about Arya already and he knew she didn’t share his view, so why did he bring it up again? Was he trying to anger her? 

“Daenerys I’m sorry…”

She was curious what exactly he thought he was apologizing for, but if the price to find out was prolonging their time together, it was too high. “Good day, Ser.”

When she stepped away, he came with her. She turned back to him and before she could speak, he did. “At least let me return you to your brother?”

“Do you no longer follow my orders?”. 

“Of course, Princess, always,” he pledged. 

“Then prove it.”

R-C

“Daenerys said you two have somewhere else to be, where is that?” He was making more of an effort now that they’d spoken. For the time being, he seemed willing to accept that she hadn’t come to hurt Daenerys on Oberyn’s orders. It would be a shock when she found him guilty for his crimes against the Starks instead. He didn’t like her and probably never would but was less hostile. She also detected a distinct change when he mentioned his sister. Her gut told her his affection for Daenerys was genuine.

“I’m her guard, I go where she goes.”

“But where are you going this time?”

“I have no idea Prince, I guess I’ll find out when we get there.” 

“You can’t let her do that,” he said too loudly. Several of the nobles nearby looked their way. “She can’t just roam the streets.” 

“Am I her guard or her jailor?” When no answer came, she made another point. “She is a Princess, not a prisoner. I don’t see a reason she can’t do anything she wants.” 

“It’s not safe!” Rhaegar complained. 

“I’ll be there to keep her safe.”

“She may be needed here. She’s a Princess and urgent matters often require her contributions.” 

He wasn’t going to change his mind, and neither was she, so Arya tried to spin this a different way. “Do you want her upstairs in her chambers, feeling trapped, bored and lonely?” 

The question caught him off guard. “Of course not, but she can’t just go wherever she wants, when she wants. She’s needed here.” 

What they needed was to get their lies straight. Jorah made it clear Rhaegar tried to keep his sister separate from the King and his advisors. “We both know you don’t involve Daenerys in politics, so I doubt she’s needed here all day, every day.” 

It took longer for him to respond. He wasn’t prepared for her to be so knowledgeable, making no attempt to clarify or correct any of Arya’s assumptions. “She still has responsibilitie.” 

That was the crux of the problem. Daenerys wanted to come and go, while the King and the Prince wanted her close in case they had use for her. “Do any of those responsibilities require her to remain in the keep today?”

He was quiet for nearly a minute. “The King is holding meetings for the rest of the day.”

“Is Daenerys invited?” 

He bristled a bit at that. “She’s my sister and a Targaryen. She’s always welcome.”

“Fine,” Arya allowed, “if she goes, will anyone listen to anything she has to say, or will it be like everyday in Dorne when she was expected to sit there, look pretty and shut her mouth?”

“That’s not fair.”

Arya scoffed. “Not fair? In Sunspear Tywin Lannister berated her for leaving the Water Gardens. He wasn’t upset because she missed a meeting or because they were deprived of her counsel, he was mad she wasn’t exactly where he put her.” 

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t hear about that.” 

“Did you hear about the night I walked in on your brother about to punch her? “

“Daenerys mentioned a fight,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, Viserys is…”

“This isn’t about him,” she snapped, forgetting the need for caution, “it’s about Daenerys. She’s stuck here and you dictate when she can leave, who has to go with her, and when she will be back. She has no control over any aspect of her life.”

“She’s royalty. I know how she feels, believe me, I know she wants to do more, to see more, I was just like her once. I wish I could give her that, I do, but the King likes having her close.” 

“Give her something,” she pleaded. It went against her every instinct to ask the kidnapping Prince for anything, but Daenerys did save her life. If she got sick every time she remembered this moment, it’d be worthwhile, to begin repaying the debt she owed. “Daenerys tells me you’re close, that you care about her.” 

“Of course I do. I love her.” She believed him. “I try to involve her when I can, I invite her to meetings when I know the topic is something she’ll enjoy or if it includes people she’d like.” 

“That’s good, but what about the rest of the time?”

“It’s not safe,” Rhaegar said quietly. “I know she hates being upstairs, but it’s better than being here.” He looked toward the throne, making sure she understood what he meant. 

“If I guarantee Daenerys is at every appointment, every place you need her, ready and on time, will you help?”

He didn’t refuse outright which is what she was expecting. She didn’t blame Daenerys for not wanting to be stuck here, she’d been in the Red Keep a day and she was already aching to leave. “She needs to be at dinner, every night. People will notice if she’s not.”

“No matter what is going on, I’ll have her at dinner,” the guard promised. 

“Find me before you leave the castle, I’ll make sure she isn’t going to miss something vital, that’s the best I can do.” 

“Thank you,” she said, swallowing her own feelings and trying to be polite for Daenerys’s sake. She needed this and if Arya suffering through the occasional conversation with Rhaegar helped her get it, she’d manage. “I know this will mean a lot to her.” 

She thought they were done. He moved his cane but turned back. “You’ll protect her?”

“With my life,” Arya swore. 

“I hope you’re as good as they say.”

“I’m better.”

He chuckled. “You definitely know Oberyn.”

R-C

She found who she was looking for not long after Jorah wisely gave her the space she asked for. She intended to rescue Arya by force if necessary. She’d been gone a fair amount of time between Baelish and Jorah. She didn’t want to think about what Arya had been subjected to while she was away. 

When she got close enough to hear snippets of their exchange her feet stopped moving without permission. “… safe,” Rhaegar was saying. He didn’t sound angry not like he was with they discussed Arya the night before. “I know she hates being upstairs, but it’s better than being here.” What were they talking about? He wasn’t accusing Arya of anything. 

“If I guarantee Daenerys is at every appointment, every place you need her, ready and on time, will you help?” It wasn’t surprising that they were speaking about her, she was what they had in common, the shock was how Arya appeared to be trying to get Rhaegar to allow her to leave the castle. She held her breath and waited for the answer. The longer it went before he said ‘no’ the more Daenerys began to hope. Was he really considering it? What had Arya said to him? 

She could feel the tension from several feet away. “She needs to be at dinner, every night. People will notice if she’s not.”

Only the large number of people nearby kept her from squealing like a girl and jumping up and down. He was agreeing. 

Arya’s agreement was immediate. “No matter what is going on,” she said, “I’ll have her at dinner.” 

She wanted to run over and hug them both, but she didn’t know if that was the best idea. Perhaps it would be better to let them think they had their talk in private. Rhaegar wasn’t finished. “Find me before you leave the castle, I’ll make sure she isn’t going to miss something vital, that’s the best I can do.” It wasn’t the best he could do, it was better. It was so much more than she ever thought he’d allow. 

“Thank you,” Arya said. “I know this will mean a lot to her.” She was right about that. 

Rhaegar looked ready to leave before he stopped. “You’ll protect her?”

Her eyes were focused on the Prince when she replied, “With my life.” The speed of her answer and the sincerity packed into those few words made Daenerys shiver. Even if she hadn’t wanted to come to King’s Landing, there was no doubting Arya’s commitment. 

“I hope you’re as good as they say.” Rhaegar remarked as he walked away. 

One last time she was quick with a retort. “I’m better,” she told him, her claim dripping with confidence. 

Her brother laughed lightly, and that sound covered whatever he said back to her. Having heard many things that weren’t meant for her, she dropped back and tried to decide her next move. 

She wanted to throw herself into Arya’s arms and thank her for everything she did. but she was afraid doing so would embarrass her friend. She went to Missandei first. “Are you alright?” the handmaiden asked when Daenerys got close. “I saw you with Jorah and the Prince was with Arya.” 

She clutched her hand. “Everything is fine, I promise, better than fine. Arya did the impossible.”

“What did she do?” Missandei asked as Daenerys dragged her toward the guard. 

“You’ll see.” She wanted to tell Missandei how sweet Arya was, but there wasn’t enough space between where they were and where they were going to fit it all in. Rather than tell her half of the story, she elected to share none of it. She wondered how long it would take Arya to reveal the new arrangement. Would she keep it a secret, or would it be the first thing she told the Princess when they reunited? 

When there was about fifteen feet between them, Arya saw them and smiled as she took a long stride in their direction. “There you are.” 

“Here I am.” With those three words Arya returned her helmet to her head and spent a moment keeping her eyeline clear. Why had she removed her helmet? 

“How was Rhaegar?” she asked. 

“I’ll tell you everything but what do you ladies think about getting out of here first?”

She was asking, because she really wanted Daenerys’s opinion and Missandei’s too. She had no doubt that if either woman wanted to stay, Arya would’ve been accommodating. It was a such a small, trivial decision, but it was profoundly important because it was hers to make. She looked to Missandei first. With a bright smile, she nodded her approval. “Where do you want to go?”

“I think the question is where do you want to go Daenerys?” By the end, Arya was smiling, not the short, slight smiles she was used to, but a full smile that stayed on her face. Daenerys thought she looked amazing. “Let’s go someplace quieter and I’ll tell you everything, I think you’re going to like it.” 

Daenerys assumed they’d stop in one of the alcoves where they could talk but Arya went all the way down the hall, turned a corner and kept going. When they stopped, they were in a small sitting room, one Daenerys had never been in and didn’t know existed. “No one will bother us here.” 

The room, if it could be called that, had one door, no window and was barely big enough to house the table. It was a long rectangle of wood, but unlike most of the furniture in her home, it had no engravings, it wasn’t polished and appeared to be finished in a very bland brown color. There were chips in the paint and the wood, and when she sat, she noticed a visible knot in the tabletop. To sit on, there was a matching brown bench that ran the length. She couldn’t see it, but she imagined the other side had one too. “Have you ever been here?” she asked Missandei. “I didn’t know this was here.”

Missandei sat on Daenerys’s side of the table but Arya went around to the other, confirming that there was a bench over there as well. “I’m not surprised,” Arya said as she was lowering herself down. 

“I knew it was here,” Missandei admitted, “but I don’t think I ever came inside.”

How could that be? She spent many more years in the castle than the two of them combined. “What is this?”

A place for the servants, Princess,” Missandei explained. “When they are done for the day, they meet in out of the way rooms like this.” 

Now she understood why she didn’t know about it and had never been invited. She was glad the staff had a place of their own, but she did wish there was more than just a table and benches. “How did you learn about it? You’ve only been here a day,” she asked pointing across to Arya. 

“When I was looking for your chambers this morning, I met a couple of servants. One of them told me about this place. Said it was usually empty during the day and was good if I needed to rest.”

She was embarrassed to realize there was a whole second world happening right under her nose. There was the royalty and the nobles with their politics and their power struggles, and then there was the staff. They had lives, families, passions, hobbies, interests. It felt wrong sitting in their space. Should she leave? What if someone came in and found her there?

“So,” Arya prodded, lifting out of her seat to poke Daenerys’s hand with her finger. “Do you want to hear about my conversation with your brother?”

She really did. “Yes, I’m sorry I was just thinking about something else. Please tell me he was nice to you.” 

“He wasn’t rude, but I think we understand each other.”

Well that was something, wasn’t it? “No violence?” she verified, even though she was confident they traded only words. 

“He thought Oberyn sent me here to get revenge for the Martells.” She knew of Rhaegar’s suspicions but didn’t expect he’d come right out and ask Arya directly. He was usually more diplomatic. “Once I explained that I only came because Tywin wanted a guard, he seemed to ease up a little.” 

Daenerys hadn’t heard any part of that. It must’ve happened when she was busy with Baelish. “I’m sorry Arya, I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Arya said dismissively. “In our conversation I was able to confirm you won’t be needed for anything else today. Sooo?” She was smiling again as she stretched out the last word. 

“So what?” Daenerys tried, feigning ignorance. 

She thought she was teasing Arya, but things turned quickly. “It’s tragic how forgetful the elderly can be, isn’t it Missandei?” 

The handmaiden giggled and Daenerys gasped in shock. “Did you just call me old? You are only a few years younger than me.”

Unrepentant, Arya kept going. “True, but I remember what we were talking about.”

She thought back. The last thing they talked about was Rhaegar and Arya. There were no pending questions left over, so she went further back. She remembered being temporarily distracted by the room and asking questions about it, but they were answered. Before they came in here, whatever Arya was talking about happened before. What were they talking about in the throne room? It took time for her to find the right memory, but neither woman complained. She grinned proudly when she was prepared to answer. “Where do I want to go? I don’t know, where do you two want to go?”

“Nope,” she said shaking her head, “Nope, we don’t get to pick today, today we’re celebrating and that means Daenerys chooses.” 

She’d seen Arya’s softer side on occasion, but never like this. As she was setting the rule that Daenerys had to choose, she smiled apologetically at Missandei. “Sorry,” she said, “you can pick the next one.” 

“I think Daenerys should pick too.”

That wasn’t fair, they were teaming up on her. She’d have no chance now. “Anywhere?” she clarified, wanting to understand the limitations. 

“Anywhere,” Arya validated. “As long as I get you back here for dinner, you’re free to do what you want in the meantime.”

Arya hadn’t made her wait long to learn of the concessions she bargained for. Missandei understood how significant that was and she grabbed Daenerys’s hand, interlocking their fingers. “That’s great, think of all the places you could go.” It was great and they were only scratching the surface of what Arya had done. In one day. she achieved more than Daenerys had in years. “You could spend time at the port, or visit the orphanage, or both.” 

“I talked with Prince Rhaegar,” Arya began, “and we agreed that it’s unfair to have you locked away in your chambers, unable to leave, just because something might come up and it might need your attention.” 

“Daenerys, did you hear that, that’s wonderful,” Missandei said, gripping her hand tighter. 

“We reached an agreement,” Arya told them. 

Since Daenerys wasn’t asking any questions, Missandei did. “What sort of agreement?”

“When there is nothing happening in the keep, when your schedule is clear, he’s willing to let you leave.” 

Hearing it a second time was no less emotional. This time she could do something. She got up and rounded the table. By the time Daenerys was on her side, Arya was standing and had taken several steps to shorten Daenerys’s walk. When she was close enough, she did exactly what she wanted to the first time. She threw her arms around Arya’s neck and hugged her. Arya ducked a bit to accommodate her and Daenerys took advantage rising up onto her toes. “Thank you,” she said quietly, for only Arya to hear. “I’ll never be able to repay you for this, ever.” 

When the hug ended, she heard the rest of the details. “When we want to go, I need to check with the Prince first, he’ll let me know what’s happening and if we can sneak you away. We can go wherever you want. provided we always make it back by dinner. Those are the rules.” 

Missandei was vibrating she was so happy. She knew how meaningful this was. She’d witnessed Daenerys’s struggle up close, usually when Daenerys was confined so was Missandei, because she stayed to keep the Princess company. 

“I know it’s not perfect,” Arya continued, “I know we won’t be able to travel too far since we’ll have to be back by dinner every night, but…”

Daenerys took both of Arya’s hands and then sat down on the bench, pulling Arya with her. “This is perfect, I don’t care if there are fifty rules, it’d still be perfect, because I can leave the castle sometimes.” 

“I’ll still have to come along,” Arya informed her. 

“I’d want you with me anyway, so…”

“So,” Arya said, squeezing her hands, “all that’s left is for you to tell us our first stop. We’ve got hours to fill before dinner.” 

She was right about that. “Let’s decide on the way. Arya can you go get your cloak, and leave your helmet?”

She answered with a nod. “Anything else?”

“Nope, Missandei and I will go get ready and we can meet at the stables.” 

She wanted to stay in that moment, but time was wasting, and she had years to make up for. She reluctantly released Arya’s hands and headed for the door. Arya said goodbye and disappeared toward the barracks. “Do you want to change your clothes?” Missandei wondered. 

“I can take care of that. I have something special I need your help with.” 

That was all Missandei needed to hear. “Anything I can do, I will.”

“I want you to go to the stables, ahead of us. Speak to the stablemaster and let him know that I’ll be coming with my new guard to pick out her horse. Give him the small purse you’re currently carrying for me and explain that I’ll return in the next few days with gold to settle the outstanding balance. He is not to discuss the price with Arya under any circumstances.”

“I’ll take care of it.” 

Before Missandei could get away Daenerys was by her side, whispering. “I heard the end of her conversation with Rhaegar. She asked him to let me leave the keep sometimes. I’ve asked countless times, I’ve begged, and he always says ‘no’. I don’t know how she changed his mind, but she did.” 

“She cares about you. You go prepare for your ride. I’ll take care of everything at the stables.”

“Thank you!” she yelled out before Missandei got too far away.

Just before she got to the stairs, she heard the reply. “Your Welcome,” yelled louder, and from further away. Missandei was one of a kind. 

R-C

Despite being the fastest of them, she was last to arrive at the stables. Her quarters were on the opposite side of the keep from Daenerys’s. The Princess was already petting her horse while Missandei fed him from a basket. She noticed that they were preparing only one horse but assumed there was a reason. 

“Ready?” 

Not wanting a repeat of the last time, they discussed it, she broached the subject directly. “Can I borrow a stallion while I’m here?” 

Daenerys left her horse with a final stroke of its mane and then jogged the few steps to Arya, taking her hand. “Absolutely, let’s go find you the right one.” 

“Any horse is fin…”

She didn’t get to finish. “Your horse needs to suit you. Something strong and quick, like you.”

The stablemaster was a middle-aged man with dirt on his pants and hands. He nodded politely to the guard when she was dragged in by Daenerys. “See any you like?”

“They’re all great Princess, any available would be fine.” 

At least she got to complete the sentence, but it had as little effect as her interrupted one from earlier. “I want you to use a horse you really like, so pretend you are shopping for yourself.” She was sure her face showed her confusion. Daenerys poked her with an elbow. “Try it,” she pleaded with a pout. “If you were going to purchase a horse, which of these would you like.”

“We’re wasting time,” she noted, thinking that Daenerys would be eager to get their adventure started. 

“I can wait all day,” Daenerys declared. “Thanks to you, we can see the city whenever my father doesn’t need me.” 

“We should still go…”

“We should get this right,” Daenerys adjusted. “We have plenty of time.” Her expression softened, “Give it a try,” she urged. “Pick a horse, please.” 

As she went to give the mounts a better look, she told herself it was because it would speed things along. She did it so they could leave, so Daenerys could get out of the castle, and it had nothing to do with her saying “please,” or the scent of her perfume that Arya could smell when the Targaryen moved too close. 

R-C

She was proud of herself. She’d gotten Arya to choose her horse. Arya still believed it was a loan, but Daenerys had no intention of taking it back. She wanted Arya to pick because this would be her horse, in King’s Landing, Dorne or anywhere else she went. 

After some back and forth Arya selected a tan stallion, one that would fit in well in Sunspear. Having spoken to the stablemaster before Arya arrived, she knew the particular breed was often used as warhorses by soldiers. It would be everything Arya might need. 

“That was unnecessary,” Arya said as she led her horse out of the stable to stand next to Daenerys’s. “Any horse would…”

“Do you like it? I think you made a great choice.”

“He’s incredible, thank you Daenerys.” 

‘He’s yours,’ she thought privately. That would remain a secret for now. “Let’s take him for a ride.”

Arya nodded, rewarding Daenerys with a smile that made all her effort worthwhile. The guard hesitated and looked to Missandei. “Where is your horse, can I get it for you?”

“I have things to do around the castle, so you’ll be going alone.”

She knew this already, because she and Missandei had discussed it. She told her handmaiden that whatever work there was could wait, but she refused. Their last exchange before Arya came into view echoed in her mind. “I think you and Arya will enjoy the chance to be alone together.”

Time with Arya wasn’t the worst thing she could think of. Rather than deny it, she accepted the truth in it. She smiled at her meddling friend. “You can still join us.”

“Have fun, relax, let her see the Daenerys few people do, the real you.” 

Arya was moving quickly, meaning Daenerys had only enough time to say ‘thank you’ before they had to stop. She didn’t think this would be the last time Missandei brought up the subject of Arya. however. Strangely, Daenerys didn’t mind. 

Back in the present, Arya was double and triple checking that Missandei didn’t want to come. Once she was convinced, she climbed up onto her new horse and waited for Daenerys to do the same. She was already wearing her cloak, covering her armor. Daenerys’s decision to ask her to wear it didn’t take into account that it would be another layer obscuring Arya’s form. On the upside, without the helmet Daenerys got a chance to see her face. Her hair was a little too long, and she had some bruises, and cuts but she was undeniably attractive, a fact Daenerys caught herself realizing more and more frequently. “Where do you want to go?” she asked Arya, since she didn’t have a firm destination in mind. 

“Take me on a tour of your city. Show me your favorite places and then we’ll find some new ones.” 

Daenerys grinned. She could do that. She caught sight of Missandei stepping back from the corner of her eye. Have fun,” she called to them as they trotted away. 

She didn’t know where they’d go, or what they’d do when they got there, but she knew she’d have Arya with her, and they’d be free. Free of her father, her brothers, the guards, the servants, Tywin and the whole Red Keep. She didn’t think it would be hard to follow Missandei’s instruction. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Another chapter done, a lot happened, Aemon got screwed over, Tyrion made an appearance and Round One of Rhaegar and Arya. Feel free to let me know what you think of the Prince. It’s a challenge trying to make him compelling when we only have bits and pieces of his history and personality. I imagine he’d have a soft spot for his little sister and may even appreciate the parts of Arya that remind him of Lyanna, though he probably won’t admit it. Daenerys still has a long way to go, but then again, so does the story. I feel like she grows up a little more in each chapter. 
> 
> Until Next Time
> 
> RC


	12. Chapter 12

She didn’t think she’d ever be comfortable in the Red Keep, at least not while a Targaryen occupied the throne, but she was able to develop a routine. By the end of the first week she knew what to expect. Her days began early. She was given a bed in a barrack filled with the Unsullied. She didn’t mind it. They were quiet, respectful and were often up even before her. It wasn’t uncommon to see a large group of them training in the yard when she was on her way to meet Daenerys. She wanted to join them, to spar and test her skills against them, but so far, she hadn’t had the chance. She had to be ready and waiting when Daenerys left her room. Once they were together, she typically remained with the Princess until she retired for the night, which was often late into the evening. By that time, she was too tired to think about finding a partner to spar with. 

The keep itself never slept. It was constantly busy. There were always people coming and going. Servants rushed around, cleaning up after one guest or preparing for another. Arya remembered what that was like and didn’t miss it. Daenerys’s and therefore Arya’s mornings were often filled with meetings. Most were of little consequence and none required a guard, but she went anyway. People came from all over Westeros for an audience with the King and his advisors. When they did, they typically brought wives or daughters with them. One of Daenerys’s primary duties was to meet these women and keep them entertained while the men were handling their business. 

The conversations themselves were dull. Daenerys would ask about their journey and their life in whatever region they lived. Afterward, Missandei would bring a tray of snacks and they’d share tea. That was usually when the women would praise Daenerys’s dress, or her hair and compliment the Red Keep’s décor. It was formal, predictable and boring. Although Arya wanted to stick a knife in her ear just so she didn’t have to hear the same inane questions again, Daenerys never faltered. She was polite, charming and well-prepared. She knew in advance where the women hailed from and knew enough about each area to tailor her questions specifically for them. She was an attentive listener, asked intelligent follow-up questions and did a good job of making the women feel welcome. She didn’t hesitate to take them on a tour and accepted each time someone asked for permission to write to her. If that was all there was, it would be fair to assume Daenerys loved being a Princess, but Arya saw more. Daenerys’s smile vanished as soon as her guests were escorted out. Her shoulders would sag. and she’d let out a long, uneven breath as she covered her face with her hands. Missandei was always there, with a glass of cold water and a few words of comfort in Valyrian. They’d stay like that until the glass was empty and when it was, without fail Daenerys’s smile would once again be in place and she’d be ready for her next exchange. 

With a little practice Arya learned to detect which of Daenerys’s smiles were genuine and which were fake. The distinction was in the eyes. When she smiled at some noblewoman’s joke or while complimenting a woman’s clothes, it was limited to her lips. They’d turn up, she’d show some of her straight, white teeth and then it was over. The real smiles were something else entirely. In addition to stretching wider and lasting longer, Daenerys’s sincere smiles caused her nose to twitch and her eyes to sparkle. More than once she had to remind herself not to stare. 

After that first day the King hadn’t summoned his daughter or her guard back to the throne room, but that didn’t mean Daenerys wasn’t busy. Many appointments on her calendar had to be rescheduled when Aerys decided to take her to Dorne. As such, there was a long list of people eager for Daenerys’s attention and time. This was the reason they hadn’t been able to leave the keep for more than a few minutes since the day Daenerys took her on the tour. That day they spent hours together, just wandering. They went down to the water to look at the ships, then at Daenerys’s insistence they rode into the Kingswood to test the speed of Arya’s mount. Her horse was fast, but Daenerys kept pace easily. It was evident she was comfortable in the saddle, and really seemed to enjoy it. As they passed through Flea Bottom Daenerys pointed out the orphanage she frequented, but declined when Arya suggested they stop in. “We will soon,” she said as they carried on. On the Street of Steel, she encouraged Arya to stop and admire the goods. She tried not to linger too long, but it was so easy to get distracted with so many quality pieces on display. Rather than get annoyed Daenerys stayed by her side and offered her opinion on the different weapons. She thought about buying something, she had a little money now that Oberyn bought the venom, but it felt greedy to purchase a blade so soon after receiving her sword. She didn’t know what else she’d need while living in the capital, so she was reluctant to waste her gold on an unnecessary purchase, even a beautiful one. 

They returned to the castle early to ensure they weren’t late. The change in Daenerys was immediate. As soon as they were back behind the high walls, she smiled less, no longer laughed and her eyes lacked the vibrance they had as she explored the city. To try and cheer her up, Arya promised they’d escape again as soon as possible. She meant it too, but so far it hadn’t happened. With each day, the Princess became a little more withdrawn, a little quieter and a little more reserved. Arya had tried to locate Rhaegar and seek his permission to leave but he’d been in meetings each time. She considered taking Daenerys out anyway, but she’d given the Prince her word. He may be a kidnapping raper, but Arya still felt bound to honor the terms of their agreement. 

R-C

Daenerys found Aemon in the yard, practicing with his sword. “Are you alright?” The rest of the castle was enjoying an after-dinner drink, but Daenerys had felt brave enough to sneak away. She hadn’t even told Missandei or Arya where she was going, too afraid she’d encounter someone on the way that might stop her. This was a conversation that needed to happen between her and Aemon anyway. He’d been noticeably absent for days. In fact, she hadn’t seen him since her father decided to give Dragonstone to Viserys. More than once she knocked on his door, choosing a variety of times to maximize the chance he’d be inside, but he either was out, or he actively choosing not to answer. 

“I’m fine,” he said unconvincingly. If his tone didn’t betray him the extra hard swing of his sword would’ve. 

“I’m sorry about what happened. I’ll try and talk to my father, to make him see that you should be Lord…”

“Don’t!” Ameon interrupted, finally looking at her. “I always knew he hated me I should have seen this coming.” 

She wanted to refute the statement, to say that her father despite his many flaws did not hate his own grandchild, but she couldn’t. Her father did hate Aemon and Daenerys had long since given up lying for him. “It’s wrong. Dragonstone belongs to Rhaegar, and you’re his heir, it should go to you.” 

“It’s fine,” he said again, this time with more conviction. “Now there is nothing preventing me from joining the Night’s Watch.” 

“You still want to go?” she asked him, even though she already knew how he would respond. He’d been talking about the Night’s Watch for years, usually when he wanted to be anywhere other than the Red Keep. She could hardly blame him. 

“Nothing to stay here for,” he said, confirming her fears. She must’ve winced or shown her feelings because he was quick to try and smooth things over. “No Dany, I didn’t mean it like that. I know I have you, and my father, but I don’t have Dragonstone anymore. There is no place for me here.”

“You’re an heir,” she reminded him. “Are you really prepared to give that up?” 

“I’m in line after my father, who is in line after the King,” Aemon clarified. “Your father will be King for many more years, and my father for many more after that. I’d be an old man, if I ever saw the throne at all.” 

Daenerys was conflicted. Due to the closeness in their ages and the fact they grew up in close proximity, they’d always had a strong bond. Aemon knew much more about her than Viserys or Rhaegar. She wanted Aemon to be happy of course, but she didn’t want him to go. There was no denying he wasn’t happy in King’s Landing, and still she was reluctant to give him her blessing. She knew if he left, she’d likely never see him again. Selfish as it was, her life would grow harder if she didn’t have Aemon to talk to. Was that reason enough to ask him to stay? Would he if she did? “What does your father say?” she inquired, to buy time to organize her thoughts. 

“He told me to wait,” Aemon noted, “but that was before this. That was when he told me I would be Lord of Dragonstone and once he was King, he said he would name me an advisor.” 

“He can still do that. He still will, if you leave, you’ll never come back.” 

His eyes softened, and he offered a smile as he set down his sword. “I love you Daenerys, I’ll always love you and I’ll miss you, but I can’t stay here. I can’t spend the rest of my life waiting for something that might never come.” 

She wanted to argue against him leaving but the words tasted like acid on her tongue. How could she oppose him when what he described was so similar to her own dreams? He was as trapped as she was, the only major difference was that he found a way out and she was still stuck. Was that justification enough to disapprove? 

She took too long to speak, and Aemon filled the quiet. “I’m going to ask Father for permission to go North.” 

She needed to say something. She’d miss him, and she didn’t want him to go, but she couldn’t fault him for wanting more from life than he had. In the end, she couldn’t bring herself to stand in his way, not when she knew she’d do the same thing in his place. “If it’s what you really want,” she said, pushing the words out, “I’ll support you, I’ll even talk to your father, if you think it’ll help.” 

His face broke into a smile and he wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you, Dany you’re the best. Thank you for understanding.” 

She chuckled at the rare show of emotion. “You’re welcome, but if you’re really leaving, you have to spend as much time with me as you can before that.” 

“I will, I swear.” When he let her go and she got a good look at his face, she knew she’d made the right choice. Aemon deserved a life, even if she’d never get one. 

R-C

She was tired, having spent most of the night lying awake with the memory of an unusually vivid nightmare flashing through her mind. That said, she made a real effort to pay attention as Daenerys met with Lady Olenna Tyrell. The old woman was shrewd, intelligent and clever, Arya liked her immediately. It was rare for a woman to hold so much power outside of Dorne, but everybody knew Olenna was not to be underestimated. Her word held sway from one end of the Reach to the other. Instead of the trivial conversation that was commonplace Olenna asked Daenerys’s opinion on real issues, including Viserys’s wedding, her father’s choice to bring the Unsullied to Westeros, Rhaegar’s health and the King’s intentions for Dragonstone, just to name a few. Daenerys tried to be diplomatic at first, but it was apparent the elderly matriarch had no desire to hear the Princess’s practiced responses. She pressed Daenerys for her true feelings and in time got her to open up a little bit. By the end of their meeting, Daenerys’s smile was real, and the discussion was the most authentic Arya had heard since her arrival. It was refreshing and she suspected Daenerys felt the same. 

While the nobles talked Arya watched the servants. She knew it was unlikely that Olenna would bring a foster with her and risk upsetting the King, but she checked for signs of Sansa’s red hair anyway. It occurred to her that if the Tyrells had any fondness for Sansa at all, they’d keep her as far from King’s Landing as they could. None of the girls with Lady Olenna bared even a passing resemblance to the Sansa of her memories, or their mother, who Sansa favored in looks. She was glad she hadn’t been made to come, but she was sad that she couldn’t at least confirm her sister was alive and well. It didn’t take long in Olenna’s company to learn she was honest and straight-forward. It was for this reason Arya was tempted to ask about Sansa, she just didn’t know how. She was confident Olenna would tell her the truth, but in order to learn it, she’d need to admit her relation to the Tyrell foster. Doing so would endanger both of the sisters. The more time she spent with Daenerys, the more Arya was starting to think she would be understanding if Arya chose to reveal her identity. Daenerys didn’t share her father’s bloodlust or the callous disregard of her siblings. Arya believed she was a good person, and one deserving of trust, but she wasn’t certain enough to risk her life yet. Until she was, it was too dangerous to admit to being Arya Stark. She waited years to see Sansa again, she could hang on a little longer. Before she left Olenna invited Daenerys to visit her and her family at Highgarden. It was a long shot, but if Daenerys accepted and the trip took place before Arya returned to Dorne, perhaps she could learn something about her sister. 

R-C

Arya walked through the city with Missandei at her side. They were alone. The handmaiden had business outside the castle and Daenerys was reluctant to send her alone. Arya hadn’t wanted to leave her, but she promised she’d summon another guard if Arya wasn’t back by the time of her next appointment. 

As it was when she went out with Daenerys, Arya left her helmet in the barracks and hid her armor under a cloak. She wasn’t a soldier of Dorne or a guard for a Targaryen royal, she was just another nameless citizen. 

Although she enjoyed Missandei’s company, she couldn’t ignore the knot in the pit of her stomach. She worried that something would happen to Daenerys while she was away. The thought unsettled her enough that she tried to hurry Missandei along. If the handmaiden knew what Arya was doing or guessed at her motive, she didn’t say so. 

“Just one more stop,” she said for the third time. “I need to look at something for Daenerys’s nameday.” 

It took a moment, but she dissected that combination of words and got to the relevant portion. “Daenerys’s nameday is soon?”

“Yes, though she’s not looking forward to it.”

“Why not?” she inquired without thinking. Namedays were usually fun. She had fond memories of celebrating hers and that of her siblings in Winterfell. Her mother would arrange for their favorite meals, there would be gifts, games and a grand feast. She doubted the Mad King would care enough to have his daughter’s favored meal prepared but she presumed there would be presents for the Princess, lots of them, coming from across Westeros most likely. Didn’t Daenerys like receiving gifts? 

“There will be a big feast,” Missandei foretold in a quiet voice. They were weaving through a crowd and Arya made a point to stay within reach. “Guests will come from all over the Realm and beyond.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she noted. 

“She doesn’t want it. Her father and Tywin will force her to meet with every visitor. She’ll spend most of the day in a receiving line, accepting their gifts and making conversation.”

“Oh, yeah that doesn’t sound as good.” 

Missandei looked over her shoulder and smiled sadly. “She asked her father to have a smaller celebration last year and he invited more people, not less. Most who come won’t be there to see her, they’ll be there to talk to the Prince, the King or the Hand. She’ll be overlooked again, on the one day she should be recognized.” 

She was beginning to understand why Daenerys wouldn’t be excited for her nameday. It sounded like a horrible way to spend what was meant to be a happy occasion. “Is there anything I can do?” After a moment she amended her question, “To make it better I mean.”

Missandei stopped walking and looked at her companion. “Just be there for her,” she advised. “Listen to her, talk to her, ask her opinion and care about the answers, not enough people in her life do that.” She started walking again once she’d finished her list of ideas. Arya tried to memorize them, simple as they were, she would do what she could to improve Daenerys’s nameday. 

It was offensive to her the way Daenerys was treated. She was a Princess, and while Arya didn’t think that alone should be her only accomplishment, Daenerys was more than just her title. She was well spoken, intelligent and thoughtful. People should be lining up to seek her counsel on a wide range of topics, but they weren’t. She was dismissed for being a woman, forced to have meaningless conversations with other women while men discussed the important business somewhere else. Daenerys hadn’t said so, but Arya imagined the sting of it was made worse by the fact it was her family and those closest to her that were dismissing her. The Realm would benefit from having Daenerys involved in governing, but she wasn’t given the opportunity to even try. It was shameful.

They reached their destination, and Arya stepped ahead to open the door. Missandei thanked her before adding, “I’m going to make certain Daenerys has at least one gift that was chosen with affection, given to her because I care and not because I’m trying to impress her father.” 

Missandei had a point. All those gifts Daenerys was going to receive would come with strings attached. She could only guess at how depressing it would be to have to receive gifts, thank the bringer and know, it wasn’t given with good intentions. The more she thought about it, the more she was starting to come around to Daenerys’s way of thinking. Celebrating a nameday at the Red Keep sounded like more work than fun. No wonder she wasn’t looking forward to it.

R-C 

Desperate to remain busy, she sat down to draft a letter to the orphanage, informing them she planned to visit soon, asking if they had need of any specific items that she could bring? With her mind on the things the children might appreciate she was struck with an idea. She moved to the closet and began going through her clothes, particularly the older items. She had so many dresses, too many in fact. She couldn’t remember the last time she wore the majority of them. Her size although small, would be too big for most of the orphans but a few of the older girls might be able to wear them. The remainder could be sold to raise money, the silk alone was worth thousands. She also hoped a talented seamstress might be able to take one of her garments and turn it into three smaller dresses, ones more suitable for the younger girls, most of which had only one or two sets of clothes to their name. 

Those tasks, while important only took minutes, forcing her to continue her search for a distraction. She opened a book to read, got through several pages before closing it and returning it to the shelf. She stood there in front of all her literary options and saw nothing that appealed to her. She huffed and looked around the familiar space, hoping something would catch her eye. When nothing did, she started at the bed, first making sure the corners were neatly tucked in and the blankets straight. Once they were, she moved higher to the pillows, ensuring each one was in its proper place. She knew her room had been cleaned that morning, but she went through it anyway, wiping away non-existent dust from the table, pulling out then resetting the chairs at a more appropriate angle, nearly identical to where they’d been when she was reading. 

She gave her bedchamber the thorough cleaning it didn’t need, and when it was over, she could point to little she actually accomplished. Worst of all, it hadn’t been as time consuming as she hoped. All told she’d been in her room just over an hour. She didn’t know the extent of Missandei’s errands, but she doubted they were on their way back yet. 

Upon learning of Missandei’s appointments outside the castle Daenerys immediately directed Arya to accompany her. Her idea was so disapproved of that both women pulled her aside to speak in private. Missandei went first, assuring Daenerys that she’d be fine on her own. She reminded the Princess she’d been into the city many times with no difficulty. Daenerys wasn’t too proud to admit her handmaiden had a valid point, but how long would that hold? King’s Landing was a dangerous place, especially for a woman travelling alone. Since Missandei came to Westeros Daenerys had always disliked sending her out unescorted. She asked Jorah to accompany her once and he refused, insisting his duty was to her and not a handmaiden. She even brought the subject up with Rhaegar, and he promised he’d ask their father for permission to expand her guards, but nothing ever came of it. She didn’t know if Rhaegar asked and was refused or if he just dismissed her request as unimportant. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, so she hadn’t brought it up again. 

Now, for the first time, she had a guard loyal to her and not her father. Arya would keep Missandei safe. For once when her friend was away, Daenerys wouldn’t have to worry. She’d promised Daenerys she’d watch over Missandei and now she’d get to prove worthy of the growing trust and admiration between them. 

“I’ll feel better knowing she’s with you, and it’ll give her a chance to see a bit more of the city too. We’ve all been cooped up a lot lately.”

“No one more than you,” Missandei pointed out. 

“I know,” Daenerys admitted quietly, “I’m hoping that after the Tyrells depart, we’ll be able to get away again.” Just the suggestion brought a smile to her face. “I think a few hours outside of the keep would do us all a lot of good.” 

“Are you sure Princess?”

“I insist,” Daenerys replied confidently. “I’ll be safe here, and Arya will make certain you’re safe there.”

Maybe her arguments were persuasive or maybe her friend could tell this was one battle she wasn’t going to win. Either way, she relented. “Thank you, I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Take your time.” She meant it too. Just because she had to be locked up didn’t mean Missandei and Arya had to suffer with her. 

As Missandei left and Arya stepped up to take her place, they stopped and spoke briefly. She couldn’t hear it all from where she was, but she made out the words, “horse,” and “stable”. She guessed they were making arrangements about where to meet. 

“Are you sure this is wise?” Arya asked bluntly. Before she could answer, the guard continued. “What about you? What if…”

She reached out and put a hand on Arya’s arm. “I’m not leaving the castle.” When Arya didn’t look convinced, she added, “I won’t leave, I promise.” Feeling like she might lose, she went with her biggest concession. “I’ll stay in my bedchamber, if it’ll make you more comfortable.” 

Arya’s hard features softened. “You don’t have to do that,” she said quietly. “It’s bad enough you can’t come with us. I’ve been trying to get a meeting with the Prince, so we can plan another trip, but every day this week, I’m told to try again tomorrow. I think his guard tires of seeing me.” By the end, she wore a smirk. It was clear the idea that the knight Barristan Selmy was annoyed pleased her far more than it should. It would’ve been proper to reprimand her guard for pestering the Crown Prince, but she couldn’t. Everything Arya had done was for her benefit. She hadn’t realized she’d been checking daily for another time when Daenerys wouldn’t be missed. She was touched Arya was going to that much trouble for her. Few in her life would. With Arya, it was becoming so common, it was almost easy to overlook the gestures or to discount them as ‘just what Arya does,’ Daenerys vowed to never let that happen. She refused to take Arya and all that she’s done for granted. No matter how numerous the examples, each one was a kindness she was grateful for. 

“I hate when she goes by herself,” she explained. “No one else thinks she’s worthy of a guard to protect her. Please, I won’t leave this room, I’ll do whatever you want, just…”

“Daenerys, breathe,” she instructed, looking in her eyes, “I gave you my word that I’d watch over Missandei and I will. I just want to make sure you’ll be okay here.” 

It was such a relief when she realized Arya didn’t intend to fight that she let out a chuckle. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good. Do you want me to send for Mormont or…”

She left her words hanging there, waiting for Daenerys to provide another suitable name. She didn’t have one. She’d known from the start that Arya’s posting was only temporary, yet lately she willfully omitted that detail as she thought about the future. More than once she considered mentioning to her father or brother that perhaps Arya’s position should be made permanent but each time something held her back. She knew what it was too, Arya didn’t want to stay. She wanted to go back to Dorne as soon as possible. Regardless of how seamlessly Arya fit into her life, no matter how talented a guard she was, Daenerys wasn’t quite selfish enough to request Arya forfeit the rest of her life just so Daenerys would have another friend. After all she’d done, Arya deserved to choose where she’d be, and Daenerys refused to use her title and authority as the King’s daughter to keep her against her will. 

She shook the thoughts away and remembered that Arya was waiting. “I don’t think I’ll be going far.” She saw Arya’s eyebrow arch up and her thin lips parted as if to speak, so Daenerys rushed ahead. “If I do though, I promise I’ll have a guard with me, be it Jorah or someone else.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked again, bringing them back to the start. 

Daenerys didn’t resent Arya for asking again, she took her job seriously and she wanted to make certain Daenerys was comfortable in her choice. It was just another piece of evidence to confirm how important her obligations were to her. “I’m sure, just make sure Missandei is safe.”

“I’ll bring her back to you,” Arya declared seriously. Daenerys was reviewing the words in her mind. Arya was going to bring Missandei back to her? Before she could decide what the Dornish woman meant by that, she was distracted by the door closing. Arya had gone. 

She’d originally planned to stay in her room alone until Arya and Missandei returned but she quickly ran out of tasks to keep her occupied and was eager to escape. She was tempted to just leave. It would be nice to go for a walk around the castle alone but doing so would disappoint Arya. She still had a long way to go in earning Arya’s friendship and developing trust was a major step along that road. She wanted to show Arya that at least one Targaryen could be counted on to honor an agreement. She told her she wouldn’t leave her room without a guard, so she wouldn’t. 

Jorah was the obvious choice. She knew little about what the knight was doing now that he’d been reassigned but she predicted he’d welcome a chance to step back into his former role. It was a shock to realize she’d prefer to stay in her room alone instead of allowing Jorah to watch her. Sure, she’d grown to like Arya’s casual approach to guarding, and she was actively trying not to think about after the wedding when she’d go home to Dorne, but that didn’t mean Jorah was no longer acceptable, did it? He didn’t need to be her first choice to effectively keep her safe. They hadn’t spoken much since Arya’s arrival and each time was a disagreement. Maybe that’s why she was reluctant, she didn’t want another fight. She walked back to her bed and sat down, determined to examine her feelings more closely. 

Jorah had been around for most of her life. She liked and trusted him, often enjoying the conversations they’d have. He was willing to give her space, even if it was just inside her chambers. He didn’t yell as some guards were prone to do, and he didn’t get angry when she proposed another in a long line of unscheduled delays. She’d known for several years that Jorah’s willingness to indulge some of her more random requests was born out of feelings he had for her that went beyond what was typical of a guard and their charge. Missandei was the one who brought it to her attention, asking one night if there was a relationship between her and Jorah. She didn’t understand what she meant and said so. Missandei was quick to apologize and tried to change the subject but Daenerys wanted to hear what she had to say. Only when her friend brought them to light did Daenerys see the signs for what they were, the smiles, his gentle approach, even the way he spoke to Daenerys was different from the way he addressed any other person. For the next several weeks she paid close attention to Jorah’s every action and word and when she was finished her study, she could see what caused Missandei to ask. 

She was flattered by the interest and more than a little lonely, but Daenerys only ever saw the Northern man as a friend. She dreaded the day he’d decide to broach the subject, knowing she would hurt him with her refusal. So far, it hadn’t happened. Missandei thought it never would, saying it would be improper for a knight to proposition a Princess. She added helpfully that it only works that way, not the other way around. Since Daenerys knew she would never proposition Jorah, she hoped that would be the end of it. 

Before Arya, they developed a good system that worked well and wasn’t obtrusive or overbearing. Daenerys was protected without feeling smothered too frequently. That was how she felt before, but how did she feel now? In recent days she became aware of Jorah’s inclination to manipulate her, did that change anything, and if so, how much? She’d been too busy to give the topic the time and attention it deserved. 

After thinking about the past and the present, she turned her focus on the future. What would happen if she asked Jorah to fill in while Arya was away? She closed her eyes and tried to picture it. She’d have to listen to him complain and whine. He still hadn’t gotten over being replaced and was holding a grudge. It allowed him to find fault with Arya in any situation. He’d be upset that Arya left her ‘unprotected,’ ignoring all the reasons why she’d done it. It wouldn’t matter to him that Daenerys ordered her to protect Missandei or that she agreed to be confined to her chambers until a guard was available. All he’d see was Arya doing something he didn’t approve of. He’d hold her solely responsible and Daenerys doubted her ability to make him see logic. If it was just Jorah, she probably would have summoned him and endured the lecture, but she couldn’t be certain it would be it. Was he willing to report Arya leaving to her father? Would he tell Rhaegar? Normally she wouldn’t have to worry about her eldest brother harming someone she cared about, but he showed an immediate dislike for Arya. Would he use Jorah’s claims as proof of Arya’s nefarious intentions and send her away? 

There on her bed she came to a startling, unsettling truth, a trip back to Sunspear was the best outcome available. It was just as likely that any complaint about Arya would lead to her being dragged to the throne room in chains and charged with a crime? If that happened… No, she stopped that thought before it was finished. She refused to even consider that. It wouldn’t happen to Arya, it couldn’t. Daenerys wouldn’t let it. 

She didn’t want to believe Jorah would do that to her or Arya, but just to be safe, she’d need to be more careful around the knight from Bear Island going forward. Luckily Arya wasn’t scheduled to return to Sunspear for a while, and that would give Daenerys time to decide what was best. In the meantime, she still needed an escort. Unwilling to ask Jorah and equally unwilling to stay in her bedchamber, she opened the door and waited for a guard to pass. When a trio of men walked by on a patrol, she stopped them and asked for one of them to accompany her to an appointment. The men were surprised. She noticed that while the youngest of them couldn’t look away from her, the other two, were looking deeper into the room, as if checking for her assigned guard. “My guard is performing an errand for me,” she explained. “When I sent her, I forgot I had to meet with Lord Tyrion. Would one of you men please escort me?” 

“Of course, Princess,” the leader said, “at once.” 

“That is very kind, thank you,” she replied with a smile. 

As she was led toward the Master of Coin, she couldn’t help but feel proud. She’d managed to leave her chambers without violating any rules or breaking any promises. She also did it in a way that would absolve Arya of any guilt. She felt excitement as they neared her destination. She really did have business with Tyrion and after their initial meeting, she was looking forward to getting the chance to speak to him again. 

R-C

Missandei found what she was looking for and produced a small purse of coins to pay for it. Arya smiled as the handmaiden appraised her selection carefully. At least Daenerys had one friend who really cared about her. Arya knew from experience one was enough to make all the difference. Oberyn was her only friend and he changed her life, except Oberyn wasn’t her only friend anymore. Now she had Daenerys and Missandei too, and since Daenerys was her friend and her nameday was approaching, she should buy her a present too, so she’d have more than just Missandei’s. 

As they stepped out into the sun, she voiced her idea. “I’ll get her something too,”

“You don’t have too,” Missandei said quickly. “If you support her that’ll be plenty.” 

She knew what Missandei was trying to do and why. She worried Arya didn’t have the gold to spend. She may not have enough to afford a horse, but she could buy Daenerys a present of some kind, a small one and that was surely better than nothing, wasn’t it? If someone told her a year ago that she’d be spending her own gold to make a Targaryen smile she wouldn’t believe it, but Daenerys wasn’t like her family. The truth was, she wouldn’t regret losing a few coins, not as much as she’d regret letting the day pass without showing Daenerys it wasn’t only Missandei who cared. “I think I’ll get her something,” she decided. 

Missandei who was in the process of returning her purse to its place, smiled wide, obviously pleased. “Daenerys will appreciate that more than you’ll know.” 

It was fast, too fast for her to stop it. Missandei was smiling at her, fussing with her purse and then suddenly a thin, sickly man with tattered clothes and stringy hair bumped into her. His body blocked Arya’s view of things, which is why she didn’t know there was a problem until she heard Missandei shout, “Hey, wait!” 

It was instinct more than anything else that caused her to reach for and grab the man. He resisted and tried to pull away, but Arya was stronger. “Unhand me,” he demanded. 

“Arya, he took my money,” Missandei informed her. Sure enough, when he turned, he was holding Missandei’s purse of gold dragons. 

“Give the Lady back her gold!” Arya advised as menacingly as she could. 

Slowly his beady eyes took in the surroundings. They were in front of the store, a safe distance from any escape route. He didn’t appear to have any allies or partners, and alone he wasn’t enough to best Arya. He realized this after she did. “I didn’t mean to,” he said, holding out the purse to its owner. Arya watched, maintaining her grip on the man, as Missandei took back what was stolen. The thief kept his eyes down, looking sufficiently repentant. She didn’t think he was a professional thief rather he saw Missandei with the gold and couldn’t help himself. It was a crime of opportunity. He thought he could bump into her, lift the gold and be gone before they could catch him. He was a fool, but not a threat. 

Once he was free, he grabbed for Missandei, producing a knife with his empty hand. She cried out in pain as he pulled her back against his chest. He let go of her just long enough to wrap his arm around her waist, binding her to him. The coward was using her as a shield. He pressed the small, cheap knife to the side of her throat and held it there. “Don’t move!” he screamed. 

How had she misjudged things so severely? She made a stupid mistake. She released him when Missandei had her coins but before she’d stepped away. She should’ve kept watch of his hands in the event he was armed and had a taste for violence. She’d fucked up and now Missandei was paying for it. 

Shaking, Missandei tried to appease him. “Take the gold,” she said, working to keep her voice steady. “You can have it.” 

“Fucking snobs, you think you’re so much better than me. Grabbing me, ordering me around, you’re not so tough now, are you?” He took a step back, putting space between them, pulling Missandei along. 

This was all her fault. She’d promised Daenerys she’d protect Missandei and now some bastard was threatening to kill her. She had to fix this. Daenerys would never forgive her if she didn’t. 

“Take me,” she proposed hastily. 

R-C

Tyrion was behind his desk when she entered. She looked over her shoulder and asked her three guards to wait outside until she was done. They did without comment. By the time she turned Tyrion was on his feet and moving around the desk. “A Princess come to visit a humble Master of Coin, I’ll be the envy of dwarves everywhere.” 

“If that’s true,” she said taking the seat he gestured to, “then I’m especially glad I stopped by.” 

Tyrion went a nearby cart and selected a bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured as he spoke, not needing to look to avoid spilling. “Why did you?” he asked. Daenerys didn’t mind the question, but Tyrion didn’t like the way it sounded. He rushed to add a compliment on the end. “Not that I mind, I never turn away a beautiful woman, I just wasn’t expecting you.” 

As he finished, he smiled in a way that certainly got him out of trouble with almost anyone. Long before he was employed in the keep, she heard stories about the youngest Lannister. Over time she learned not to believe gossip, but he appeared just as charming as advertised. “I wanted to see how you were settling in. We haven’t seen much of one another since you ascended to your new position.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, passing Daenerys one of the glasses of wine. Only after she tasted it and nodded her approval did he continue. “I’ve had little time to entertain, my new duties involve long hours and endless amounts of paperwork.” 

Beyond the basics of manning the treasury, she would be the first to admit she didn’t know the specifics of Tyrion’s job, but then again, she was in no danger of being named to the post. “If you didn’t want the job, why’d you take it?”

He laughed as he set down his half-empty glass. “I didn’t ask for it, and I didn’t want it, I was told to be there on the day and when I showed up, this is what I got.” He held up the royal ledger as proof. 

Daenerys felt a little foolish, because she didn’t understand. “Who…” The answer came to her before she could finish the question -- Tywin. She remembered how he was the one to put Tyrion’s name forward. “Your father,” she acknowledged. 

He smiled then and raised his glass as if to toast. “I got this job much the same way you got yours as Westeros’s Princess, I was born and one day without much warning my father told me where to be and what to say.” 

He was making light of it, but she felt empathy for him. If his father was someone else, maybe she’d question if he had done it as a kindness, but Tywin Lannister didn’t do anything without a self-serving motive. “Is the job difficult?” she wondered. 

He shrugged a bit. “It could be worse. As I said the hours are long, which is likely why my father chose this out of all the vacancies in King’s Landing for me to fill.” 

“Why would he care how busy you were?” She didn’t doubt that Tywin had an agenda, she just couldn’t see what it might be. Tyrion had much more experience with the man. 

“My father summoned me here because I was apparently embarrassing the Lannister family name with my childish behavior.” As he said the final two words, his tone shifted to an imitation of his father’s voice. “Seven Hells, I’d swear the man just doesn’t want anyone to be happy. He detests my presence almost as much as he does my absence.” 

In an attempt to find the good in the situation she took a moment to think. “At least your siblings are here.” 

He smiled in appreciation of her effort. “Yes, I will get to see Jaime more frequently. I am happy about that. It’ll be a nice change I hadn’t seen him in almost a year. We have plans tonight as a matter of fact.” 

“That’s nice,” she admitted, happy that there was at least one bright spot in his new life. 

“You probably see him more than I do, being the King’s daughter.” 

“Sometimes,” she exaggerated, “though he mainly guards my father, and I have a guard of my own.” In truth her interactions with that member of the Kingsguard were rare, but when they did occur he was always polite, quick to laugh and charming. 

“Oh yes,” Tyrion said, showing visible signs of excitement. “I heard you brought a Sand home as a souvenir from your trip.” 

“It’s only temporary and she’s not a souvenir,” she fired back intently. She was overreacting but even in jest, she didn’t like what Tyrion was implying. He was making it sound like Arya was her property and not her own person. She had to correct him. 

Tyrion sensed he struck a nerve and apologized. “Of course, I meant no disrespect. Where is your guard anyway? If any of the three that brought you here are a woman, I may need to reconsider my opinion of the gender.” 

The horrified look on his face was amusing and she chuckled. “Don’t worry, Arya is running an errand for me, which is why I have the others.” She could have told him the truth, she didn’t think Tyrion would reveal her secrets, but she maintained the lie she’d started with the guards. Mentioning Arya did remind her why she sought Tyrion out. “In addition to seeing how you were, I did come for a more official reason. I have need of gold.” 

Tyrion moved his wine off to the side and leaned forward in his chair a bit. “Alright, how much do you need and for what?” he asked, taking her request seriously. 

“I purchased a horse from the stable, I want to ensure the owner is paid,” she explained, thinking of the stallion Arya chose. She’d told the stablemaster that she’d handle payment later and he agreed. This was the first time since where she could arrange it without Arya listening in. 

“The stables here?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. 

“Those horses already belong to the Crown, and as a Princess, you’re entitled to have your pick.” 

“It wasn’t for me,” she clarified, expecting that would change his outlook. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he countered, “if you wanted to pick a different horse everyday you could, you’re a Targaryen, they’re technically are all yours anyway.” 

She understood what Tyrion was trying to say, but she didn’t like it. That horse would be going back to Sunspear with Arya someday, the man who bred it, raised it and trained it deserved to be paid. “I want to pay him,” Daenerys insisted. 

“Why?” Tyrion wanted to know. 

“Can you do it?” she pressed. 

“Of course, but…”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate it. If you tell him it’s from me, he’ll know which horse I’m referring to.” 

Tyrion wrote himself a small note and then looked up. “I’ll take care of it. Is there anything else?”

There was something, but she wasn’t sure how to ask for it. She felt her face warming in anticipation of her next inquiry. “You control the treasury, right?”

“You might even say that’s my job,” he teased. 

“I want to make a purchase, and it’ll be more than the amount I’m generally allotted, how exactly does that work? Can I get more, or do I have to wait?”

Tyrion stopped whatever he was writing and appraised Daenerys’s face for a moment. She didn’t know what he was looking for, or if he found it, but he answered after a slight delay. “It depends how much you need and how quickly you need it. Most amounts I can arrange in a couple of days.” 

“I need to purchase a gift for someone,” she said. She was being intentionally vague. Like the horse she wanted it to remain a surprise and she didn’t want word of it to reach Arya before she was ready to present it. She also feared that if her brother or father learned of it, they’d prevent her from carrying out her plot.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow and watched her again, waiting to see if she’d add to her statement. “Okay,” he finally said, “and how much do you need?”

Oh, she didn’t really know. She hadn’t thought about the price beyond knowing it would be more than she typically had access to. “I’m not sure.” She felt foolish for not checking first. “I mean, I could find out, but I don’t know exactly.” 

“Who is it for? What were you hoping to buy?” When she didn’t immediately respond he tried another joke. “I have years of experience spending money, if you tell me what you want to buy, I likely know the price.” 

Daenerys didn’t want to tell him, but she needed his approval. She didn’t think her father or Rhaegar would help and that left Tyrion as her only source of gold dragons. “It’s a surprise, I want it to remain a secret until it’s ready.”

Tyrion smiled at her kindly. “I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone Princess, I promise.” 

This was only their second conversation and for reasons she couldn’t explain she found herself willing to trust him. To achieve her goal, she’d need aid beyond Missandei, perhaps Tyrion was the right choice of ally. “I want to have a sword forged,” she began. 

For the next ten minutes she detailed what she wanted as thoroughly as she could, hoping to impress upon Tyrion how important this was to her. When she’d run out of things to add, he cleared his throat and closed the book he’d been taking notes in. “I’ll speak to the smith at the forge and get him started on it right away,” Tyrion said as they finished their business. He’d been beyond understanding of her request and accommodating to her lack of experience and knowledge. “I don’t know if he has the materials in stock or not, but I’ll make sure he knows this is a priority.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate your assistance and your discretion.”

“Please don’t mention to anyone that I’m capable of either, I have a reputation to maintain,” he quipped with a playful smirk. 

“If you hold my secret, I’ll hold yours,” she pledged. “So, will your sister be joining you tonight as well or is this a brother’s only outing?” She didn’t want Tyrion to think she’d come only for the gold she needed. She genuinely wanted to speak to him again. She hoped ending their meeting on a personal note would make that clear. 

Without warning Tyrion nearly choked on his wine. Daenerys blushed as she reached for him, her hand halted as she realized she didn’t know how to help him. “Are you alright?” she asked, as she debated calling her guards. 

He swallowed awkwardly and then coughed, turning away to hide his face until he was done. “I’m fine,” he said slowly. He cleared his throat one final time and then tried again. “I’m fine, I just wasn’t expecting that.” 

Why not? What had she said that was so unwelcome? If she rarely encountered Jaime, her dealings with Cersei were even more uncommon. She was always around though, usually lingering near Rhaegar, trying to gain his attention. She had desires to be Rhaegar’s Queen. “I’m sorry,” she said when no other words seemed appropriate. 

He smiled in a way that looked sincere and then took a tentative sip of his wine. She watched closely for any signs of distress, but he swallowed without difficulty. “I enjoy my brother’s company,” Tyrion said, “but Cersei is more of an acquired taste, one I never took a liking to and trust me, the feeling is mutual.”

Daenerys took a sip of her drink to hide the fact that she had nothing to s. Actually, she was strangely comforted by Tyrion’s comment. It was nice to know hers wasn’t the only damaged family in the Realm. The Lannisters were no healthier or happier than the Targaryens it seemed. 

R-C

The thief turned kidnapper was stunned by her offer. “Huh?” 

Brave and selfless Missandei didn’t like her strategy nearly as much. “Arya, don’t…”

“Shut up,” he hissed in her ear. She squirmed against him and Arya didn’t like the way his hand was leaving her waist to wander closer to her chest. 

“You want gold right,” she tried, “that’s my handmaiden. If you take her, you’ll get her purse, but if you take me, you’ll get a ransom. I’m noble, worth a fortune.” 

Her ploy worked she could see the pig practically drooling at his sudden windfall. He was still suspicious though. “You’re noble? Why you wearin’ a sword then?” 

She had to think up a lie and quickly. “All nobles in Dorne wear swords, its tradition, to honor Nymeria the Warrior Queen.” 

It showed in his eyes that he believed her. “Take it off,” he directed. “Take it off and kick it away.” 

She didn’t delay. She unclasped her belt and let it fall to the ground. She kicked it away, making sure to send it far enough away to put him at ease. “There, release her and I’ll go with you.” 

He wasn’t stupid enough to agree to that. “Come over first. Slowly!”

Missandei looked frightened and Arya knew she was entirely responsible for that terror. She ignored the attempts to try and dissuade Arya from her course. If one of them was going to be in danger, it wouldn’t be Missandei. “It’s going to be okay,” she told her friend before she began moving. 

He kept one arm around Missandei but the other, the one holding the knife was extended waiting for Arya to get close enough to be within reach. She’d only get one chance and she’d have to be perfect. Just before she was close enough to grab, she squatted down and made like she was tying the laces of her boot. “What you doing?” 

Her right hand toyed with the laces while her left went to the knife she carried. “My boot was undone,” she justified. “I’ll move much faster if it’s tied proper.” 

“Hurry up,” he spat, eager to claim her and collect his reward. The knife had worked once, this wasn’t all that different from the recruit rapers. If she could catch him off guard, and get his throat, he’d be dead before he knew what was happening and Missandei would be safe. 

“There we go,” she said in hopes of distract him. She adjusted her grip on the blade and then popped up, lunging for him. Missandei realized what was happening and began struggling, trying to break his hold. All at once he didn’t have enough hands to do everything necessary to control them. He fought to keep a firm grip on Missandei and brought his knife up near his face to protect against Arya’s assault, but she was too well trained for that to work. Ideally, she would have killed him slow and made it hurt. She pushed the knife into the side of his neck, applying pressure until the entire blade was lodged in his throat. His arm loosened enough for Missandei to escape and Arya used her free hand to pull the handmaiden to safety. 

He died with a quiet gurgle and a pathetic attempt to swing his knife. She pulled her blade free and shoved his body away. She waited for a moment to confirm he was dead and then she pocketed the bloody weapon, kneeling in front of Missandei. “Are you alright?”

“You saved me,” she acknowledged, with dark eyes glistening. 

“Did he hurt you?”

She took time to assess her body, “N…no,” she said unconvincingly. “I’m okay.” She wrapped her arms around the guard and held on tight. “Thank you,” she said passionately. “You saved me, again.” 

She thought about mentioning it was all her fault, but it didn’t seem like the best time. All that mattered now was getting Missandei back to the castle. “Ready to go home?” Arya asked, as she leaned back to look at her face. 

“Yeah.” 

The city guards arrived just as Arya was reclaiming her sword. “Stop, murderer!” one yelled. A step behind his partner drew a sword. 

Arya sighed. Now they’d show up. Where were they when Missandei had a knife to her throat? “My name is Arya Sand, I’m Princess Daenerys’s guard, this is Missandei of Naath, her personal handmaiden.”

The talking guard wasn’t swayed. “A Dornish guard?”

Before she could reply, the other man did. “Wait, I heard bout this, she’s the one the King brought back from Dorne, the gate guards roughed’r up awhile back and pissed off the Princess somethin’ awful. I heard she threatened to toss’em in the dungeon for hurting her.” 

Arya was captivated by the story. She looked to Missandei and expected to see an expression that matched her own, but she was calmly waiting to learn their fate. She didn’t seem bothered or even surprised by the exaggerated tale of her arrival at the Red Keep. 

One of the men remained uncertain. She attempted to reassure him by removing her cloak and revealing the Martell sigil she wore. “He’s right, I’m a soldier from Sunspear.” 

“What happened?” he asked, looking at the corpse. 

“A thief grabbed Missandei’s purse. When I stopped him, he tried to take her hostage,” she summarized. 

The guard chuckled darkly. “Didn’t work too well for him, did it?”

“No, it didn’t.” 

“You can go back to the Princess,” he decided.

They didn’t need to tell her twice. “Thank you, Ser.” She doubted he was a knight, but a little formality, could be useful at times. She put a light hand on Missandei’s back. “The Princess is probably waiting for us,” she said, more for the guards benefit than Missandei’s.

R-C

Daenerys and her contingent of guards had been all over the castle. She’d gotten far more accomplished than she thought she would. Missandei hadn’t been clear about what she needed to go and buy, but she predicted they would be home by now. Still, she was pleased with the progress; the smith was working on Arya’s sword, Tyrion would ensure he was paid, and a courier would deliver gold to the stablemaster later that day. 

Before long she was back where she started, busying herself to avoid watching the door. She went up to her chambers again, made another valiant attempt to read an uninteresting book and then gave up. Although she didn’t ask them to, her guards were lingering outside in the hall, even after she dismissed them. When she tired of her room one more time, they were ready and waiting to escort her elsewhere. 

What was taking Missandei so long? Had something happened to delay them? The thought made her so uncomfortable she considered seeking out Rhaegar and asking him to start a search. Then she remembered Arya. Arya was with her. She wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen, but Daenerys was momentarily distracted by another wave of panic as she considered that maybe they were late arriving because Arya had protected Missandei and gotten herself injured while doing so. Arya threw herself into danger without hesitation, whether it was the snakes in Dorne or allowing the guards at the gate to abuse her to avoid angering the King. It wasn’t hard to imagine Arya putting herself at risk to shield Missandei, in fact she promised do exactly that when she told Daenerys she’d bring her back safe. She went to entrance Missandei would return through, placing herself where she wouldn’t miss them. 

R-C

She never thought she’d be relieved to see the Red Keep, but she was. She’d nearly allowed Missandei to get killed and the guilt was crippling her. They hadn’t said much to one another since. Missandei seemed to understand Arya needed space and gave it to her without prying. 

She was surprised by the handmaiden’s strength and composure. She’d nearly been murdered by a petty thief while under Arya’s care and yet she didn’t cry, and she didn’t appear as rattled as the guard was. If she hadn’t been there to witness it, she never would have guessed Missandei had a knife to her throat minutes ago. 

Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t notice Daenerys there. “There you are!” she said, sounding relieved. She rushed over and hugged Missandei tightly. Did she know what happened to them? Had those city guards already passed the word of her failure? She was silently impressed they managed to inform the Princess so quickly, but she couldn’t dwell on that, not when she had an apology to give. 

She heard Missandei speaking and the Princess responding but the words didn’t reach her. Normally it would have offended her to have to take a knee before a Targaryen, but Daenerys put her faith in Arya to keep Missandei safe, and the Stark had failed miserably. She dropped to one knee in front of Daenerys and bowed her head, waiting to be punished. If she had to die to make it right, she wouldn’t resist. She thought of her father then, the way he’d bowed before the Mad King and awaited his fate without complaint. Perhaps she was more like Ned Stark than she realized. The thought cheered her. 

When Daenerys spoke, it wasn’t the words Arya was expecting. “Arya, what are you doing?”

She looked up at the royal. “I’m so sorry Princess, I tried to honor my word, I did, but I was too slow, I didn’t see he was a threat until it was too late. It was all my fault.”

Daenerys tried to make her stand with a wave of her hand, but Arya didn’t move. Finally, she sighed and issued her command verbally, “Arya, stand up!”

This time she did. She met the Princess’s violet eye bravely, wanting to retain a measure of dignity. “I’m sorry,” she said again, meaning it. “I tried to keep her safe.”

Without warning Daenerys was in her arms, hugging her just as fiercely as she had Missandei. Unsure of what to do, Arya’s arms remained at her sides awkwardly. “You did keep her safe,” Daenerys said, “she told me you’re the only reason she’s alive.” 

Arya couldn’t believe this. How had she become the hero in the story? She backed up, ending the embrace. “I nearly got her killed,” she confessed. 

“But you didn’t,” Daenerys replied. “You brought her back, unharmed just as you promised you would. You didn’t fail anyone Arya, you did your duty and I’m beyond grateful.”

Not yet prepared to let this go, Arya made another point. “If I’d been smarter…”

Daenerys stopped her with a look. “Did you truly offer yourself to the man to save her?”

The extent of her knowledge was a bit unsettling. She looked to Missandei and saw her smiling kindly. She nodded to Arya, as if to say she told Daenerys everything. She evidentially missed more of their conversation than she initially thought. “If one of us was going to die, it wasn’t going to be Missandei.”

“You risked your life for her.”

“It was my job.”

“No,” Missandei said, “your job is to protect Daenerys, you chose to protect me.”

She took her eyes off the Princess and met the slave’s. “I’d do it again,” she vowed intently, “all of it.” 

“That,” Daenerys said, pulling her attention back, “is why I’m not upset with you. Now come, you’ve had a trying day and you need to rest.” 

R-C

The morning after her disastrous trip into the city, Daenerys informed her she’d need to escort the Princess to the Unsullied at some point, when her schedule allowed. Arya agreed without comment but as the morning wore on, she began to wonder why. She held her tongue until they were crossing the yard. “Why are we going there?”

Daenerys’s smile didn’t falter as she said, “Grey Worm wishes to speak to you.” 

She pictured the Unsullied commander in her mind. She knew of him by reputation only, the Unsullied she lived with spoke of him highly. He was said to be a fine warrior and a man of few words, both qualities Arya respected. “About what?” she asked carefully. 

“I’m not sure,” Daenerys admitted. It was quiet for a moment before she added, “It’s about Missandei most likely.” 

Mentioning Missandei helped Arya notice her absence. She hadn’t seen the handmaiden at all that day, now that she was thinking of it. “Where is Missandei?”

“You’ll see her, I’m sure,” Daenerys predicted. “I gave her the day to recover after yesterday.” 

Arya was hit by a surge of guilt. That Missandei and Daenerys didn’t actually blame her wasn’t enough to prevent her from blaming herself. She intended to apologize again but they arrived at their destination before Arya could muster the words. Missandei was there, standing off to the side watching the Unsullied train. Grey Worm stopped what he was doing when he saw them. He stabbed his spear into the ground and said something to the man he was sparring with in Valyrian. “What’s happening?” she asked Daenerys. 

“Relax,” she replied, “it’ll be fine.” 

Missandei arrived a step behind Grey Worm and the soldier reached for her hand with his turning away from Arya to smile at the dark-haired woman. The love on their faces and in their eyes was obvious. Arya was speechless. She looked to Daenerys for some clarification and found the Princess smiling happily at the couple. They were together? How was that possible? The Unsullied were eunuchs. How could Missandei be with him when Arya always assumed she and Daenerys were together? She thought back to all the interactions she’d seen since she began guarding Daenerys, the touching, the smiles, the handholding, and the hugs. She guessed it was romantic at the time, but she’d been wrong if Missandei was looking at Grey Worm like that. Could it be they were just close friends? She supposed it was possible but if Missandei wasn’t Daenerys’s lover who was? 

Grey Worm took a step toward her without releasing Missandei’s hand. “You save her life?” he asked in the common tongue. 

“Saved,” Missandei corrected, “Arya saved my life.”

“You saved her life?”

“I did, though I think she would have been fine, even if I wasn’t there.” She didn’t want to restart the debate with Daenerys about her mistakes, so she chose to distance herself from the compliment by suggesting she wasn’t really needed. 

Grey Worm didn’t understand so Missandei translated. She couldn’t help wondering if Missandei was repeating just her words or adding her own commentary on the events as well. “Thank… you,” Grey Worm said, separating the words for an unnaturally long pause. “You can train here.” 

As he finished, he made a fist with the hand Missandei wasn’t clinging to, and pressed it against his chest in what she knew was a sign of respect. She nodded in understanding. “I’m glad I was there to help. It’d be an honor to train with you.” 

For this he didn’t need a translation and Arya marvelled at how talented Missandei must be, teaching him such a complicated language. “Now?” he wondered, looking toward the sparring fighters. 

Daenerys gave permission by smiling indulgently. “Go on,” she said through a laugh, “you know you want to.” 

She definitely did want to. The last thing she wanted was for her skills to dull while she was in the capital. “Now,” she agreed. 

The commander stood up a little straighter when he heard that. She saw a fire in his eyes she recognized, he thirsted for the challenge as surely as she did. He stopped long enough to kiss his lover, ending any question Arya had about the nature of their relationship, then he walked to his spear. Arya took one last look at Daenerys before she followed. It was going to be a good afternoon. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I know a lot of people were looking forward to Daenerys’s tour of the city with Arya, but I decided to wait until they were a little further in their relationship before I wrote about their adventures outside the castle in full detail. It definitely is coming though. 
> 
> I hope this chapter wasn’t too hard to follow, I tried to alternate between them showing their various activities. Dani got a lot accomplished, Olenna made an appearance, Tyrion nearly choked to death and Missandei almost died, because you know their uneventful trip had to have something go wrong. 
> 
> I think Grey Worm and Arya could’ve been great friends, so I wanted to give them more of a reason to interact than just training, her saving Missandei provided me with that. I hope it was entertaining. 
> 
> Lastly, I’ve never written a version of Arya that misinterpreted Daenerys’s relationship with Missandei, but I figured it was realistic enough to try. Let me know what you think. 
> 
> RC


	13. Chapter 13

She held off for as long as she could after Olenna left King’s Landing to return to Highgarden. Her internal doubts kept her quiet until she felt bold enough to bring the subject up to Daenerys. They were alone while Missandei was off handling something for the Princess. “Lady Tyrell invited you to visit,” she reminded her friend gently, hoping she wasn’t being too obvious, “do you think you’ll go?”

With bright eyes and a smile, she responded. “I’d love to. I haven’t seen Olenna’s granddaughter Margaery in ages.” 

Daenerys’s positive reaction to the not so innocent question gave her a burst of confidence, one she desperately needed. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Highgarden, if you wanted to go before the wedding.” 

Arya feared she’d realize something was wrong and call the guard on her strange behavior, demanding to know why she’d make such a statement. It didn’t happen, Daenerys’s was thrilled by what she was suggesting. “Really?” she verified. “I was going to put it on the schedule, and ask my father for permission, but only after the wedding, when things settled.” 

“You shouldn’t wait,” she advised carefully. “Olenna seemed excited to have you visit, and I doubt she’s the only one.” 

“I do want to go,” Daenerys confirmed unnecessarily. Arya was getting better at reading the other woman and no longer needed words to guess her emotions most of the time. 

“Me too, we’ve explored Sunspear together, King’s Landing, why not Highgarden next?” 

“Why not Highgarden?” Daenerys repeated, talking to herself. It took a moment, but she met Arya’s eye with a new sense of determination. “You’re right. I’d enjoy travelling a lot more if you were there, and it’d be rude to make an influential noblewoman like Lady Olenna wait.”

She smirked when she recognized what Daenerys was doing, she was justifying her choices, likely in preparation for when she made a similar argument to her father. Arya was just practice. “It would be very rude,” she agreed, boosting Daenerys’s mood and widening her smile. 

“Well, we wouldn’t want to be rude, would we?” she asked rhetorically. “I’ll speak to my father later today about our trip to the Reach.” 

Arya was grateful she had such practice hiding her feelings, or she probably would have revealed just how meaningful this was to her. She did her best to match the Princess’s enthusiasm, so she didn’t appear unusually excited, even though she was. If she got to Highgarden, there was every reason to believe she’d find Sansa. She’d have days to look and listen, to gather information and seek her out. For years she dreamt of seeing her sister again, but never thought it was actually possible. No matter how badly she craved a reunion, she was in Dorne and Sansa the Reach. If this worked, it would be one more thing she owed Daenerys her thanks for. 

R-C

Arya had just left Daenerys for the night and was on her way to the barracks to get some much-needed sleep. She also planned on taking a long, hot bath. The Unsullied had always treated her well, a little distant in the beginning but that was understandable. After her sparring match with Grey Worm however, they began to view her as an equal. They respected the fellow soldier, as she did them, and when word spread that Arya had saved Missandei’s life, their admiration for the foster from Dorne multiplied. The men in her barrack would greet her when she entered and occasionally engage her in conversation about her weapon of choice or preferred fighting style. It was a nice change from how she spent her days. Not only because weapons and combat were things she enjoyed discussing, but because when Daenerys was in her meetings, Arya was rarely acknowledged. When it was Daenerys, Arya and Missandei she was frequently brought into the conversation but when they were with others, Arya had to fit into the mould of a traditional guard and that meant staying quiet and pretending she didn’t understand the common tongue. One of the hardest requirements of her position was maintaining a blank expression while listening to someone whine or complain about something trivial. She wanted to scoff and roll her eyes, but she couldn’t. Lately she’d taken to chewing on the inside of her cheek to avoid letting her opinions out. She’d never been one for meaningless talking, and that was a large part of what Daenerys’s day-to-day life consisted of. None of Daenerys’s visitors ever addressed Arya and although she was grateful for that, it did seem to make the hours pass slowly. Headaches were a common occurrence and each night after Daenerys retired Arya was pleased to have her bed amongst the quietest group of men she’d ever encountered. They were a welcome reprieve. 

Everything she intended her evening to be faded to the background as she watched Daenerys’s nephew Aemon practicing his sword, taking swings at a training dummy. Bigger than her, he was wielding a blade far more impressive than the one issued to her by House Martell. He was good she noted quickly. He followed through with every strike, wasn’t overly aggressive, and had clearly been well trained. It was obvious he had a strategy in mind. Each strike served a purpose, preparing his opponent for the eventual killing blow. 

In addition to following the movements of his sword, she also studied his face. Every second spent in his company reassured her that her initial belief was right, he was her cousin. Confident as she was, she still kept an eye out for anything that might disprove her theory. At this point it would’ve been more shocking to learn he wasn’t related to her by blood. He looked more like her father than Robb or Bran ever did. 

Her mind raced. Did Aemon know who he was, who his mother was? Did he know how he came to be? She didn’t blame him, the fault for what happened was Rhaegar’s alone, he was the one who kidnapped and raped an innocent woman, but Arya was curious how much of his own history Aemon actually knew?” 

“Who taught you?” she asked as she approached him. 

He finished a smooth slice across the center of the man-shaped target before turning to greet her properly. “One of my father’s friends trained me,” he recalled casually, “Arthur Dayne.” 

That made sense. Given his injury Rhaegar couldn’t’ teach him personally and if he was intent on his son learning warfare who was a better instructor than the Sword of the Morning? As a girl her father spoke of Dayne’s Gods-given talent ending lives. A member of the Kingsguard, he was undoubtedly one of the best warriors in the Realm. 

Her time in Dorne provided her with a much more detailed description of Arthur Dayne than the one her father gave back in Winterfell. Despite having been in the capital for years, Dayne remained a favorite of the Dornish, a hero of sorts. He was often mentioned in the same breath as Oberyn, when listing off the greatest fighters their kingdom ever birthed. While Arya was partial to Oberyn, there were many far away from Sunspear who felt Dayne was a more impressive figure. Arya had never met him personally, but Oberyn mentioned him once, saying that his reputation was well-earned. That was high praise coming from the Red Viper and Arya chose to trust in his judgement.

“You’re lucky,” she told Aemon, “he’s one of the finest swordsmen in all of Westeros.” 

“I was, when my father agreed to let me learn, I began my lessons with the Master at Arms but once I had the basics, he said he wanted me to learn from one of the greatest he’d ever seen.” For the first time she saw him smile and matched it with one of her own. He sheathed his sword and wiped the sweat from his neck. He was looking around, but for what she couldn’t say. She waited for him to finish. “Is Daenerys not with you?”

“She and Missandei are sharing a bottle of wine in her chambers,” Arya explained. “Since she won’t be leaving tonight, I’m no longer required. I was walking to the barracks when I saw you and thought I’d say hi, I probably shouldn’t have interrupted but…”

“I’m glad you did,” he said, putting her at ease. “I’ve wanted to talk to you, but we haven’t had the chance until now. The first time I saw you, you were in no condition to converse.”

She was confused. The first time she’d seen Aemon was the day Dragonstone was taken from him, right? She tried to recall an earlier meeting, but she couldn’t think of any and certainly none where she was incapable of saying ‘hello’. 

“You probably don’t remember,” Aemon said, “you were already unconscious when the guards dragged you in.”

Oh, of course. The bruises had faded, and Arya had allowed herself to forget about it. Rhaegar was with Daenerys and Missandei when she came back to the world, so it wasn’t beyond reason that Aemon would be there too, somewhere in her foggy memories. 

He chuckled, “I’ve seen Daenerys mad plenty, I’ve heard her yell, but she’s never threatened anyone before.” 

“She threatened them?” Arya heard herself ask. “Why?”

Aemon was clearly pleased he’d get to tell this story. He didn’t waste time before diving right in. “She ordered you released, and they ignored her.” He paused and then elaborated. “Guards not heeding her direction is pretty normal, especially when my father is around.” It must’ve been obvious that she didn’t see the connection because he helped her find it. “They tend to defer to him, regardless of what Dany or I might say. When she ordered they unchain you, they looked to him for instruction.” 

Not that she’d given her welcome to the capital a whole lot of thought, but it a shock to learn just how much she’d missed in the few minutes she was knocked out. “Then what?” 

“The longer they didn’t obey her, the angrier she got. Usually Daenerys backed down at the first hint of resistance, she’d cower and apologize before making a quick exit, or bottle all her feelings just under the surface and hold her tongue until she was allowed to leave. Neither happened here, because for what might be the first time in her life, Dany spoke up for herself, threatening to toss the guards in the cell you wouldn’t be needing any longer.” He was laughing by the end. “I always knew she has a temper, but I’d never seen her lose control like that.” 

Arya wasn’t sure what to say. As she tried to make the pieces fit in her mind, she was reminded of something one of the city guards said when she and Missandei were standing over a corpse. One of the men was reluctant to believe who she was, but his partner had heard of her and rushed to smooth things over. She thought he was exaggerating when he said Daenerys had threatened to throw her abusers into the dungeon, but now Aemon was confirming it did in fact happen. 

In recent days it stopped being strange when she counted Daenerys and Missandei among her friends. It also was no longer hard to separate Daenerys from all the others she shared her name with. She was different from them, just as Oberyn described before she left Dorne. She could vividly imagine the smug look on her mentor’s face when she admitted he was right all along. She’d never hear the end of it. 

“I had no idea, she never mentioned it.”

“I’ve never seen her that upset or that worried before either. I’m glad you’re okay.” He hesitated and then looked her up and down. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine, that was nothing.”

“Good, I’m glad.” His expression changed from relief that she wasn’t permanently maimed to something she could only guess was nervousness. “There was something I wanted to ask you, if you have the time, and if you don’t mind, of course…”

She didn’t know what he’d ask her for, but if possible, she’d try and oblige. He was family, even if he didn’t know it. If it accomplished nothing else, it’d give Arya more opportunities to speak with Aemon and maybe learn a little more about his character. Before arriving at the Red Keep, she would have thought it impossible that anyone in the Seven Kingdoms did not know about Robert’s Rebellion and the reasons for it. Now though, after seeing how isolated Daenerys was, it wasn’t so farfetched to think Aemon was told a different story about why Robert declared war than the one Arya and her siblings were raised on. 

“If it’s in my power to provide it Prince, I will do my best,” she told him formally. 

He bristled at this title the way she used to when the staff of Winterfell called her Lady Stark or even worse, Princess. “Just Aemon, please,” he implored.

“Alright Aemon,” she said giving him a smirk. “What can I do for you?”

“Dany tells me you’re skilled. Would you be willing to train with me, if you aren’t too busy?”

“I’m sure there are many in your grandfather’s armies far more qualified…” 

“They won’t spar with me, too afraid they’ll injure me and get in trouble.” He scoffed and knocked a dark curl away from his eyes. “As if I’d go running to the King, if I lost a match.” He lowered his voice before he finished. “He probably wouldn’t listen if I did.” 

“I’ll train with you. I guard the Princess during the day, but by this time most nights she’s in her chambers resting. I can meet you here to offer advice or spar as often as you want.” 

Looking down, it was obvious he was expecting a refusal. When she agreed his eyes snapped up and he grinned, looking so much like a member of her family that it was hard to focus. “Really?”

“Sure, I need the practice too. I’m used to training hours everyday and now all I do is stand around.” 

“Thank you so much. If I’m going to Take the Black, I need to be as ready as I can,” Aemon rambled, his familiar eyes shining with excitement. 

“You’re joining the Night’s Watch?” 

“I hope to,” he said, his smile remaining. “I’ve wanted to for some time, but my father resists the idea, maybe if I can show him I’ll succeed there, he’ll be more inclined to let me go.” 

“You’d give up your claim on the throne and all you have here just to join the Night’s Watch?” Arya couldn’t help but feel intrigued by this. She wanted to know if Aemon was just upset and blowing off steam, the way Arya would when she’d tell her parents she intended to run away and live in the Wolfswood, or did he truly mean it?

“Gladly,” he said at once. “The King doesn’t even consider me a real Targaryen. The other nobles aren’t much better, they don’t treat me the way they do Viserys or Daenerys. I’m in line for the throne but that alone doesn’t mean I belong here. I can belong on the Wall. They don’t care who my parents are or where I came from, they’ll accept me there regardless.”

She didn’t think she’d get a better chance to inquire about Aemon’s past, so she dipped her toe in carefully. “Why doesn’t the King treat you fairly? Is it because your father had children before you?”

The smile he wore discussing the Night’s Watch was gone and a more sombre expression replaced it. “I don’t know exactly I just know he refuses to see me as his grandson. He’s giving Dragonstone to Viserys and I’m glad, because I didn’t want it.” Well that didn’t provide much information, other than to remove all doubts about whether Aemon knew how he was conceived. Arya was prepared to move on, when Aemon said, “I think the reason he hates me has something to do with my mother.”

“Does your mother live here?” she asked, hoping to ease him into it. 

“She’s dead,” he replied sadly. “She died just hours after I was born.”

“I’m sorry,” Arya said sincerely. “I lost my parents too and I know how difficult that can be. If you ever need anyone to talk to, apart from all,” she paused and rotated to wave a hand in the direction of the castle, “all this, let me know.” The way her parents were taken from her was different, but they were just as permanently gone as Aemon’s mother. 

“Thank you,” he said, forcing a slight smile, in appreciation of her efforts. “I don’t know much about her, my father refuses to talk about her, and not just with me either, Daenerys has asked too, and he still won’t say anything.”

“You know nothing about her?” Arya was suddenly weighed down by all the things about Aemon’s mother she knew. She could tell him plenty and in doing so she’d be removing a burden that was very clearly causing him pain. It was probably the right thing to do, but she didn’t know how she could tell him about Lyanna without revealing who she was. Would he be so grateful for the information that he’d promise to keep her secret? That wasn’t a risk Arya could afford to take. She did hope the day came when she could tell Aemon the truth, but it wasn’t today. 

“I know I look like her, I think that’s why the King hates me, and I know that she and my father were deeply in love, but apart from that, he won’t say such else.” 

It took all of her self-restraint to not correct Aemon’s misconceptions. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know. He’d been lied to his whole life. When she was confident she could part her lips without screaming, she shifted them to safer ground. “Members of my family are in the Night’s Watch. It’s an honorable choice, especially for a Targaryen.” 

“I can’t explain it,” he confessed, “but I just feel like it’s where I’m meant to be.” 

“Well, I can’t speak for anyone else, but I wish you luck either here or on the Wall.” 

“Thank you.” Aemon was visibly touched. Arya guessed he didn’t get much encouragement. “Thank you very much.”

“Daenerys will miss you terribly, but if it’s what will make you happy, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“I hate the idea of leaving her here. All our lives we’ve looked out for one another and it feels wrong abandoning her like this, but what life can I have if I stay?” 

It was a rhetorical question, but she answered it anyway. “There comes a point when you need to do what you want and say, ‘fuck everyone else.’ It’s your life, the only one you’ll get, you can’t live it for other people.” 

“I’m sure your parents would be proud of you,” Aemon commented. “Even without them, you rose to become a guard, overcoming all the obstacles in front of you.” 

“I hope they are proud, wherever they are. When I began training to be a soldier, many didn’t agree, it’ll be the same if you choose to join the Night’s Watch, but that doesn’t make it a bad idea.” 

Maybe it was wrong to be encouraging him to leave his family, but it wasn’t some petty, vindictive attempt to hurt Rhaegar by getting his son to go. The only reason Arya was supportive of Aemon was because he was so unhappy with his life as it currently was. She could relate to that all too well. When she felt trapped, Oberyn fought for her. Arya wanted to show Aemon the same kindness, becoming the one voice telling him it was okay to chase his dream. 

“If we’re going to get you ready for Castle Black and whatever is waiting beyond the Wall, we best get started right away.” 

He was smiling as he drew his sword. She still needed sleep and a bath, but those things could wait. Aemon was family and that made him a priority.

R-C

While Missandei helped Daenerys get ready for the day, Arya made her daily pilgrimage toward the throne room hoping to catch Rhaegar before he began his first meeting. On the way she noted privately, and not for the first time how easy it would be to just sneak Daenerys out of the keep. The harder it was to get a meeting with the Crown Prince, the harder it became for Arya to live up to their agreement. 

She was initially pleased when she saw him in the hall, engaged in a conversation. It wasn’t until she got closer that she realized who he was speaking to. Cersei Lannister had her back to Arya and was leaning close to Rhaegar as she spoke. Inching closer she was able to hear what was being said. 

“… dinner tonight,” Cersei proposed, placing a hand on Rhaegar’s arm. “I don’t know about you, but I tire of eating in the Hall with everyone. We could go for a walk after and…”

“That is a very kind offer m’lady,” he began diplomatically. He was smiling kindly but in Arya’s opinion it looked a little stiff. “I’m afraid it’s unlikely this evening however, I’m not sure how late I’ll be. I have many appointments and wouldn’t want you to be left waiting if my business kept me.” 

His logic was plausible, but Cersei wasn’t ready to admit defeat. “I wouldn’t mind, I prefer eating later anyway.” 

Right before her eyes Rhaegar had to work a bit harder to maintain that fake smile of his. “Aemon and I usually spend our evenings together.”

Again, his reason made sense, but she wouldn’t or couldn’t relent. “One night, that’s all I’m suggesting. He is a grown man. He can entertain himself for a few hours.” 

“Cersei,” Rhaegar tried, using his tone to try and coax the Lannister into submission. 

Rather than the guilt he was trying to invoke, Cersei was growing frustrated. Her volume rose as she said, “I don’t understand why you won’t give us a chance? We could be great.”

“You are my friend, and I value that friendship,” he countered, maintaining his even composure. “I think we should remain friends.” 

“You’ll be King soon, do you intend to rule alone?”

“If and when I become King,” he said with some feeling, “I am not opposed to doing it unmarried.” 

Her final argument was her least persuasive. “The people will expect their King to have a wife, to bare children.” 

“I have children,” he said, his tone growing firm, “beyond that, if I’m a good King, it shouldn’t matter whether I’m married or not.” 

Cersei’s father decided to intervene walking over to them. His presence was met with different reaction, Rhaegar looked relieved that their conversation wouldn’t continue, while Cersei was defiant. She looked to Tywin for help in swaying the Prince and he glared in response until she excused herself. Arya had to wonder, was Tywin upset his daughter propositioned Rhaegar so insistently or was his problem that she failed? As Cersei fled, she was quickly met by her brother Jaime. Like Tywin he looked unimpressed by what he’d just witnessed. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was obvious from their body language alone the siblings disagreed. 

After his children disappeared around a corner, Tywin informed Rhaegar that their meeting would be starting soon. “I’ll join you shortly,” he said to the Hand and Tywin nodded. His route to the throne room took him past Arya’s position. He didn’t acknowledge her, but she paid him careful attention. Separate from his daughter and the Prince, his anger remained, even though the issue had been settled. Without proof, it was only an educated guess, but Arya got the impression Tywin’s anger, unlike his son’s wasn’t aimed at Cersei. It was more probable that he took offense because Rhaegar hadn’t jumped at Cersei’s offer. Joining his family to the royals was just the sort of thing Arya assumed Tywin would be in favor of. If it happened, Cersei would become Queen and Tywin’s power within the keep would reach new heights. 

Standing alone, leaning on his cane, Rhaegar was quickly joined by his guard Ser Barristan. Arya didn’t want to interrupt, but this would be her only chance to secure Daenerys an escape from the castle that day. She approached as confidently as she could. 

Rhaegar saw her coming and sighed. “You too, by the Gods, it isn’t my day,” he complained. 

The knight turned toward her and was already moving to intercept Arya before she could reach her target. “The Prince is very busy, I’m afraid…”

“We made a deal,” she reminded the cowardly Prince as he hid behind his guard. “You told me you’d let me know if Daenerys was needed.”

“As I told you yesterday,” Selmy began, only to be stopped when Rhaegar’s free hand gripped his shoulder. 

“It’s alright,” Rhaegar ruled. “She is right, I did make that agreement, I just wasn’t aware when I did that you’d show up as faithfully as the sun every morning.” While he spoke, he walked around the Selmy to Arya. His words were finished before his short, uneven steps. 

“I gave Daenerys my word that I’d help her leave the keep as often as her duties would allow,” she explained, justifying her actions.

“If I permit her to leave the castle today, will I be spared from further visits?”

She couldn’t prevent her cocky smirk from making an appearance on her face. “Whether or not you allow her to leave, you’ll have peace, until this time tomorrow.” 

Off to the side Barristan looked ready to involve himself but before he could Rhaegar shook his head, sending a band of light hair in front of his eyes. “You’re as fearless as they say,” he remarked after a humorless chuckle. 

“I keep my word, to Daenerys and to you. I won’t take her into the city without your approval, but I will return tomorrow to ask again, unless you can tell me now if Daenerys’s presence will be required.”

Something happened she couldn’t explain. Suddenly Rhaegar’s features darkened and although he wasn’t angry, he was much more serious than he had been. It wasn’t only the Targaryen either, Barristan wore a similar grim expression. 

“Forgive me Prince, but tomorrow is…” 

“I know what tomorrow is, Ser thank you,” Rhaegar snapped. To Arya he continued, “There is nothing today that will require Daenerys’s attendance. As long as she’s back for dinner, she’s free to do as she pleases.” 

“Thank you,” Arya said. She was pleased to have such good news to deliver to the Princess. 

Rhaegar wasn’t done. “Tomorrow will be a busy. The King will be holding trials for a number of men in our dungeons.”

This information had the potential to ruin what was otherwise looking like a good day. She knew how the King’s trials usually ended. Was he going to recommend Daenerys attend? If Daenerys had to be there, Arya would too. That was something she was hoping to avoid if she could help it. “Is Daenerys expected to be there?” she asked as evenly as she could, while inside she hid a raging storm of emotions. 

At her question he looked as pained as she was. “Absolutely not, in fact you have my approval to take Daenerys into the city tomorrow as well. The trials usually run long, so for tomorrow only, she won’t be missed if she’s not at dinner.” 

Arya was grateful for herself and for Daenerys. She didn’t think Daenerys would enjoy observing murders committed to appease her father’s madness, anymore than Arya would. “Thank you, Prince,” she said politely. “I’m sure Daenerys will say the same when she sees you, but until then, allow me to express gratitude on her behalf.” 

The mere mention of Daenerys brought out a smile. “Tell her to enjoy herself.” As quickly as it arrived it was gone, and he was once again painfully severe. “You,” he said pointing directly at Arya’s chest, “keep my sister safe.” 

“I will.”

R-C

“Where do you think Arya is?” Daenerys asked as she and Missandei waited for the guard. She was bathed, dressed and her hair was styled. She was ready, the only thing missing was Arya. “She’s usually here by now, isn’t she?” Had something happened? 

“I’m sure it won’t be long,” Missandei said calmly. It was quiet for a few moments before she went further. “I don’t recall you fretting this much if Jorah was running late.”

Her head whipped around to look at her friend and she found the handmaiden smiling mischievously. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, even though she had a pretty good idea. 

“I mean you care about Arya,” Missandei said bluntly. “I’d go so far as to say you care for her more in only a few weeks than you do Jorah who has been watching over you for years.” 

That was true, and moreover Daenerys had no desire to deny the accusation. She did enjoy Arya’s company and she didn’t see any harm in that. She’d be going back to Sunspear before long, so Daenerys could be forgiven for wanting to spend as much time as she could with her friend before it was too late. “I do,” she admitted quietly. “She’s so different from anyone else around here. It’s a nice change.” 

“Yes, she is,” Missandei agreed, “but is that all it is?”

This time Daenerys was less certain of the point Missandei was trying to make. “What are you saying?” 

“I mean that Arya is quite attractive, if you are interested in that sort of thing, and I’ve noticed you watching her.”

She was sure she was blushing without checking in the mirror. She did appreciate Arya’s beauty, she had right from their initial meeting. It was also true that as highly as Daenerys thought of her physical appearance, it paled in comparison to her opinion of the young woman’s character. 

“It’s been a long time since Daario was last here. It would be understandable if you developed feelings for someone else, especially someone who spends as much time with you as Arya does.” 

Her blush intensified as Missandei mentioned her only past lover. He’d come with his cohorts in the mercenary company the Second Sons and sought an audience with the King under some pretense. She learned later that the real reason for the visit was to perform reconnaissance. What she didn’t know then, what no one knew apart from the three sell-swords was that the Second Sons had taken a contract to kill the King’s only daughter. 

To hear Daario tell it, he decided the moment he laid eyes upon her that he would not and could not fulfill his contract. They’d been approached by a man in Essos who claimed to be from an area around the Vale. He went before Daenerys’s father on a day Daenerys wasn’t there and offended him in some fashion. Whether the insult was genuine or a figment of the King’s imagination, Daenerys never learned. Either way Aerys had the man’s daughter killed as punishment and then exiled him to Essos to wallow in grief. 

Eventually, grief melded into anger and then resolve. The man became obsessed with revenge, killing Daenerys to make Aerys feel the same pain he felt. Daenerys was horrified when she heard the story, not at the man for wanting vengeance but at her father. She didn’t have children, but if she lost one, especially in such a terrible way, she would likely kill anyone and everyone she held responsible. 

The part she found saddest of all, was that the man’s scheme was flawed. What he didn’t know was that Aerys didn’t care enough about his daughter to mourn her. If Daario had done his duty and killed her, Aerys wouldn’t have felt the same pain the desperate father did, because he didn’t love Daenerys the way the man had loved his child. 

After their meeting, Daario and his friends gathered to discuss their next steps. Apparently, they disagreed. Daario wanted to return the man’s gold and refuse to complete the task, the others wanted to proceed. She didn’t know all the details, but words were exchanged, blades drawn and at sunrise the next day Daario appeared at the gate holding the heads of the two other sell-swords. 

Thrilled with the unexpected but always welcome severed heads Aerys forgot all his pending business and met with Daario instead. He insisted everyone be present, including Daenerys. She watched as her father praised him for rooting out a betrayal and protecting his family. He offered Daario a place in King’s Landing and although he pledged his sword to the Targaryens. Daenerys simply didn’t notice he was looking at her and not the King as he said so. 

As she watched Daario become a member of her father’s army, she had no idea how close she’d come to being killed. Daario informed her, when he arrived that night at her door. He told her in no uncertain terms that although he knelt before the King and swore obedience, his true loyalty was to her. He called her beautiful and stunning and Daenerys was quite taken with his overt affection. The idea that someone, anyone would choose her over the King made it easy to accept when he suggested they go to bed together. It was a bad idea, she knew, but she was an adult woman with needs, she was lonely, and Daario was there, willing and saying all of the right things. 

Over the next four months, they got together as often as they could, usually two or three nights a week. For Daenerys, Daario offered a distraction from the confines of the Red Keep and the obligations of her family name. Daario complimented her frequently but was just as likely to speak of his past conquests, be it battle or women. With her lack of experience, it wasn’t obvious that Daario felt strongly for her until he said the words one night, as they laid side by side. Daenerys who had been on the brink of sleep was suddenly wide awake and feeling ill. He loved her? How had she let that happen? She didn’t need to search inside herself to know she didn’t feel the same way. She liked Daario and enjoyed his company, but she felt no love for him. That night she feigned sleep and vowed she’d end things between them as soon as she could. She didn’t want to hurt him but couldn’t allow things between them to continue when they wanted such different things. 

It took several days and multiple conversations with Missandei to decide how to tell him. In the end, all of her preparations were meaningless. Before she found the courage to say what was on her mind, Daario was gone, off to fulfill one order or another. Daenerys didn’t know if it was his oath to the Second Sons, or the one he gave the Realm that called him away, but it didn’t really make a difference. She walked in, intending to finally tell him, and he was packing a bag. Did he sense they were over? Is that why he was collecting his things? He smiled, marched straight to her and gave her a passionate kiss. By the time she recovered, he was gone. She vaguely remembered him saying, “I need to go, but I’ll see you soon,” on his way out. That was months ago, and she hadn’t seen or heard from him since. 

Since he’d been gone, nothing gave her cause to change her mind. She didn’t love him, it had never been about love for her. If further proof was required, Daenerys could say that while she missed companionship in general, and missed having someone to spend her time with, she had never missed Daario specifically. She couldn’t think of a more telling sign that their relationship was over. 

“I’m sorry,” Missandei apologized, “I shouldn’t have…”

“You’re right,” she said, admitting it out loud for the first time. “I am attracted to Arya, but she’s my guard and…”

“And nothing, if you’re interested, you should tell her before she leaves.”

Arya’s return to Dorne was only one of the reasons she hadn’t acted on her feelings. As far as the Princess could tell, her attraction and interest was entirely one sided. “I don’t know,” she whined when no other words came to her. She really didn’t. Would Arya be receptive? Would attempting to seduce her ruin their friendship? Daenerys had hoped they would remain friends even after they separated. If she had to refuse Daenerys’s proposition, she’d likely never hear from the soldier again. It was a risk either way, she just hadn’t decided which one was more tolerable. 

“I think she feels the same way.” Missandei said it so casually, though there was nothing casual about how Daenerys felt hearing it. 

“What? She’s never…” her brain stopped and started again, “I don’t think…”

“I see her watching you just as often as I catch you watching her.”

She wasn’t ready to accept Missandei’s opinion as fact, but she couldn’t deny being cheered by the possibility. “I’ve never seen Arya staring at me,” she noted, reflecting back on their many hours together. 

“She hides it, just as you do,” Missandei explained. “You only look when she’s busy and she does the same. I see it all.” 

“We’re friends, and only just barely. If I…”

“Think of how far you’ve come in only a short time.”

Her mind was only too happy to think about her history with Arya. Missandei was right about one thing, what they had now would have seemed improbable if not impossible on the day they met. Arya had been angry with her then, but still protected her from Viserys. Since, they had slowly developed a mutual respect and friendship. Daenerys might have been open to something more intimate, but would she undo all their progress if she moved them in that direction? “I don’t know,” she repeated, it was an even more feeble response the second time. Daenerys was at a loss. She knew what she wanted, but that couldn’t be the only factor she considered. Worse than never exploring her romantic feelings would be unintentionally hurting Arya with her confession. Her brother already didn’t like Arya, what would he say if he learned she and Daenerys were lovers? His reaction wouldn’t be pleasant, and it was still favorable to what her father would do if he knew she took a bastard guard as her consort. 

Just thinking about everything had Daenerys nearing her breaking point. Somehow Missandei knew. She took Daenerys’s hand and pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. Even without a firm decision one way or the other, she was glad to have Missandei to talk to about it. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to decide now,” she noted calmly, soothing Daenerys’s nerves more with each word. “Just don’t hide from it. I know it’s scary but trust me, it’s worth all the anxiety and fear.”

She was talking about Grey Worm and the love she held for him was on full display. She never said so, but she was envious of her friend’s relationship. As unlikely as the pair might seem, they made it work. Daenerys loved seeing them together. After everything they’d been through, Grey Worm and Missandei were able to find possibly the truest love Daenerys had ever seen. They did it without arranged marriages, overbearing fathers or meddling brothers. Their bond wasn’t to strengthen an alliance or unite thousands, it was for them alone. In Daenerys’s eyes that made it all the more significant. “I hope one day I can experience what you and Grey Worm have.” 

“You will,” Missandei decreed with supreme confidence. “If not with Arya, then with someone else.” 

“What should I do?” she asked shamelessly, desperate for the wise woman’s advice. 

“Keep spending time with her, as you have been. Don’t deny yourself happiness Daenerys, you are as entitled to it as anyone.” 

“What if Arya isn’t interested?”

“Then she’s not,” Missandei replied simply, “but I think you’ll regret letting her return to Dorne without finding out for sure.” 

They were interrupted by the woman they were discussing knocking on the door. Arya’s distinctive short, hard, strikes against the wood were sounds she’d come to recognize and anticipate. Arya’s presence would force the friends to postpone the rest of their conversation, but nonetheless knowing Arya was close made her smile. “Come in Arya,” she shouted. 

She poked her head in first, checking to make sure it was safe. Daenerys angled her body toward the new arrival. The guard was wearing her typical armor, with her dark hair neatly combed and tied back away from her face. Was it because of the discussion they were having or the blinding smile on Arya’s lips? Whatever the cause99999, it was making it hard for Daenerys to focus. Arya looked gorgeous. 

It took Missandei clearing her throat to cease her staring. Her cheeks warmed and she found two sets of eyes watching her in anticipation. Swallowing what remained of her pride, she admitted defeat. “I’m sorry what?”

She couldn’t recall ever regretting speaking more. As soon as it was evident that she hadn’t heard, Arya’s smile faltered, and Daenerys immediately missed it. Missandei and Arya looked at one another as if deciding who would repeat themselves to compensate for Daenerys’s incompetence. “We were asking what you wanted to do today Princess,” Arya said after rolling her eyes. 

Though spoken clearly, Daenerys didn’t understand the question. What she wanted to do? She didn’t have anything of importance upcoming, at least nothing she was aware of. “I don’t know.” 

“We have a whole city to explore,” Arya continued, unbothered by Daenerys’s pitiful response. “We can go to the orphanage and deliver the clothes you gathered up, or we could go to the dock and watch the ships…”

At last she understood. They could leave the keep! With a squeal that was most certainly not fit for a Princess she threw herself into Arya’s arms. Whether the guard was expecting her or was just blessed with extremely quick reflexes, she didn’t know. Arya caught her with minimal effort. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she chanted as she extended the embrace longer than was standard. 

When they separated, it was Arya’s turn to blush. “You should thank your brother,” she explained, taking none of the credit. 

“He may have agreed, but you are the one who sought him out.” 

“I try and catch him everyday,” Arya admitted, avoiding meeting Daenerys’s eye as she spoke. Daenerys couldn’t comprehend what about this had Arya shy, but either way she was moved by the generosity. “Today I just happened upon him before he began his meetings.” 

She wanted contact with Arya to try and express how much this meant to her, but she was determined not to squeal like a child and launch herself at Arya in excitement. She settled for a rather restrained taking of her hand. She waited until Arya looked at her before she said, “Thank you Arya, not only for this, but for all the other times you tried too.” 

“You shouldn’t be forced to stay here like a prisoner,” Arya noted. “There is no reason we can’t spend the day in the city.”

When Arya initially asked what she wanted to do, she had imagined the day going very differently. Now they had hours laid out before them. Her mind was bombarded with so many ideas she couldn’t choose just one. “What should we do?”

“You ladies can decide,” Arya began, managing to avoid looking at the Princess’s face again, “but before you do, you should probably know that your brother not only granted us leave for today, but tomorrow as well.” 

It wasn’t common for Daenerys to be rendered speechless. More frequently she wasn’t allowed to speak or subtly discouraged from sharing her true opinions, but that was not this. “H…how?” she sputtered idiotically. How had Arya managed to secure not only one day of freedom but two? Given Rhaegar’s dislike for her guard, she struggled to imagine the exchange between them that led to Daenerys being allowed to leave the castle on two consecutive days. 

It was challenging enough to fill the time when it amounted to only a handful of hours. Now, she knew whatever couldn’t be crammed into today’s schedule could simply be postponed until tomorrow. 

“It’s a beautiful day,” Missandei said glancing out the window. “I bet there are many ships in the harbor.” 

She grinned at her handmaiden. “I suppose we’ll have to find out.”

“We’ll start at the docks then,” Arya added, looking first to Daenerys and then Missandei for the required approvals. “I’m sure by the time we’re done there, you’ll have decided where you want to go next.” 

She was biased. After the gift Arya had just given her, it would be hard for Daenerys to disagree with any suggestion her protector made. Still, beginning with the ships sounded like a solid plan and a great first step. She turned to find Missandei just as thrilled by this turn of events as Daenerys. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

“Shall I go ready the horses while you two collect your things and discuss our future?” 

“You don’t have to do…”

She didn’t get to finish. Arya smiled again, not as brightly as before, but still beautifully. “I don’t mind. You can take your time and finish here and then I’ll meet you.” 

Her day kept improving. First Arya arranges a trip into the city and now she was going to be allowed to walk to the stables without a guard. Arya hadn’t left yet, waiting to see if either woman had an objection they cared to raise. “We won’t be long,” the Princess promised. 

Daenerys had thought she was ready to go, when her day would consist of moving about the castle, but if she was venturing out, she’d need a few more items, not the least of which would be gold. She went to her desk and opened the third drawer, where she stored a small fortune in accumulated wealth. 

“That was very kind of Arya,” Missandei said once they were alone. 

She was understating things drastically, but Daenerys agreed. “What do you think she said to Rhaegar?” 

“Does it matter?”

She turned away from the desk and grinned happily at her best friend. “Not even a little bit.” 

They chuckled together and Missandei offered to carry the coins Daenerys was bringing. As she handed over one of the two purses an idea came to her. It was risky and not something she would have dared to contemplate six months ago, but she was feeling emboldened. “Do you want to leave?”

“Leave?” Missandei clarified as she hid the gold away. 

“You’ve always said you wished to see more of Westeros than just King’s Landing. After your recent scare, I think you’re owed a rest. Why don’t you and Grey Worm sneak away for a couple of days. You wouldn’t be able to go far,” Daenerys acknowledged, “I’d need you back here the day after tomorrow, but I don’t see any reason you can’t travel a little.” 

Missandei’s chocolate eyes were wide and she studied Daenerys intently. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Go Missandei, I want you to. You deserve it.” 

Logical and prepared, she wasn’t the sort to leap without looking. She thought it through methodically. “What if you need anything?” 

“The keep has other servants,” Daenerys reminded her. “None I like as much as you, but I’ll survive.” 

That got a smile out of the conflicted woman, although it didn’t last. “What if someone else asks for me?” She didn’t wait for Daenerys’s response. “Your brother, your father, they could summon me, Tywin maybe, and I wouldn’t be here.” 

She raised a valid point, but Daenerys wasn’t about to let this go. She meant it when she said Missandei deserved this. Daenerys had always intended to help her escape. Now, she stayed out of loyalty and not fear. A couple of days wasn’t much of a reward when she considered all that Missandei had done for her, but it was better than nothing. “If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I sent you on an errand for my nameday.” The lie came easily. and Daenerys couldn’t be happier with it. It was just the kind of thing that would stifle any concerns. “After what happened to you and Arya in the city, I’ll tell them I insisted you take an escort with you. If you happen to choose the man you love out of the thousands of Unsullied available, I’m sure that’s just coincidence.” 

“I could stay.” 

“I could order you to go,” Daenerys retorted. 

“I’m happy here, you don’t have to do this for me.” 

“I want to. Go and enjoy yourself.” 

Missandei opened her arms for a hug and Daenerys went. “Thank you. You are the best woman I’ve ever known.” 

When they parted Daenerys gave Missandei the second purse of coins. “Take this too,” she said. 

“I can’t. I shouldn’t take any, I don’t need…”

“It’s not much,” she lied. “Keep it, in case you and Grey Worm decide that two days isn’t long enough. You may feel compelled to see more of the world.” 

She knew the unspoken message reached her target when Missandei stopped weighing the gold and her eyes snapped to Daenerys. “I’ll be back, in two days.” 

“You’ll always be welcome here, but you also have my blessing if you want a different life.” 

“I’ll be back in two days to hear about all your adventures with Arya,” Missandei insisted, shifting the topic to something less likely to make both women cry. “Have fun and try not to get caught staring too many times.” 

In other company she would have denied and minimized until her cheeks returned to their natural color, but with Missandei and only Missandei she could be honest. “I’ll do my best, but when she smiles like that, I forget the common tongue.” 

“She’s probably waiting for you,” Missandei guessed accurately. “We’re up here wasting your day.” 

Daenerys was eager to get going, but she couldn’t let that comment pass uncorrected. She gripped Missandei’s hand in hers. “We aren’t wasting anything. Do you have everything you need?” 

On the way to the door Missandei grabbed a cloak for each of them. Daenerys noticed the handmaiden chose one for herself that would provide a little more protection from the elements. “I have more than enough. You don’t need to be quite so generous.” 

“Consider it the first of many long overdue payments.” At the mention of gold, Daenerys realized she’d given away both purses she retrieved from the desk, so she hurried back to raid her supply again. “Shouldn’t you be on the way to fetch Grey Worm?”

“I’ll walk you to the stables first. It’ll attract less attention than if you’re seen wandering alone.” 

A seemingly valid excuse. Daenerys chose to cling to it and steal a few more moments with her friend before they parted ways for the longest period of time since they were introduced. 

R-C

Arya had the horses ready and there was no sign of her companions. She knew how Daenerys felt about her guards, she tolerated them, but wished they didn’t have to shadow her everywhere. A short walk within the castle walls was an ideal chance for Arya to give her a small amount of independence. She expected the women would join her before she finished with the saddles, but she’d been wrong. Now, all three horses were ready, and the Princess and her handmaiden still hadn’t arrived. She tried to think of what could’ve delayed them. Logically she knew the Red Keep was one of the safest places in the world, but if anything harmed Daenerys because Arya wasn’t there to protect her, she’d never forgive herself. She was just about to begin her search when Daenerys came into view, with Missandei half a step behind. As she went to them, her eyes moved over their bodies, checking for injuries. When she was satisfied that they weren’t physically hurt, she shifted her focus to their posture, their faces, their mannerisms. They were happy. Arya was relieved. Her choice to give Daenerys a taste of freedom wouldn’t haunt her. Despite the long wait, it didn’t seem the women had any trouble in the minutes Arya wasn’t there to watch over them. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Daenerys said when they were close enough to converse without yelling. “Can you ready Grey Worm’s horse as well?” 

Grey Worm, would he be coming too? Arya certainly wouldn’t be sad to spend the day in the commander’s company. It’d give her someone to talk to when Daenerys and Missandei were whispering together. “Of course.” 

“You don’t need to do that,” Missandei said. Arya had never heard her contradicted Daenerys before. “I can do that after you leave.” 

Arya tried to keep pace with the new information. So, Missandei wasn’t going with them, but she was definitely going somewhere, with Grey Worm apparently. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, Arya” Daenerys said before turning her attention back to Missandei. “Arya can prepare Grey Worm’s horse and you and I can go and get him.” 

Before they went separate ways, Daenerys met her eye and tried to convey a message without words. Hopeful is the only way Arya could describe what she saw. Arya understood. She wanted to go to the Unsullied training grounds without a guard. She wasn’t hurrying away or trying to sneak she was waiting patiently for Arya to decide. If she refused, Daenerys wouldn’t whine or argue, she’d accept it and obey Arya’s rule, even if she didn’t like it. What she was asking for wasn’t all that different from what they’d just done. Sure, they were outside, but they were still on the grounds of the Red Keep. Between the patrols, the guards stationed at various posts and the men training, she’d probably be better protected than usual, even without Arya there. 

Not for the first time, she put herself in Daenerys’s shoes, and imagined how she’d feel if her father wouldn’t let her leave the castle, if her father insisted her every waking hour included a guard accompanying her everywhere she went. She’d hate it and she didn’t blame Daenerys for hating it too. There weren’t many opportunities to give Daenerys space without sacrificing her safety, but this time, she could. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Violet eyes lit up, and Daenerys’s smile blossomed into a wide grin. “Thank you,” she said to the guard. She grabbed Missandei’s hand and pulled her toward the barrack. “Come on, you’ve got an adventure to begin.”

Arya could only stand and stare at the space where they’d been. What was going on? Where were Missandei and Grey Worm going? Why did Daenerys seem more excited about it than Missandei? She didn’t know, but she pushed all that to the back of her mind and got to work. With a little help from the stablemaster, she found the right mount and led him out to where the others were tied up. Unsure of where Grey Worm and Missandei were going, Arya fed each of their horses from a basket and then tucked another couple of apples into Missandei’s saddlebag. 

By the time they came back with Grey Worm in tow, Arya’s questions were burning her tongue. “Where are you going?”

Missandei smiled at Arya, before she replied. “Daenerys is giving Grey Worm and I today and tomorrow to travel, to see a little bit more of the Realm.” 

That wasn’t what she was expecting to hear, especially since Missandei and Grey Worm were technically slaves. Could they just leave? Would Daenerys’s permission be enough to protect them if they were discovered? She didn’t know, but she didn’t want to ruin this for them either. She swallowed her concerns and forced a smile. If Missandei was going out into the world, without Arya, there was one thing she needed to have before she left. 

Arya dropped to a knee in the dirt and when she straightened she was holding the same knife she used to kill the recruits who almost raped her and the thief who had threatened Missandei. “This has always brought me good luck,” she explained as she flipped it over on her palm, so the handle was angled to the handmaiden. 

“Arya, I couldn’t…”

“I want you to have it.”

“Grey Worm will be with her,” Daenerys noted. 

“A woman should always be able to defend herself. I’m sure Grey Worm can show you how to use it, or I will give you some lessons when you get back.” 

Missandei took the offered gift and immediately handed it off to Grey Worm so she could wrap her arms around Arya. “Thank you, you are a true friend.” 

“Enjoy your trip,” Arya whispered in her ear before they both stepped back. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I know I said it early on but I feel it’s worth repeating again -- This story is going to be long. My best guess right now is that it’ll probably end up significantly longer than any two of my other stories combined. I’m excited for the chance to write something with so many interwoven characters, but I know the longwinded style isn’t for everyone. I sincerely hope people choose to stick with it, but I understand if they tire of waiting and give up on me and this very AU story. 
> 
> So where were we…
> 
> Aemon and Arya finally talk, and he brings up the Daynes. A tragic family in canon, but in this world, where Robert’s Rebellion failed, and the Targaryens prospered, House Dayne’s future is much, much brighter. This is not the last we’ll hear about them. 
> 
> Missandei and Grey Worm get to sneak away, and Arya and Daenerys are going to spend some alone time away from the castle. Hope that’s enough to keep people intrigued until the next chapter. If it isn’t, you can obsess over Daario’s intentions and what that’ll mean for our ladies once he reappears. 
> 
> RC


	14. Chapter 14

Her morning was going better than she could have hoped. After seeing Grey Worm and Missandei off Arya and Daenerys went to the dock to begin their own adventure away from the Red Keep. The sun was shining brightly, warming her skin. Just before they arrived at the waterfront Daenerys glanced to her side, where she assumed Arya would be, but she was alone. Panic built in her chest as she pulled up on the reigns to slow her horse, angling her neck to survey her surroundings. It didn’t take long to find her, Arya was there, riding about ten paces back, directly behind the Princess. 

By the time Daenerys’s stallion came to a complete stop Arya sensed she was needed and closed the distance between them. “Still want to start here or have you thought of somewhere else you’d rather go?” 

Being reminded of their plan helped her forget her questions about where Arya had been. “Here is great,” she said, inhaling deeply she could already taste the salt in the air. 

“Why don’t you go find a place to sit, I’ll secure the horses.” 

She already knew where Arya could get a post in the shade and pointed it out. 

Sitting in the cool grass, under a large tree Daenerys stared out at the water and couldn’t contain her glee. Here, the Red Keep and all the burdens there felt so very far away. They couldn’t reach her now, and that was exactly how she liked it. 

Many ships were there, including several with her family sigil on the sails. They were the largest and most expensive ships in sight, but Daenerys dismissed them outright. She’d been on a ship just like that all the way to Dorne and back. While at sea she explored every inch and made it her mission to understand the inner workings of the floating city. She started by watching the captain steer one afternoon and then spent the two days after studying the men who worked the sails. By the time they made landfall Daenerys had dedicated time to every sailor and every nook, confident she knew all the ship’s secrets. Without an underlying sense of mystery there was little to intrigue her about her family’s vessels. Without a story to tell a ship was just a pile of curved wood and some a few scraps of colorful fabric. 

It took more than an hour of sitting and watching for Daenerys to choose her favorite. The ship was about a third the size of her father’s flagship, but where Aery’s ship was immaculate and rarely used, the smaller ship appeared worn and loved. 

Men were unloading their cargo and Daenerys stood up and smoothed a wrinkle from her dress. She wanted to get a closer look. 

Arya was beside her in an instant. “Going to see that trader?” she guessed accurately. 

“How…” Daenerys began, before she trailed off. 

With a smug smirk Arya shook her head. “It’s the one you admire most isn’t it?” 

Lacking a suitable response, she just smiled. “Do you know what they’re hauling?” she wondered. While she was genuinely curious about the cargo, her main motivation was to get them speaking. Since they left the castle Arya had said no more than a handful of words and only when Daenerys posed a direct question. At first, she thought little of it, Arya wasn’t overly talkative, and Daenerys didn’t mind that, in fact the quiet was nice. Her concerns came later, when she invited Arya to join her under the tree and was refused. Fearing that Arya was bored, she suggested they move on. She asked her guard what she would recommend for them next and Arya responded, “You can decide, I wouldn’t mind spending all day here.” Since then she’d been scouring her mind for a reason to explain Arya’s distant attitude. If it wasn’t boredom, what was it? 

It was a compelling enough problem to take priority over the ships in front of her. She went back in her mind to pinpoint the exact moment Arya’s mood had changed. She had been happy when she told Daenerys of Rhaegar granting her request to leave. She was calm when she readied their horses and said goodbye to Missandei and Grey Worm. She wanted to reject the notion, but it seemed Arya was fine until after they were alone together. Had she done something to offend her? She couldn’t imagine what, but it was possible. 

“I’m sorry,” Arya said as they walked slowly down the dock. Arya was a half a step ahead of her now, with grey, vigilant eyes sweeping from side to side, searching for danger. 

She had been considering apologizing to Arya and now the soldier was asking for her forgiveness instead? She put a hand on Arya’s arm and stopped walking. “What do you have to be sorry for?” 

“I know you want your independence, from your father, your brother, the castle and the guards and I want to give you that, as much as I can, but I can’t stay back while you meet with strangers.”

Of all the things she thought Arya might say, she wasn’t prepared for that. Suddenly she saw the events of the morning in a new way. Everything from the moment she met with Rhaegar to now, became clear, Arya was trying to give Daenerys freedom. 

“Arya, I don’t mind having guards,” she said to begin setting things straight. 

“You told me you hated that they,” her attractive face contorted in a grimace and she amended her statement, “that I have to follow you around all the time, that you can’t ever get even a moment to yourself.” 

She cursed under her breath because she had said that once. For the first time since they met Daenerys was disappointed Arya actually listened when she spoke. How could she make her understand that when she said ‘guards’, she didn’t mean Arya? She’d stopped being a guard in Daenerys’s eyes a while back, if she ever was one. In recent days she remembered Arya was her guard about as frequently as she recalled that Missandei was actually her handmaiden and that is to say, not very often. To Daenerys, Missandei and Arya were her friends. “I didn’t mean…”

She raised an eyebrow as if daring Daenerys to finish that thought. “You did mean it, you hate having guards and I don’t blame you, I would too.” 

As she listened to Arya, she saw her opening and leapt without looking, “You’re not a guard Arya.”

Rather than clearing things up, she muddled things worse than they already were. “I am a guard, your guard.” 

She resisted the urge to groan in frustration only just. How could she explain how she felt about this? She grinned when she found what she thought was a winning strategy. “When you look at me, do you see a Princess, or Daenerys?”

“I’m not sure, I see you.”

Daenerys caught herself smiling at the obvious honesty she heard. Arya was acting quite cute without realizing it as she fumbled around. “Don’t think just answer, who am I?” 

“Daenerys,” Arya replied quickly, clearly making an effort to heed the instructions 

“Exactly, because I am more than just my title or my royal blood. I’m more than just a Princess and you are more than just a guard.” 

“Okay,” she said slowly, stretching out the word as she waited for further clarification. 

Exhaling deeply, she tried again. “Arya one of my favorite things about having you as my guard is that when we’re alone like this, when it’s just the two of us, I feel like everybody else. The people we pass, they don’t know us, to them we’re just two friends spending the day together, and that’s how I feel too.” 

She saw the instant Arya began to comprehend her point of view. “I just didn’t want to get in the way. I thought for one day at least, I’d try to give you as much space as I could.”

Just as it was sweet to arm Missandei before they separated, it was adorable of Arya to want to make Daenerys’s day special. “I don’t want space from you Arya. What I want is to spend the day in the city with my friend.”

“I can do that.” 

That was all she needed to know. She gripped Arya’s hand and then took off running, pulling the bigger woman along. “Come on then, the ship’s waiting.” 

R-C

“Can we stop for lunch in the market?” Daenerys asked as they walked away from the dock. 

Slightly taken aback, it took Arya longer to reply than usual. “The food vendors?”

“Yes!” she gushed. “I love going there, and I rarely get the chance.” She seemed to notice her exuberance and tried to contain it. “If you don’t want to…” 

“I like it too,” Arya confessed, “I just didn’t think you would.” How could a woman who had access to the royal kitchen prefer the poor-quality food sold in the market? She supposed it was an example of wanting what you didn’t have. 

Daenerys didn’t appear hurt by the criticism that was implied. “Most days I’d rather eat here than in the castle.” 

When she felt shock at the admission, she realized she probably shouldn’t. Daenerys constantly did or said things that showed her deeply held desire to be her own person, to make her own choices and live her own life. It was stunning to discover Arya could relate to those feeling well. For many years she was trapped in a life she didn’t ask for and didn’t want, not unlike the Princess. The more time they spent together the more she developed a certain level of respect for the woman. Sometimes it was hard to see, since she was every inch a Targaryen with her violet eyes and silver hair, but Arya had made a pledge to judge Daenerys on her actions and not her blood and she meant to honor it. 

“Me too,” Arya agreed. “Sometimes I come down here after you’ve retired for the night.”

Her companion turned thoughtful. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the market at night. I probably passed it on my way to one place or another, but I never got to stop.” 

For the second time in as many minutes she considered how Daenerys’s life of privilege and wealth was nothing more than a prettier prison than her years as a servant in Dorne. “Maybe you can come with me one night,” she proposed, hoping to bring back Daenerys’s smile. 

For an instant she thought she was successful, Daenerys who had been focused on the upcoming market abruptly turned to Arya and grinned. It didn’t last. By the time she spoke, she was once again saddened by her reality. “I’d love to,” she said first, to make that point clear, “but Rhaegar would never allow it.” 

She was tempted to say she could sneak Daenerys out of the castle and return her back before her brother or anyone was the wiser, but she’d entered into a bargain with the elder Targaryen, and it would’ve been wrong to violate that. Even years removed from their final day together, Ned Stark’s lessons loomed over every decision she made. She tried to live by his example and make him proud, even if he’d never know it. By following his teachings, Arya was forging a bond to her father that couldn’t be weakened by anything, not years or miles. It was her small way of keeping his memory alive and with her no matter where she went. She knew he wouldn’t approve of her friendship to Daenerys, but if they could talk, Arya was confident she could make him understand that Daenerys was different. Oberyn saw it, Arya saw it, and she was sure if he was given the chance, her father would too. 

Daenerys misinterpreted the extended quiet while Arya was lost in thought. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. I don’t mind the keep so much.”

The obvious lie brought Arya back to the present and she snapped a little too harshly at the Princess she was meant to protect. “Don’t do that!” 

Daenerys stopped walking. “Do what?” she asked timidly. 

Arya made an effort to soften her tone. “Don’t lie to me.” One look at Daenerys’s face and she knew that wouldn’t be enough to explain her blunt reply. “You do mind being locked up in the castle and I don’t blame you, I’d hate it too.” She had more experience in Daenerys’s shoes than the Targaryen knew. During her earliest years in Dorne she wasn’t granted the freedom to come and go as she pleased. Later, before she joined the army, thanks largely to Oberyn she was permitted to leave the Water Gardens when her workday was done, but it hadn’t always been that way. “You have to lie to other people, your brothers, your father, the Hand, nobles, everyone you have meetings with, but not me. You can be honest with me and know that I’d never repeat a word to anyone.” 

Her emotions showed on her face as she made sense of Arya’s message. “Thank you.” Without warning, she reached for and claimed one of Arya’s hands, just as she’d done by the water. She’d seen Daenerys do the same thing to Missandei but hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end, let alone twice in one day. Daenerys pulled the bigger woman along easily as they weaved through the crowds to get to the line of vendors selling their delicious smelling food. 

R-C

Arya had gone straight for a middle-aged woman who sold some form of meat on a stick. Daenerys went up and down the row twice before deciding she wanted to try what Arya was almost done enjoying. It excited her to think how disapproving everyone in the keep would be to learn the King’s daughter was eating unidentified, slightly overcooked meat off a stick. She compared every bite to her first meal in Sunspear, when she ate something similar. Without the aggressive seasoning she didn’t feel the burn in her throat or wonder if her tongue would ever work properly again, but it was still very good. She guessed it was pheasant she was enjoying but didn’t know for sure. It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, it was fresh and tasted great.

“What kind of ship would you want, if you got to travel?” Arya asked as they ate their meals. 

She was chewing, which afforded her the chance to really stop and think about her answer. What kind of ship would she like? Nothing as big as the Targaryen ships, that’s for sure. She immediately pictured the vessels she spent much of the morning admiring, making a list in her mind of her favorite attributes from each. “Nothing too big,” she decided, “I’d much rather something simple, that could be worked by a small crew, as long as it had a few extra cabins in the bottom.”

“For what?” Arya inquired sounding genuinely interested. Jorah had never asked about her interests, choosing instead to lurk nearby while Daenerys and Missandei talked. 

She willed her cheeks not to turn as Arya unknowingly hit on a sensitive topic. She felt a little stupid to have to admit what she wanted the extra space for, but Arya asked, and no one ever had before, so Daenerys would push down her embarrassment and tell the truth. “I always dreamed of traveling to the far corners of the world, to see the things with my own eyes that I’ve only ever read about in books from the library.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’d stay a while, immerse myself in the culture of far away lands, experience how they lived and make friends among the people.” She looked away from Arya’s face when she finished by saying. “I’d always hoped some might choose to accompany me when I finally set sail again.” 

When she finished it occurred to her that for the first time Arya knew something about her that no one else did. Missandei would have gladly listened to anything Daenerys wanted to tell her, including any details about her future ship, but she never brought it up. She was aware it was a fantasy and little else. It was highly unlikely she’d get to experience that particular dream and that made it easy to keep it private. In truth Daenerys’s friends were few and far between. She was close with Aemon, but he was family. Missandei was a given but outside of her, there weren’t many. Daenerys had liked several of the handmaidens she had before her father’s fateful trip to Astapor but while kind, they remained formal, chained by the differences in their positions. As a girl she played with the children of visiting nobles, but few meaningful bonds came of it, and she was frequently excluded. At the time she didn’t understand why, but now she was older and knew the reason, they kept their distance for fear of upsetting her and angering her father. Children were not exempt from the King’s worst impulses and if Daenerys ever complained that another child had been mean or rude, it wasn’t hard to imagine Aerys’s reaction. Daenerys shivered as she thought about it. It had been hard growing up and feeling alone, but she’d suffer it again, a million times over to ensure none of her playmate’s lives ended in the throne room surrounded by green flames. 

“I bet they would,” Arya said. “I’d want to.”

It took effort to remember what they were discussing but when she did, Daenerys was delighted. Without thinking she released the first thought that came to mind. “You could, I’d need a woman of your skill to keep us all safe.” 

Arya was looking for a place to dispose of the empty stick she’d eaten off of, but she stopped and gave Daenerys her focus. When she smiled Daenerys noticed how beautiful she was and not for the first time either. “I’ll be returning to Dorne and the army.” 

That was true, but she had allowed herself to forget Arya’s posting was only temporary. She’d been living in the moment, desperately trying to enjoy the woman’s company for as long as she could, determined to make the most of their time together, no matter how brief. She wanted to ask her to stay but always found a reason to postpone uttering the actual words. Although she may have wanted to keep Arya in her life, and close, the guard’s opinion differed. Arya wanted to return to Sunspear and begin her life as a soldier. “Don’t worry,” she said, working to keep her voice light and steady, “getting a ship of my own is about as likely as getting to see the market after dark. I don’t think you’ll need to decide if you wish to join me anytime soon.” 

Arya smirked and her grey eyes sparkled with some hidden feeling. “Yesterday, I think you would have said getting permission to spend two days in the city would be impossible too.” 

She certainly had a point. It just went to show how drastically different Arya was from any other guard she’d ever had. Arya listened to her, heard what she wanted and worked to make it possible. Jorah was willing to commiserate with her when she felt trapped, but it rarely went beyond words. He wasn’t committed to making things better in the way Arya was. Likewise, none of the other guards seemed to care how she felt, to them keeping her safe was just a job. “You’re right about that, and thank you, in case I haven’t said so.” 

“You did,” Arya assured her, “and you’re welcome. I’m glad to do it.” 

“What are we doing this afternoon?”

“We can do anything you want, but I was thinking since we have to be back in time for dinner maybe we’d go get those clothes you want to donate and take them to the orphanage.”

It was clear what Arya was doing, she was giving Daenerys the chance to do all the things she missed when she was confined to the castle. She could feel the smile stretching her face as she agreed. “That sounds wonderful.” She likely would have agreed to anything Arya suggested, but an afternoon with Arya and the children at the orphanage was beyond ideal. She turned her attention to the sky and tried to estimate the time. “Let’s go now, I want to have time to visit with the kids before dinner.” 

“I’m right behind you,” Arya promised, falling in step behind her as they hurried to their horses. 

R-C

When she escorted Daenerys and Missandei to the orphanage in Dorne, she got her first real glimpse into what made Daenerys special. She couldn’t imagine Viserys, Rhaegar or Aerys sitting on the dirty floor without a care for their clothes just to play with a wooden horse, but the Princess did it with no regard for the expensive silks she was likely ruining. She’d been happy on the dock and in the market but that was nothing compared to now. She clearly loved the children and by all accounts the feeling was mutual. A small group ran when they saw her coming and she took time to speak to each and every orphan individually, calling many of them by name. Arya stood back, but was close enough to listen in. She heard Daenerys asking one little boy about his lessons and he spent the next five minutes regaling her with all the things he’d learned since the last time they saw one another. 

She’d been around a lot of nobles in her life, in Winterfell, then Sunspear and now King’s Landing. She saw good deeds done frequently, but most didn’t give themselves as freely as Daenerys did. This was the one place she could go where she didn’t need to worry about playing the part of a Princess. Here she could be herself. The real Daenerys wasn’t the one who spent hours acting proper and speaking softly, if at all, the true Daenerys was the woman who could look at ships for hours and wonder about the stories the crews might tell. She shared her many blessings, whether it was half the orange she gave Missandei in the Water Gardens or when she bought Arya dinner because she didn’t have the coins to do it herself. That kindness, that generosity, that yearning to be different, that was who Daenerys was. The rest was just an act she portrayed to avoid upsetting a castle full of arrogant pricks. In Arya’s opinion it was a travesty. The world didn’t need more proper nobles, it needed more people willing to compliment a little girl’s dirty dress and read her favorite book to her just to make her happy. 

These children didn’t like her because she was royalty, they liked her because she came often enough to build relationships with them. Unlike some, who gave a bare minimum to the needy, once or twice a year, Daenerys was committed to try and help these kids in any way she could. The longer they stayed, the larger the crowd around Daenerys grew. They peppered her with questions, about the castle, about how uncomfortable it was to sit on a chair made of swords, even how big her bed was. She answered them all easily with a warm, inviting smile taking time to address every boy or girl in attendance. When one of the older boys asked her about the famed dragons her ancestors kept, she had an answer ready for him too. 

She delayed as long as she could, before she intervened. Daenerys was in the process of reading a story to a group of assembled orphans. They were happy but their smiles paled in comparison to hers. Daenerys looked content and at peace. It made her hate what she needed to do all the more. She put her mouth next to Daenerys’s ear so she could whisper without alarming the kids. “I’m sorry, but we’ll need to go after this.”

Daenerys tensed and the guard was stabbed with guilt. She hadn’t meant to scare her, she just wanted to inform her of the time without upsetting the fragile calm she built with her audience. They were sitting quietly, hanging on Daenerys’s every word, a couple of them were already sleeping. One little girl with dark hair and chubby cheeks had her thumb in her mouth as she dreamed, likely imagining her own ending to the story Daenerys was telling. 

Arya slipped out of the room to find the Septa, knowing Daenerys wouldn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to her. She hoped she could locate her while Daenerys finished the book, because they didn’t have time for a prolonged search. If there was good news, it was that Daenerys hadn’t stopped smiling since lunch and their horses were impressive. They could push them on the ride back and with luck, they’d make it before the deadline. 

While Daenerys was in the doorway with the Septa Arya prepared their horses. As soon as the door closed between them the Princess was holding her dress up and running as quickly as she could toward her stallion. “I’m so sorry, she wouldn’t stop talking.” 

“I know, and if I had my way, I’d let you stand there all night, but I promised your brother we’d be at dinner tonight and if we want his blessing for tomorrow, we need to hurry.” She neglected to mention what she learned about the King’s plan for the next day, seeing no reason to upset Daenerys needlessly, internally however Arya was motivated to make certain nothing prevented she and Daenerys from leaving the following day. Arya had no desire to witness the King hold a trial that would surely end in death, so she was willing to do whatever it took to keep Rhaegar happy, even if it meant angering Daenerys. 

She looked over her shoulder as they trotted out onto the road. She made sure Daenerys was comfortable in the saddle before she said, “How about we put these guys to the test and see who is faster?” 

Daenerys flashed her the smile the bards sang about and tightened her hold on the reigns. “You’re on.” 

Arya thought she’d have to slow down long before the Red Keep to let Daenerys catch up, but even in her dress she managed to stay level with the hind quarter of Arya’s horse the whole way. The soldier was more than a little impressed. It wasn’t an exaggeration to speculate that if she hadn’t had to worry about keeping herself covered as she passed the citizens of King’s Landing, she could’ve and likely would’ve gotten to the stables first. 

Their race didn’t stop when they abandoned their mounts. They rushed down one hall and then the next trying to catch their breath and stifle their laughter. They joined the tail end of the procession moving into the dining hall. “Made it,” Daenerys whispered, still grinning as she had on horseback. 

She couldn’t say what possessed her to do more than nod, but she heard herself whisper back instead, putting her head closer to Daenerys’s so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Not bad, Princess, not bad at all.” 

The physical reaction to her words was immediate. Daenerys’s smile got impossibly brighter, revealing tiny dimples on her cheeks, she stood up a little straighter, and puffed out her chest proudly. Arya was glad they weren’t talking because she didn’t think she’d be able to hear anything being said. She was entirely distracted by the woman next to her. 

R-C

Arya stood against the wall to watch the royals and their guests eat. There wasn’t any danger, but just like Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy, she stood guard over her Targaryen. The space beside her felt wider than it really was without Missandei there. She was glad the handmaiden was getting the chance to leave the castle, even if it was only for a couple of days. She imagined the travellers miles outside the city, cuddled together under the stars and it made her smile. Missandei was one of the kindest people Arya had ever encountered, she more than most deserved the respite she’d been given. No words could accurately explain how significant Missandei’s contributions were, she was the single largest reason Daenerys’s world turned. She filled the bath, made the bed, cleaned the room and braided the hair and that was all before Daenerys stepped out into the hall. 

Normally the dynamic of an entitled Princess and her servant would have annoyed Arya, but with Daenerys and Missandei it was easier to tolerate. There was an obvious affection between the two that softened their interactions. When you knew what to look for it was possible to see Daenerys’s repeated requests less like orders and much more optional. 

In her early days as guard, she paid careful attention to Missandei, waiting for the mask to fall and for her eyes or her face to reveal how she really felt. It never happened, not once and Arya came to see that it never would, because Missandei didn’t help Daenerys because it was her job, or because Daenerys was her Master, she did it because their friendship was authentic. It wasn’t all that different from how Arya stopped lumping Daenerys in with all the other Targaryens she hated. 

She thought Missandei’s absence was overlooked by everyone until the King looked up from his chicken and addressed Daenerys. “Where is your girl?” he asked harshly. His eyes were darting around the room, seeking out the one face that wasn’t there. There had been a lot of hard moments since she joined Daenerys’s service; she had to converse with Rhaegar, listen to the Mad King mutter, she even had to interact with a man she believed was her cousin and she couldn’t say a word, but none of that rivaled having to stand silent as Aerys turned his irrational anger on his only daughter. Her fork was halfway to her mouth when he called to her and she set it on her plate without getting a taste. All around the long table everyone was suddenly interested in what the Princess had to say. The vibrant, happy woman she’d been all day was gone. Her hands slid into her lap and she struggled to collect her thoughts. It was uncomfortable for Arya to watch. When Daenerys looked to her brother and nephew in a clear attempt to gather allies it took all of her restraint not to say anything. She wanted to help but couldn’t. If Arya involved herself it would only make things worse. “Wh…who do you mean?” Daenerys asked meekly. “Arya is right there.” 

She knew what she was supposed to do, she was a guard and nothing more, her role was to protect in silence, but what was expected and what was right didn’t align very often. She couldn’t just bite her tongue and wait for this to be over, not if she wanted to be able to look Daenerys in the eye later without guilt. She couldn’t just leave her for the snakes to feast on. With her mind made up she raised a hand and gave a slight wave, showing the King she was there. “I’m right here your Grace,” Arya said loudly. As quickly as all the eyes turned on Daenerys, now they were on Arya. She stood her ground and refused to back down. She hated the ten or so seconds the whole room was focused on her, but it would be worth it if it gave Daenerys a chance to think and craft a response. It wasn’t much, but she hoped it helped. 

“No, not the ugly one,” Aerys raved, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Where is the other one, the pretty one.”

The Water Gardens taught her to hide her emotions, to bury what she felt down deep to be dealt with later, she made use of that now. It was willpower alone that kept her from looking down or blushing. She remained stoic and unwavering, with her eyes locked on the Mad King, not flinching when she heard the Hand’s twins and others laughing at the insult. 

Making the most of her hard-fought moments Daenerys cleared her throat and took command of the room. She sounded perfectly relaxed, as if she hadn’t been too scared to speak just moments ago. “Oh, I’m sorry Father, I misunderstood who you are asking about. Missandei is running an errand for me,” she said convincingly. “I needed a few things picked up for my nameday celebration and so I sent her to fetch them for me.” 

Arya knew the truth and still, she found herself wondering if maybe she misunderstood the reasons Missandei left. Daenerys could lie well when properly motivated, a necessary skill if one hopes to survive in the Red Keep no doubt. All thoughts of how glad she was Daenerys recovered disappeared when the King asked, “Do you think she’s loyal to us?”

She felt sick. That’s how it started right? One accusation of betrayal and then sudden she’s standing near the throne with a barrel of wildfire crackling, close enough to make beads of sweat form on her skin. She made a rash decision as she waited to hear if Daenerys could salvage this. She wouldn’t let harm befall Missandei. If she had to help her escape or fake her murder and set her free, she would. What she wouldn’t do is let Missandei be the next name added to the long list of people the King killed unjustly. If she died in the process, she would meet her end for a good cause, giving Missandei and Grey Worm the headstart they needed to disappear. In her mind she was already wondering if she could pay Ternesio to smuggle them out. He would, if she could get word to him, she knew he would if she asked him to. 

Based on her rapid breathing alone she could tell Daenerys was struggling just a few chairs down from the man who wanted to murder her best friend. Oblivious to his daughter’s pain, Aerys went on to justify his theory. “She’s outside the keep, she could be talking to anyone, doing anything, conspiring with anyone. I hear them you know, my enemies, I know they’ll be coming for me soon.” 

If Aerys was lowborn he’d be homeless and destitute but since he happened to be born into the royal Targaryen line, he gets servants and advisors all of whom had to try and tiptoe around his illness or risk inciting his rage. Without every person in this room, he couldn’t function, take away Tywin, Rhaegar, the Kingsguard and all the staff and he’d be unable to get out of bed in the morning. How could this man be King of anything? The Realm was functioning but how much of that was a result of Aerys’s contributions? It was a tale of two rulers, in her time there she’d seen him go days and not mention the whispers once, other days they were his primary focus. It was the nature of madness she guessed, the ebb and flow of the good and the bad. Today was one of the bad, if he could look at a space where a woman usual stands, see she’s not there and assume she’s out plotting his demise. 

Daenerys actually turned in her chair slightly, as if to confirm that Missandei was in fact absent. She caught Arya’s eye looking for encouragement and she tried to give it. Aware people were watching she settled for a slight nod, hoping to convey that Daenerys could do this. 

Maybe it worked, or maybe it was random, but Daenerys rediscovered her voice. “Of course, she’s loyal,” she confirmed, “she had a horrible life in Essos, you saved her from that by bringing her here to me. She tells me how grateful she is regularly.” 

As quickly as it bubbled up it cooled. The King was satisfied by his daughter’s reassurance and went back to his food. Arya watched the faces of those around Aerys and saw several relaxing as they breathed sighs of relief. They were likely pleased with themselves for managing to spare an innocent woman from an agonizing death, but they weren’t seeing the bigger picture. What those advisors failed to understand was that harming Missandei would not only upset Daenerys, it would cause an irreparable divide between the Unsullied and their King. They were trained to obey their Master no matter what, but if anything could cause Grey Worm to question his beliefs it would be his love for Missandei. He’d want revenge against anyone who hurt her, and his men would follow him, even if he led them to certain death in the throne room. If it came to that, they’d be eight thousand and one, because Arya would fight beside them. 

The rest of the meal passed quietly but there was tension in the air as everyone tried to avoid provoking another outburst. Daenerys excused herself at the earliest opportunity and Arya stepped forward to go with her. 

R-C

She was mortified. Dinner had been awful. If it wasn’t bad enough that her father called Arya ugly in front of everyone, he also openly questioned Missandei’s loyalty. Everyone around the King knew there was only one punishment Aerys found acceptable for those he deemed disloyal. She was glad she sent Missandei away, but felt for Arya, who had involved herself only because Daenerys was failing. She wilted under her father’s question and couldn’t muster a reply, so Arya stepped in, distracting everyone temporarily. It was just long enough for Daenerys to recover and think up an appropriate lie, but it came at a high price for the guard. 

She waited until they were inside her bedchamber with the door closed before she said, “Arya, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through that and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.” 

Arya was dismissive, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s fine,” she said simply. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard I’m ugly and it won’t be the last.”

She said that in her usual straightforward, confident way and it had Daenerys’s mouth hanging open. How could anyone think Arya wasn’t gorgeous? Her father’s comments could be dismissed as ranting, but who were these other people who claimed Arya unattractive? She couldn’t let it go, she had to know. “Who else would say such a thing to you?” 

Chuckling humorlessly Arya began ticking off the people on her fingers, “Other children, my sister, my sister’s friends…” She stopped counting abruptly and looked away from Daenerys’s face. “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t bother me.” 

She had so much to say she wasn’t sure where to start. Arya had a sister? She’d never spoken of her before. She approached the guard and reached for her hand, waiting until Arya’s grey eyes met hers before taking it. “Well whoever said it, they were wrong, they are wrong.” 

Visibly uncomfortable Arya mumbled something that sounded like a ‘thank you’ before she backed up and forced Daenerys to release her. She tried to move them to a happier subject. “Does your sister live in Dorne as well?”

Arya was suddenly busy making sure her armor was clean. “I had a sister,” she clarified, “she’s gone now, like the rest of my family.” 

Daenerys was making things worse not better, “Oh, I’m so sorry Arya, if I’d known I wouldn’t have…”

“It’s fine,” she said again. “You didn’t know, it’s not your fault, I just don’t really like to talk about it.” 

Of course, she didn’t, who would in her place? “That’s okay, we can talk about anything you want.”

“You did well,” Arya said after a moment, “your reason for where Missandei had gone and why was believable and you defended her when your father had doubts.” 

Daenerys was sure Arya was just trying to be polite, but the compliment made her feel good regardless. “I’m sorry I struggled at first and dragged you into it.” 

“We talked about this,” Arya reminded her. “You didn’t need to apologize for other people, not to me.” 

She did remember that, and she appreciated it, but this time was different. Daenerys was actually trying to apologize for her pitiful attempts to answer her father when he first posed the question. “I’m not apologizing for him, I’m apologizing for me, I should have had an answer ready.” 

“You did well,” Arya repeated. 

Since neither of them seemed to want to talk about the events of dinner, Daenerys tried again to put them on a safer path. “What will you be doing tonight?”

Arya responded without delay. “Whatever you ask of me.”

She wasn’t expecting that. “What do you mean? I’ll likely be here most of the night.” She paused to consider how she might spend the evening. “I do need to see Aemon and Tyrion, but I can ask another guard to accompany me.”

Arya gifted her with a smirk. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“Absolutely not!” she said a little too forcefully. “I just want you to rest, we had a long day.” 

“Not tonight, tonight I’ll be here to help with whatever you need.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Missandei isn’t here,” Arya reminded her pointedly, “she usually remains in your chambers after dinner and helps you with things, right?” It wasn’t a question in the truest sense, Arya knew she did, because she was often there to see it. 

“We have other servants Arya you don’t need to do that.” 

Her eyes foretold of mischief before her mouth delivered it. “I’m a little hurt Princess,” she said emphasising the title they rarely used these days, “you don’t think I could do it, do you?”

There was an undeniable challenge in her words and Daenerys felt a smile spread across her face. She liked this side of Arya, the playful one. “Well have you ever been anyone’s servant? Do you have the necessarily qualifications to fill in for Missandei?”

She meant it as a joke, but Arya’s reply was serious, too serious. The smirk fell and she answered with quite possibly the last words Daenerys would have predicted. “Yes, and yes.”

Normally Daenerys could tell when she was being teased, but Arya was so difficult to read. “Really?” she prodded, expecting Arya to confess she was joking. 

“After I lost my family Prince Doran took me in and gave me a job as a servant in the Water Gardens,” she said as though she was recounting yesterday’s weather. “I served there for years until Oberyn arranged for me to begin my training.”

“Did you enjoy it?” she asked just to fill the quiet that was becoming awkward. 

“I hated it,” Arya admitted freely. 

Knowing Arya as she did, it was hard to picture her as anything other than an immensely talented guard and soldier. “Well then, I won’t ask you to do it for me. I’ll summon someone else if I have needs while Missandei is away.” 

She thought that would be the end of it, but Arya wasn’t ready to accept that. “I hated it because I didn’t get a choice, I do now, and I’m choosing to help you.”

“Arya you don’t have to do that.”

When she made a move for the door Daenerys actually believed she’d be leaving. She was conflicted over whether or not to stop her. She wanted Arya to remain with her but didn’t want to make her a servant or a handmaiden. Daenerys just wanted her friend. She stopped at the door and looked at Daenerys expectantly. “Where are we going first, Aemon or the Imp?”

And just like that she was excited about what her evening might bring. She popped onto her toes and then adjusted her dress on the short walk to Arya, “Aemon first,” she decided. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There you go, the first part of what will be several chapters focusing on Daenerys and Arya getting closer. The next will have Aemon, Tyrion and Arya filling in for Missandei. 
> 
> Until then,
> 
> RC


	15. Chapter 15

They found the young man bent over his desk studying a map. Blocks in the shape of numbers were sitting at various intervals. Arya knew immediately what he was calculating, she watched Oberyn do the same thing before they left for Essos. He invited them to enter but finished his current measurement before turning to greet them. 

He smiled when he saw Daenerys and it didn’t falter much when he noticed Arya was with her. “Dany, come in, sit down. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What are you doing?” she asked, bypassing a chair to get a look at the map. 

Arya voiced a far more interesting question. “Where are you going?”

Daenerys was suddenly unsure of where to set her eyes, so she rotated them between the map, Aemon and Arya? “You know what this is?” She traced the wooden ‘2’ with the tip of her finger before continuing. “What do these numbers mean?”

She filed another detail about the Princess away for later, she didn’t like to be the only one who didn’t know something. “If I had to guess I’d say Aemon is planning a trip,” she explained, “the blocks represent where he’d like to be by the end of each day of travel.” She pointed and drew Daenerys’s attention to the ‘1’ block, it was situated just North of King’s Landing. 

Once she understood Daenerys looked at the map with renewed interest and tried to deduce the eventual end point that Aemon had yet to reach. It wasn’t difficult to guess. His path was taking him North, toward Arya’s former home and beyond to the Wall. Daenerys understood this too. “He agreed to let you go?” To Arya’s ear, Daenerys sounded both excited and devastated. 

“Not yet, but soon he will. He knows I have no reason to stay and I can’t wait forever.”

For a second time he offered them a seat and this time Daenerys accepted. Although she could have occupied the chair next to them Arya chose to stand back and let them have some privacy. “I want you to stay, but I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. I’d go too if I could, but I don’t think the Night’s Watch takes girls.”

“I’ll miss you everyday,” he promised. 

“You better write too,” Daenerys decreed with authority. 

Unbothered by her tone Aemon chuckled and agreed he would. 

“I’m sorry about dinner,” Aemon said, after they hugged and returned to their places. “I wanted to say something, but you know it would’ve only made things worse.”

Daenerys patted his leg with her hand. “It’s not your fault. There is nothing you could have done.” One look at Aemon made it clear his aunt’s forgiveness was important to him. 

They talked for nearly an hour before Daenerys broached the reason for her visit. “I need some of your clothes,” she told him bluntly. 

“Oh, okay, why?” he asked, already getting up to comply. 

“Just the old things that no longer fit, or that you don’t wear anymore.” 

He got to the closet and opened the door. “There is plenty of that in here,” he assured her. With his head hidden he asked again, “Why do you need them?”

“I took some of my old things to the orphanage today, but I realized I didn’t bring nearly enough for the boys, so I was hoping you’d donate some of your things.” 

“I’d be happy to, but my clothes will not fit any of the children.” 

Arya went to the closet and offered to hold the items Aemon was willing to give away. In no time, her arms were full. 

“They won’t,” Daenerys agreed, “but one shirt of yours could probably make two or three for the children and the same with your pants.”

He stopped working and looked at the elder Targaryen. “That’s a great idea.” 

With their bounty stacked up near the door to take when they left Arya went back to the map and waved Aemon over. “Be careful once you’re in this area,” she said using a thin finger to point to the area North of Winterfell. “Depending on the weather, your horse could be slowed by heavy snow and it could extend your journey by days or even weeks. Make sure you have enough supplies to last, they’ll certainly have need of them on the Wall if you don’t use everything.” 

Aemon’s brow wrinkled as he concentrated and then he nodded in agreement. “You’re right, I’ve been reading a lot, trying to find information about the towns and castles in the area, but there is still a lot I don’t know.” 

“Have you ever been to the North?” Daenerys asked her, coming to stand opposite Aemon. 

That was a dangerous question. She made one error already when she mentioned her sister to Daenerys. It was out of her mouth before she knew it, and there was nothing she could do to take it back, so she told a half-truth. She did have a sister, and she was gone. She knew Daenerys assumed Sansa was dead, and she let her, it would be easier than trying to explain. Still, she didn’t enjoy lying to her friend, even if it was for a very valid reason. She was walking down a treacherous road and she needed to be careful, lest she made another mistake. “A long time ago,” she said vaguely. To prevent Daenerys from asking the follow up questions that were surely burning her tongue Arya engaged Aemon. “Have you been to the North yet?” 

“No, never. I’ve always wanted to, but Father wouldn’t allow it.” 

Arya didn’t doubt that. The North may be under Bolton control but the North Remembers. He had a long list of faults and sins, but being stupid wasn’t among them and therefore, it was unlikely that Rhaegar Targaryen would permit his son to travel freely in the Realm’s largest kingdom. There was simply too much that could go wrong, with deadly consequences. 

“Well if your father agrees, you’ll get your chance,” she said, providing subtle encouragement. “You’ll get to see much of the North on your way to the Wall.” 

Cheered by the idea he gave Arya a smile. “I’m sure Dany here keeps you busy, but if you ever have the time and would like to spar again…”

Arya could see he was struggling so she interrupted him and sought to put his mind at ease. “I’d love to, as long as Daenerys doesn’t have need of me, I’m happy to help.” 

When they were done, Arya went first, carrying the clothes, letting the Targaryens say goodbye. In the hall Daenerys fell in step beside her guard. “That was very nice of you, he’s really excited about all of this. He told me you’re the best sparring partner he’s ever had.” 

It would be a lie for her to say it didn’t feel good to hear that, but she still directed the conversation back to Aemon, where it belonged. “He’s very good, a little too impulsive sometimes, but when he stays calm and thinks before he strikes, there isn’t much I can teach him.”

“He’s been learning the sword for years,” Daenerys recalled. “Rhaegar says he’s a natural.” 

“He is,” Arya said stiffly, not liking having to agree with the Prince. She moved on quickly. “Where to next?”

Daenerys thought for a moment. “We’ll start with my chambers and put those clothes down, then we’ll go see if Tyrion is still in his office.”

That sounded reasonable. Arya almost asked why Daenerys needed the Master of the Coin, but it wasn’t her business and she’d find out soon enough anyway. 

R-C

Tyrion was in his office, despite the late hour. He was behind the desk with a book open in front of him. Instead of reading from it, he was holding a scroll in one hand, while his eyes moved across the page. Although he had a goblet of wine within reach, he didn’t seem to be enjoying it. 

“Another one,” he muttered to himself as he set the lone page down off to his right. He hadn’t noticed them yet, so he was clearly talking to himself. 

“Problems Lord Tyrion?” Daenerys inquired from just inside the doorway. Arya was a full step behind, still in the hall. 

“Princess Daenerys, please come in.” She couldn’t see him, Daenerys was blocking her view, but he sounded genuinely happy she interrupted his work. As she moved deeper into the room Tyrion kept talking. “I received word earlier today, your order will be ready by the end of the week.” 

“Oh,” Daenerys responded, tensing and looking down. “That’s great Tyrion, but it’s not the reason I came.”

There was a tension in the room that Arya couldn’t make sense of. She didn’t know what package Tyrion was referring to, but then again, she was just a guard. If Daenerys needed something it was likely Missandei and Tyrion working together that procured it. 

“Oh, and you’ve brought your new guard with you, how wonderful.” 

“Do you know Arya?” the Princess asked him. 

“Not nearly well enough,” he answered. Arya struggled not to find him endearing and charming, very easy to like. “My brother Jaime tells me you’re quite talented, and he isn’t easily impressed, so it must be true.” 

“Arya is quite talented,” Daenerys confirmed, emphasizing the word ‘is’ in order to second the Kingsguard’s opinion. 

“Well then, I know who to hide behind if there is trouble,” he comments casually. With a wave of his hand he beckons them closer. “Sit, I’ll fix the drinks.” 

Once all three were seated with a fresh glass in hand, Daenerys brought them back to her original question. “Having trouble?”

“Nothing serious,” he guaranteed her, “just a Septon requesting more donations. I just met with one of them last week, and the week before that, but there is always another heartfelt plea I must address.”

“Does the treasury not have enough money?”

Tyrion flashed her a smile before his goblet hid it. After his sip he replied. “The money isn’t the issue, we have more than enough to satisfy his needs, I just don’t have the time to meet with him.” He paused for a moment and then decided to elaborate. “He won’t just arrive, take the gold and go, he’ll insist on talking for at least an hour, about all the good deeds he’ll accomplish with the new surplus of gold, and then once he has the coin, he’ll spend another half hour thanking me. I won’t have an opening in my schedule until next week, but enough about me, how are you two? What brings you to my little corner of the Realm?” 

Though Tyrion was speaking, Daenerys looked at Arya. She seemed uncertain all the sudden, likely because she intended to ask for gold, just like the Septon and after hearing Tyrion’s frustrations, now she was doubting her course. She nodded slightly, hoping to provide reassurance. It must have worked because Daenerys turned her focus to Tyrion and spoke with confidence. “We can talk about that in a moment, first would you like me to meet with the Septon?” 

“Wh… what?” he sputtered as he set his wine down. He could be forgiveness for his less than articulate response, after all it wasn’t everyday that someone walked into your office and offered you help while asking for nothing in exchange. 

“I could meet with him for you,” she proposed. 

“Really?”

“Sure, I have plenty of time and you’re right, he probably will want to talk to you at length before and after he has the money. If you provide me with the purse, I could present it to him.”

“Are you certain she has the time?” He was speaking to Arya for the first time since their negotiation began. She understood why she was being consulted but that didn’t make her hate it any less. Daenerys was intelligent enough to make her own decisions on how she wanted to spend her time. She’d be doing Tyrion a much-needed favor and still he felt obligated to check with the guard before he accepted. If Arya said no, Daenerys’s generosity would be for naught, because the Targaryen had little say in her own life. 

She tried to answer in a way that still left the final decision up to Daenerys. “If the Princess wishes to meet the Septon on your behalf, I’ll come by and pick up the gold for her the morning of the appointment.” 

“I’ll have it ready,” Tyrion said, “and thank you both.” 

Daenerys wasn’t done extending a helping hand to the busy Lannister. “Do you have many similar meetings?” 

Tyrion smiled. “More than a few,” he admitted. “Unless there is a cancelation, I’m currently scheduling as many as three weeks in advance.” Flipping a page in his book he showed the women a chart of his upcoming meetings, there was writing in almost every square with very little open space. 

“That’s a lot to do,” Daenerys noted accurately. She said nothing, but privately Arya agreed. She had no idea that the Master of the Coin was so busy, but it made a certain amount of sense – gold made the world spin and Tyrion held the purse strings for all of Westeros. Surely that made him popular . “I’d be willing to meet with others too,” she offered, “if it would allow you to spend your time on more important matters.” 

Arya wasn’t surprised by her willingness to do something to improve someone’s day, she’d come to expect it. Tyrion wasn’t as used to Daenerys as Arya was and his surprise was visible before he corrected his expression. “You don’t need to do that Princess, I’m sure you have affairs of your own to keep you occupied.” As he said this, he glanced at Arya to silently verify that Daenerys was too busy to take on an extra burden. She subtly shook her head and there was another flash of shock on his face before he buried it. Daenerys was a Princess and a member of the ruling family of the Seven Kingdoms, she should have been struggling to fit the many claims on her time into the limited hours of the day, but she wasn’t. Since she wasn’t involved in many aspects of governing, it afforded her plenty of time to assist others. “You don’t have to do this,” Tyrion made perfectly clear, “the Realm will not crumble if there is a slight delay dispensing donations.” 

Daenerys laughed at his tone. “I know, but I’m in the castle anyway, with little to do, there is no reason I can’t help you.” 

Arya jumped in to try and prevent the back and forth she could feel coming. “I can stop in and see Tyrion each morning on my way to meet you,” Arya suggested. “If he has anything that requires our attention, I’ll collect the money and the names of people you’ll need to meet with.” 

“That sounds perfect, thank you Arya,” Daenerys gushed. 

“Thank you both,” Tyrion amended, “with your help I may be able to get out of here at a reasonable hour. You’ve made many women and one dwarf incredibly happy.” 

She tried to swallow down the laughter she felt bubbling up, but she was unsuccessful. Beside her Daenerys didn’t even make an effort, she chuckled and blushed while Tyrion showed off a devious smirk. He seemed beyond pleased that he’d gotten a reaction out of them both. 

They spoke for a few minutes about nothing in particular. Daenerys asked him how he liked life in the Red Keep, and he made a comment about how it had more variety than living in the West. Aware of his reputation, she read between the lines and guessed he was speaking about the whores he had available to him. Arya paid little attention to rumors, but the whispers about Tyrion were so prolific and so consistent, she tended to believe they were accurate, exaggerated most likely but rooted in some truth. 

When the time came for Daenerys to make her request, she explained that she needed gold so the orphanage could hire a seamstress. With passionate she spoke about how with a minimal contribution, they could take the donated clothes she collected and convert them into things the orphans could wear for years to come. Tyrion didn’t hesitate, he flipped a handful of pages, wrote a short note and then opened a drawer on his desk to retrieve the coins. 

They stayed until long after their wine was gone. “Shall I schedule the meeting with the Septon?” he asked as he walked them to the door. 

Daenerys looked to Arya for confirmation. It wasn’t up to her, but if the Princess wanted her opinion, she’d provide it. “Not tomorrow, unless you wish to postpone your…”

She didn’t even get to finish. “No!” Daenerys said a little too intently. Obviously, she didn’t like the idea of anything delaying her day outside the castle. Arya didn’t blame her. She thought about it a moment and calmed. “Anytime except tomorrow,” she ruled, “you can ask the Septon to visit the keep at his leisure, I’ll meet with him then?” It was her choice to make, but uncertainty had it sounding more like a question, and she was once again waiting for Arya’s permission. 

“I’ll make sure I have the gold with me before your first appointment,” Arya said, committed to helping Daenerys make this work. 

Pleased by the agreement the Princess smiled accordingly, while Tyrion watched them closely. “I’ll have it waiting.” 

Daenerys went out the door first and when it was Arya’s turn Tyrion stopped her by asking, “How do you like your new job? Is it better than training?” 

“Different,” she said simply. She was finding it easier to guard Daenerys than she predicted. She still yearned to be out swinging her sword, practicing her technique, but life in King’s Landing wasn’t torture either. “In training, that was all there was. We woke before the sun and didn’t stop until long after it was gone, there were lessons, conditioning and sparring, day after day. It’s different now, I spend a lot of time standing around.” 

“I understand,” he confirmed with a nod. Tyrion leaned toward her and lowered his voice to a whisper that wouldn’t make it to Daenerys. “Now all you have do is follow the beautiful Princess around and keep her from harm, what a terrible hardship,” he teased. “I’m sure the reason I saw Mormont pouting was because he missed how boring his duties were.” 

After some internal debate, she decided it was probably safer to end the conversation there rather than risk prolonging it with another comment. She wouldn’t admit it to Tyrion, or anyone else, but in her mind, she was able to acknowledge that Daenerys’s company was probably one of the main reasons she didn’t hate her time in King’s Landing so far. 

R-C

Daenerys was standing over her bed picking through the pile of clothes Aemon gave her. She wanted to see exactly what she had, so she could make certain she took enough for every child to receive something. 

“Why did you agree to meet the Septon?” Arya asked her from her spot just inside the closed door. 

She heard the question perfectly but needed time to try and organize her thoughts. Why she had done it was quite complicated. She set down an old shirt she bought for her nephew and rotated her body. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why did you agree to meet with the Septon? Why agree to take some of Tyrion’s meetings?”

When it was happening, Daenerys believed Arya was on her side. She was supportive and offered to act as a courier between Daenerys and Tyrion. Now that they were alone, would Daenerys learn how Arya really felt about the new job she’d committed them to? She would regret her attempt to help, if it resulted in Arya being upset with her. “I’m sorry I agreed without speaking to you about it, I was just trying to do Tyrion a kindness. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll inform Tyrion that he’ll need to take the meeting himself.” 

She shook her head slightly, though it seemed to be more involuntary movement and less message. “I don’t mind, I think it’s a good idea. I’ll meet Tyrion, Rhaegar and whoever else you need me to, I was just curious why you wanted to do it?” 

Her emotions were all over the place. Making matters worse, Arya was still waiting for an answer. Why had she done it, what compelled her to take on additional responsibility? The truth was whether she knew it or not, Arya was to blame for this. 

“You,” Daenerys said, before she was ready, the lone word slipping out between barely parted lips. 

Arya stood a little straighter. “Me? I don’t think I said more than two words before you and Tyrion…”

Daenerys cursed internally. She knew Arya would need more information than that to understand. She abandoned the clothes and went to where Arya was. When she noticed Daenerys approaching, she took a step to make the trip shorter. They met in the middle, closer to the door than the bed. “No,” she amended, taking one of Arya’s hands and savoring the warm, rough feel, “no, it’s nothing you said, I was just thinking about what you would do, and that’s what made me offer.” 

“I wouldn’t have agreed to meet with Septons,” Arya countered. 

She said it so plainly, that there was no refuting it. Daenerys chuckled. She was doing a terrible job of explaining herself. She took a deep breath and made another attempt. “No, you don’t meet with Septons, but you do track my brother down each morning and ask for permission to leave the keep.” In her rush to justify her feelings she left shortened pauses between each word, until there was almost nothing. 

One look at her grey eyes and Daenerys could tell Arya didn’t make the connection between Arya’s visits to Rhaegar and Daenerys’s sudden willingness to dispense donations from the Crown. “I gave you my word I would help you,” Arya remembered.

“You’ve done great,” Daenerys insisted, “better than anyone could have expected of you, better than I expected of you. Most people would promise to help me and then do nothing or make one half-hearted attempt before giving up forever.” 

“I’m not most people,” Arya noted, stating the obvious. 

“I know,” Daenerys promised, unable to keep from smiling. “How many times has Rhaegar refused you? How many times did Barristan send you away?”

There was an extended silence stretching out between them. Daenerys tried to coax a reply from Arya with a comforting look. Finally, she admitted, “A lot.”

“Exactly, and you kept going anyway, for me. You wanted to help me, and you did. Thanks to you, we had a great day in the city and tomorrow will be even better. That only happened because you kept trying.”

“Oh… I… “ 

Arya’s stammering was as unusual as it was cute in Daenerys’s opinion. Part of her wanted to say nothing just to see how she’d eventually respond, but there was a question she still hadn’t answered, and she wanted to, because that was the whole point of telling Arya all this. “I was thinking about you when he was telling us how busy he was,” she confessed, “I was thinking about how kind it was of you to get Rhaegar’s approval and how because of you, I was going to get to spend another full day outside the walls. That never would have happened if you didn’t keep pushing. I realized that if you want something, sometimes you just have to take it.”

Her features settled into a smirk that was even more attractive than seeing Arya flustered. “That’s not a bad lesson to learn. The world isn’t going to give you what you want just because you ask for it.”

“Exactly!” Daenerys exclaimed, pleased someone else got it. “I have always tried to be so proper, to do what was expected of me, to be polite and quiet. I speak only when spoken to and never cause trouble and look where it’s gotten me.” She took a deep breath and enjoyed the way the air tasted. “If I want things to be different, to be better, I’m the one that needs to make the change, because no one else is going to do it.” 

“How does meeting the Septon and delivering Tyrion’s gold accomplish this?”

“I’ve always wanted a bigger role here,” she explained slowly, looking down at her hands as she spoke. “I want to be the kind of Princess that does some good. I know I’ll never sit on the throne and I’m fine with that, I don’t need to be Queen to improve people’s lives.” Her mind was suddenly filled with countless memories, all the times she tried to get a foothold in the business of the Realm, only to be rebuffed. Most often, she was told ‘no’ outright, but on a few occasions, she was permitted to attend a meeting or two. Somehow those were worse, because no matter how intently she studied before hand, no matter how well prepared she was, no matter how logical or relevant her points, she was marginalized and overlooked. Eventually she gave up, deciding she’d stay in the background, where she belonged. 

Foolishly she thought that if she obeyed all instruction and proved compliant then eventually someone would notice and give her a position of importance. It was a childish dream, a girl’s dream, and she was done with it. If she remained in the background much longer, she’d never leave it. She needed to make a life for herself. It may not involve leaving the keep as often as she would like, it wouldn’t include sailing her own ship or filling a prominent post, but she could still find ways to do her part, if she was willing and committed to seek them out. 

Arya had worn Rhaegar down with perseverance. She imagined it was much the same when she went from being a servant to a soldier. Once, early on, Daenerys told Missandei there was a lot she could learn from Arya and she’d been right. If Arya could teach her to bend Rhaegar’s will, Daenerys would gladly soak up all the wisdom Arya was willing to pass along. 

“Thanks to you, the Septon will get the gold he needs much sooner than if he had to wait for an opening in Tyrion’s calendar. That’s going to help a lot of people, Daenerys.”

That made her smile, but she needed to confirm one final detail. “And you’re sure you don’t mind, checking with Tyrion and bringing the gold? I could ask Miss…”

“I don’t mind.”

That lifted a weight off her chest. She wanted to do this, but she wasn’t sure she could without Arya. Not only because Arya’s dedication helped birth the idea, but also because she needed someone to oversee things, someone who could provide advice when necessary, someone she could trust, someone who wouldn’t be afraid to speak her mind even if she disagreed with the Princess. Given the long list of requirements, Arya was the only suitable candidate. 

Once the business with Tyrion was settled, Arya moved them to something they could talk about more easily. “So, what are we going to do tomorrow?” 

R-C

Arya sat up a little straighter and like a jolt realized she hadn’t been paying attention. It took a moment for her to place her location. She was in the Princess’s bedchamber. In a rush all the memories came back; getting Rhaegar’s permission to take Daenerys into the city, the docks, the orphanage, dinner, Aemon, Tyrion. She knew why she joined Daenerys in her room, when usually she’d have left by now, Missandei had been given a break. She wasn’t there to assist Daenerys, so Arya remained. 

“Is everything okay?” Daenerys asked, her voice dripping with concern. 

“I’m sorry, I got lost in thought.” That wasn’t entirely truthful, but it did sound better than admitting that she dozed off in the middle of a conversation. “Did you say something?” she asked, hoping it would encourage Daenerys to repeat whatever she missed. 

The smile didn’t falter. “I just said that you don’t need to stay. You must be tired.” 

“I’m not that tired,” she exaggerated.

When she stood up without comment Arya thought she meant to send her away, forcibly if necessary. She didn’t, instead she went to a rolling cart and poured two glasses of wine. “If you’re going to stay,” Daenerys said on her return trip to the chair, “do so as my friend and not my guard. Have a drink.” 

She couldn’t deny that she was tempted. Wine wasn’t her favorite drink, but she’d take it. It was like fire under her skin when Daenerys’s fingers brushed hers. Her touch was unlike anything Arya had experienced – warm, soft and inviting. She sipped her wine in an effort to hide the blush she couldn’t keep off her cheeks. “Thank you.” 

Once she was settled Daenerys sampled the wine too. “Mmm,” she purred as she licked her lip, “not bad huh?” 

She had to swallow down the moan that threatened. The combination of the sound and the stroke of a pink tongue wetting her upper lip had the hairs on the back of Arya’s neck standing up. Did she even realize what she was doing? She tried desperately to not be attracted to Daenerys, but the longer she acted as her guard, the more time they spent alone, the harder it was to convince anyone, especially herself. Her beauty was obvious, but that wasn’t what kept Arya balancing on the edge of a sword. What really held her was Daenerys’s inherent goodness. She was a Targaryen, so it stood to reason that she should be evil and cruel. Despite her name, Daenerys was kind, generous and fair. In her early days watching the Dragon, those words would have felt like treason to consider, but she’d come to accept them. It was just how things were, like the sun rising and the wind blowing, Daenerys was good. When necessary she reminded herself that this wasn’t her first time handling an attractive, disarming Targaryen who seemed to show an interest in the unworthy foster. She’d managed to fend off Rhaenys’s affections easily enough, yet it was harder with Daenerys, everything was harder with Daenerys. At this point, it would have been more unexpected if Arya didn’t catch herself wondering about the flavor of Daenerys’s lips. She would never find out, for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which being that Daenerys believed Arya was a Sand and not a Stark. Her desires would remain hidden, just like the truth about her identity. It was the only way. She took comfort from the knowledge that it wasn’t forever. It would be easier to ignore her longing once she was back in Dorne, thousands of miles from the Princess, or at least she hoped so. 

She rudely ignored Daenerys’s question, leaving it unanswered, asking one of her own instead. “Why have you never married?” Arya couldn’t stop the curse that escaped as she heard the inquiry in her ears. She had wondered about that but didn’t intend to ask. “Forget I said anything,” Arya pleaded quickly. She took a quick sip, realizing too late that more wine was likely the last thing she needed when she was already struggling to keep her private thoughts inside. How much wine had she had? A glass with Tyrion and another with Daenerys, that was hardly enough to explain her behavior, but she had no other excuse. She hadn’t eaten since lunch, but that too didn’t justify anything. Since arriving in King’s Landing she’d grown accustomed to eating late, after Daenerys was safely in her room for the night. With one meal already in her stomach, she could go until morning without anything more if required. 

With a light laugh Daenerys shook her head. “Maybe I don’t want to forget,” she replied, placing her empty hand on Arya’s forearm. Incapable of speaking, she stared dumbly and waited for Daenerys to continue. “I don’t know really,” she admitted, “Tywin and my father have brought it up several times, but they lose interest before they begin trying to pair me off in earnest.”

It was uncommon for a woman of Daenerys’s age to be unmarried, but upon closer examination Arya could see that finding a match for a Princess might be more difficult than the standard. Daenerys couldn’t marry just anyone, it’d need to be someone respectable, from a good family, probably with lots of money and a flawless reputation. It occurred to Arya that she possessed none of those qualities herself, one more reason she could never tell Daenerys of her feelings. “I shouldn’t have asked,” she said, trying for a second time to apologize. 

“I don’t mind,” she assured her worried guard. “I’ve never wanted to be married, so I’m not in a hurry.” She thought for a moment and then picked up where she left off. “There have been offers but none my father gave serious consideration to.” 

Arya didn’t doubt that Daenerys had suitors. An ugly Princess would still attract all manner of men who wanted to improve their own standing by attaching themselves to royalty and Daenerys was not ugly by any definition of the word. She hadn’t encountered any men seeking Daenerys’s hand during her time in the Capital, but it hadn’t been that long. “Marrying someone from outside the Crownlands might provide you with the excuse you need to leave,” Arya pointed out. 

“It might,” Daenerys confirmed quietly, “but it’s just as likely that my father will insist my husband move to the Red Keep, and then I would have married for nothing.” 

“It’s custom for the woman to move to the lands of her husband.”

“it is, but my father isn’t the sort to bend in the name of tradition.” 

That was true. As it was with most things, Arya found Daenerys’s opinions on marriage to be articulate and well thought out. “You’re right.”

She was prepared to let the matter drop but Daenerys had more to say. “My dream is to marry for love one day, but as long as I’m the King’s daughter, I doubt I’ll get the chance.” 

Again, she agreed with Daenerys’s logic. She doubted Aerys would let a minor detail like love sway him when it came time to bind his only daughter to another house. That said, she felt compelled to try and give Daenerys some hope, however brief. “Who knows, you might get lucky. Perhaps the husband you want to marry will be the same one your father selects for you.” 

“Who knew you were an optimist,” Daenerys teased. Never had anyone accused her of that. Arya smirked at the Targaryen and raised her glass to her mouth. She tilted her head back farther than usual to get the last of the liquid from the bottom. As she was doing so, Daenerys posed a question the guard wasn’t prepared for. “Why have you never married?”

She rejected the premise entirely. Unlike Daenerys, Arya was not a Princess, nor a prime candidate for marriage. She was the daughter of traitors and a ward, there wasn’t a long line of men eager to attach their name to hers. Without permission she tried to respond, to oppose Daenerys vehemently, and it caused her to choke on the wine she’d been drinking. Shaking violently, she coughed, using an arm to protect her stomach as she struggled to retake control of her body. 

By the time she finished coughing Daenerys had one hand rubbing her back tenderly while the other hung in the air, looking for a place to rest. “Are you okay?”

Confident the worst was over, Arya lifted her head and met Daenerys’s eye. She intended to apologize, and to ensure the Princess that she was alright, but she didn’t get that far. A single drop of wine had leaked from her mouth as she coughed and while Arya hadn’t noticed it, Daenerys had. She leaned closer and with a swipe of her thumb, collected the wine from its place just below Arya’s lower lip. She shivered and instinctively took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but it was counterproductive. Inhaling deeply only reminded her that Daenerys was close, filling her nostrils with the unique scent of her perfume. Not long ago she was thinking about what it would be like to kiss the woman she guarded and now, it appeared she was going to find out. Daenerys leaned in, and her eyes fluttered closed as her lips neared Arya’s. What was going on? How much had Daenerys had to drink? More than Arya, certainly, since she had wine with her dinner as well. Did the alcohol explain what was happening? She didn’t want to stop it, but she probably should. She was in Daenerys’s service and she needed her trust. If she took advantage of her and allowed this kiss to proceed, especially when she suspected Daenerys was intoxicated, she could damage their friendship. Just before she reached a decision it occurred to her that if Daenerys wanted to kiss her, and Arya refused her, she’d likely damage things just as severely. She hadn’t made up her mind, but she was out of time. Indecision was a decision, and Arya was about to kiss Daenerys Targaryen. 

The door swung open wide and slammed against the wall. The two women leaned in different directions, leaving a distinct void of open space between them. Daenerys straightened up and rotated to the door at the same time Arya wiped her face with her sleeve to make certain there was no more wine, then she was on her feet. 

The Mad King was red-faced and enraged as he looked past his daughter to the guard. “Who are you?” he demanded to know, using a finger to point. 

The lie was on the tip of her tongue. ‘Arya Sand’ she meant to say. Before she could, she was overrun with memories of sitting on her father’s knee, learning of their failed rebellion. An instant later, she was walking the hall of the Red Keep, in the center of a formation that included every member of her family. They were surrounded by Kingsguard, on their way to meet the Dragon King. She was terrified and knew it was visible to any who cared enough to look. From a step ahead Robb glanced back and gave her his best attempt at a reassuring smile. She couldn’t copy it, she didn’t even try. The fear that consumed her then was nothing compared to what came later, when she was kneeling in Stark blood, before a King determined to punish every Wolf he could find. 

Reliving that moment again, she was back in the throne room again, avoiding his eye just as she’d done that day. She did her best not to see the blood under her, not to feel it pooling against her legs, staining her skin. That was when it dawned on her that she was wearing a sword. It was strange, but not unwelcome. Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall where the weapon came from? She hadn’t had a sword on the day she was sent to Dorne, had she? When the Mad King stepped down from his throne to pass judgement on her, Arya was ready. With bared teeth she reached for the sword and lunged at the Targaryen. His lazy guards were too far away to interfere. She’d die soon, but she wouldn’t go alone. The King’s reign would end, by her hand and her last act would be avenging her family.

She was proud of her actions as she lined the sword up with the center of Aerys’s chest. Just before the blade pierced his thin skin the form in front of her changed shape. The next thing she knew it wasn’t the Mad King who stood before her anymore and the sword she was wielding was gone. Her hands suddenly empty, as a voice called her name. “Arya!”

The ground beneath her shook and her body followed. The voice calling her grew more frantic. With repetition came clarity and Arya realized it wasn’t her mother’s voice she was hearing, or Sansa’s. She blinked hard, working to clear the fog in her mind while she tried to source that soothing sound. 

“Arya! Arya! Please wake up!” Daenerys chanted. 

Her vision was blurred, so much so that she couldn’t see anything beyond a figure she assumed was Daenerys directly in front of her. There was so much she wanted to know she couldn’t decide where to start. 

Daenerys didn’t have the same impediment. “Can you hear me?” 

“Where am I?” she asked, her voice scratchy and raw. 

“You don’t remember?”

On the word ‘remember’, she clamped her eyes closed as tightly as she could. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t remember, it was that she did, too well. 

“You wanted to stay in my room tonight, since Missandei isn’t here.”

Now that she mentioned it, that did sound familiar. She had wanted to stay with Daenerys, partially because Missandei wasn’t there, and also because Arya planned to begin her day early. Staying in Daenerys’s room, sleeping on the floor would allow them to leave earlier than if she returned to the barracks. 

Her eyes remained closed as she thought back to the beginning of the dream, if that’s what it was. That exchange with Daenerys had really happened, the wine, the talk of marriage, the choking and the almost kiss. It hadn’t been Aerys that prevented their lips from meeting, but Arya. She made up a weak excuse and retreated before Daenerys could make contact. 

“You ha d a nightmare,” Daenerys confirmed, “one minute you were sleeping, the next you were thrashing and screaming.” 

“Did I say anything?” she asked, as the knot in her stomach became painful. Had she revealed the truth to Daenerys in her sleep? Capable of opening her eyes now, she didn’t want to. She was afraid of what she’d see. Would it be pity or knowledge that decorated Daenerys’s features? She didn’t know which she’d prefer. 

“Not really, just a lot of yelling, it sounded like you were in pain or upset or something.”

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Arya supplied in a whisper. “I get nightmares sometimes. I should have thought of that before I asked to stay.” 

Daenerys’s hands which started on her shoulders, were now rubbing lazily into her arms as they moved up and down. “Don’t worry about that,” she insisted. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Finally, she cracked her eyes open again, seeing clearly for the first time since she woke. There was minimal light, but it was more than enough, especially with Daenerys so close. The fog that blurred everything was gone and she almost wished for it back when she tried to reassure Daenerys and was too startled to form a coherent statement. There, kneeling in front of her, close enough to touch was a very naked Princess. Conflicted she didn’t know whether she should look away or seize her only opportunity and memorize every detail. Actually, that was a lie, she knew what she should do, she just didn’t want to. She tried to force her eyes away from Daenerys’s body as she responded. “I’m fine, I promise.” She punctuated the words with an unnatural smile while she peeked at Daenerys’s bare breasts. 

Relaxing a little, she leaned back, sitting on her heels. “Are you sure? Does that happen often? Is there anything you need?”

In an effort to placate Daenerys, she rested one of her sweaty hands on top of Daenerys’s. The contact caused them both to freeze. Still waiting for answers, Daenerys looked expectantly to the younger woman. She did made an effort to keep her eyes on Daenerys’s face and nowhere else. “I’m fine,” she repeated. She let that sink in, before she tackled the second question. “It happens sometimes,” she admitted softly, neglecting to acknowledge that her nightmares had been more prevalent since she came to King’s Landing. “And no, I don’t need anything. You can go back to bed, I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I can stay, if you want. Do you want to talk about it?” She didn’t let Arya reply, choosing to answer for her. “Probably not,” she guessed accurately. “Well, I can still keep you company, if you want to talk about something else.” 

With every passing second it became harder to ignore Daenerys’s exposed skin. She had a remarkable figure. Arya had admired it through her clothes almost daily in recent weeks but stealing glimpses at Daenerys without the dress made it clear that even Arya’s most elaborate fantasies paled in comparison to the real thing. From head to toe she was flawless. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked a bit too harshly as she clung to her limited restraint. 

Confusion came first, and Arya would have laughed had she not been using all her strength to keep from acting on her desires. After a moment that felt like years to the frayed soldier, Daenerys looked down at herself and seemed to notice for the first time how little she was wearing. “Oh,” she said, jumping back, out from under Arya’s touch. “Oh,” she said again. She hurried to the bottom corner of the bed and pulled the blanket off, using it to cover herself. 

Arya was both relieved and annoyed when the masterpiece she’d been trying not to appreciate was taken from her. Even mostly covered, Daenerys was still gorgeous. The blanket covered her breasts and hung down to the middle of her thighs, but there remained a sinful amount of her cleavage and legs on display. 

With a little bit of distance, it was easier to think. Arya glanced down at her own body, checking to see what she’d been caught in. Although she typically slept nude, she chose to remain covered since she was sharing the room with Daenerys. She’d taken off her armor and had gone to sleep wearing only the thin, makeshift garments she wore to prevent the steel from rubbing directly on her skin. On her top half there was a band of fabric across her breasts and the bottoms had once been pants before she cropped them to stop above the knees. 

Red faced and embarrassed Daenerys wouldn’t look her in the eye. “When I heard you yelling, I didn’t even think, I just wanted to help.” 

She wasn’t going to complain about the unexpected treat she’d been given. She searched her brain for a way to show Daenerys she’d done the right thing, without admitting how much she enjoyed it. In the end she settled on one of those remarks that may or may not have been the truth. “You likely saved me from suffering far longer,” she said, “if you hadn’t shaken me like that, I probably wouldn’t have woken up.” She waited a moment before finishing. “Thank you, Daenerys, and again, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” 

“Stop apologizing,” Daenerys pressed, after a short chuckle that seemed only slightly forced. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Would you like to talk, about the nightmare or anything else?”

She looked out the large window to assess the time and then she stood up, stretching her muscles. There, on top of the borrowed blanket she’d been using as a bed, she felt Daenerys’s eyes watching her every move. Suddenly the large room felt too small and she needed to escape. “No thank you, you should go back to sleep, it’s still early.” 

“Where are you going?” Daenerys asked. For an instant it looked as if she intended to drop the blanket she was using as a shield and physically prevent Arya from leaving. She settled for just extending an arm in Arya’s direction. 

“I’m going to go clean myself up,” Arya explained, “I need to be ready when the Princess decides she wants to begin her day among the people.” 

“That isn’t for a few hours yet, is it?” 

With a shrug she took another step toward the door. “That’s up to you. Once we’re awake and dressed, we can leave as early or as late as you please.” 

The hour not withstanding, Daenerys was immediately overflowing with energy. “Really? I didn’t think we would leave until after breakfast.”

“We could find breakfast in the city I’m sure,” she predicted. 

With a wide grin, Daenerys lowered her outstretched arm. “In that case, you should probably hurry.” 

“I’ll be back soon.” She wanted to go, needed to, but before she left, she repeated one point to make it abundantly clear. “Thank you, for your help.” 

R-C

Usually the Targaryen Princess’s life was tightly controlled. Someone always told her where to go, who to meet with and what to do when she got there. She didn’t enjoy the lack of freedom, but she understood it, it was oddly comforting because it was familiar. With her unwavering determination Arya Sand flipped her highly regulated schedule on its head. Nothing felt normal now and it had Daenerys’s skin prickling while her heart raced. She wondered if this was how everyone else felt all the time? So filled to the brim, with possibilities and potential. 

Arya had gone to wash up and prepare, and Daenerys was supposed to be stealing a few more minutes of slumber. How could she sleep after everything that happened? The night had gone almost perfectly in Daenerys’s estimation. After productive meetings with Aemon and Tyrion they retired to Daenerys’s chambers. Once there, they shared a few drinks and laughed frequently as they discussed a wide variety of topics. Even when Daenerys suggested she leave, the guard remained. Sometimes it was difficult to tell how the people around her were feeling. Her position as Princess combined with theirs as staff created an almost unbridgeable divide. Most held their tongue to avoid upsetting her and the rest were quick to agree with anything Daenerys suggested, regardless of their own opinions. That said, she didn’t think Arya stayed because she was sworn to the Princess, she did it because she wanted to, and Daenerys preferred that. Arya appeared content as they traded stories. Daenerys told of life in the Capital while Arya supplied tales about Dorne, Oberyn and the Prince’s many daughters. 

For a moment Daenerys thought her pleasurable evening would continue improving. She and Arya were side by side on a padded bench with a high back, each sipping wine. When talk turned to marriage, specifically why Daenerys wasn’t wed, she was surprised to find she didn’t immediately want to change the subject. Arya wasn’t the first to ask. The older Daenerys got without being paired off, the more questions people had. Generally Daenerys’s responses were vague and brief, something along the lines of ‘I haven’t met the right person,’ or ‘it isn’t the right time.’ With Arya she wanted to clarify. 

After she shared her deepest feelings on the idea of married life, Daenerys posed a sincere question of her own, asking why Arya had never married. She knew her friend was a bastard, but that alone couldn’t be the only reason, could it? She was skilled, funny, kind, intelligent and undeniably stunning, any man or woman would be lucky to have Arya’s affection, Daenerys included. 

When she nearly choked and began coughing, Daenerys was panicked. Arya kept her head down, hiding her eyes from the Princess who was desperate to confirm she was okay. She sat there like a fool. Should she summon someone? Did Arya require water or the Maester? 

Their eyes meeting was a memory Daenerys would cherish. Arya was always beautiful, but in that moment, it was nearly overwhelming. The close proximity, the wine, the light pink color the vigorous coughing had brought to Arya’s cheeks, it was all too much. When she saw a drop of wine hanging there just below her bottom lip, Daenerys knew she needed to act fast. Any second now Arya would realize the wine was there and wipe it away, Daenerys was determined to be quicker. She reached for it and felt a spark when her thumb made contact with the Dornish woman’s skin. Once Arya’s face was cleared of wine, Daenerys’s pretense for touching her was gone, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. She kept her thumb moving, left to right, right to left, stretching it up closer to Arya’s lip. That lip, had she ever seen anything more appealing? Daenerys didn’t think so. Before she knew it was happening, she was leaning in. Her brain was sounding alarms, trying to caution against her current course but Daenerys continued. The prolonged lean only served to heighten Daenerys’s need. She cared about Arya and wanted her around for as long as possible. She knew kissing her might cause irrevocable damage to their relationship, but it seemed like a worthwhile risk to discover if she tasted as good as she looked. 

At the last moment Arya pulled away, mumbling something about wanting to wash her face after her cough. Daenerys was disappointed. What did that mean? Did Arya stop because she didn’t want Daenerys to kiss her? That particular line of thought unsettled her, so she arranged a more favorable counterargument, maybe Arya was just worried because she was Daenerys’s guard. She was probably hesitant because she didn’t want to make things awkward between them. As she waited for Arya to return Daenerys noted that she’d gladly take some awkward tension if it meant she could get the occasional kiss. 

She likely would have stewed in her doubts for the rest of the night if Arya hadn’t come back and pulled Daenerys into an intense conversation. They picked up right where the left off. Neither brought up marriage again, but Arya was calm, relaxed and engaging. She gave no indication that the almost-kiss made her uncomfortable, leading Daenerys to speculate that she hadn’t known what the Princess was going to do. 

When she gave Missandei and Grey Worm their well-earned reprieve, Daenerys expected she’d be spending a lot of extra time alone. Typically, Arya returned to the barracks after Daenerys was in her chambers for the night. Sometimes Aemon would visit, or Rhaegar but more often than not, it was just her and Missandei. She intended to keep to their pattern. 

It was a welcome surprise when Arya informed her that she planned to stay. Daenerys would happily take an evening with Arya over one alone. She learned quite a bit about Arya as the hour grew late. She did what she could to memorize every detail, wanting to keep them for later. 

She expressed her wish to go to bed only when it couldn’t be delayed anymore. If the coming day was one where she’d be confined to the keep, Daenerys would have stayed up all night, but since she needed to be alert and awake to make the most of her day in the city, she’d need some rest. 

She thought Arya would leave but instead she only went as far as the closet. “What are you looking for?” she asked after a yawn. 

“A pillow or a blanket,” Arya replied without further explanation, she just kept rummaging through Daenerys’s belongings. Other nobles or royals might have been annoyed that a member of the staff was messing up their things, but not Daenerys. If anything, she took it as proof that Arya was comfortable with her, aware she wouldn’t be doing it otherwise. 

She spent a few seconds trying to visualize the layout of her closet, to recall where Missandei and the others stored the specific items. “Top shelf, I think,” she guessed. She watched as Arya lifted up onto her toes to try and reach the desired height. “What do you need them for?”

She turned toward Daenerys with two folded blankets and a single pillow in her arms. “You aren’t the only one who needs sleep Princess.” 

Daenerys smiled at the use of her title. Over their hours together, Arya had called her ‘Princess’ only a handful of times and always with a tinge of humor or teasing. Had she not been focusing on her choice of words she might have understood the underlying message sooner. “You’re staying?” She hadn’t meant it as a question, but her uncertainty made it come out that way. 

“I can go to the barracks, if you’d rather…” she started. 

“No!” Daenerys insisted. “I don’t mind, I’m just surprised,” she confessed, “I thought after spending all day and night with me, you’d be eager to go.” 

Arya moved to the foot of the bed and dropped the items she was carrying. Daenerys got up from the bench and walked in that direction. In the process of spreading out one of the blankets on the floor, Arya said, “I’ll survive.” Her tone made it sound like she was suffering a hardship but her sly and oh so sexy smirk made sure Daenerys didn’t take it too seriously. 

“How very generous,” Daenerys replied sarcastically. Arya was positioning the pillow where her head would be when Daenerys decided to venture into dangerous waters. “You know, the bed is big enough for two.” 

She dropped the pillow carelessly and pivoted to Daenerys. “The floor is fine,” she assured her. 

She meant to make another attempt, to try and coax Arya into her bed, even if it was only to sleep but she was distracted by Arya standing next to her ‘bed,’ unstrapping her armor. When she lifted it away from her body, Daenerys was treated to more of her flesh than she’d ever seen before. She knew she was staring but couldn’t stop. When she was done, her armor was neatly piled on one side with her sword in its scabbard on the other. Daenerys said a silent prayer that Arya would keep stripping, but she didn’t. She wondered if the guard normally slept in clothes or if it was being done for Daenerys’s benefit. If so, it was utterly unnecessary. 

Daenerys was going to return the favor and give Arya a display of her own to watch, but she waited too long. By the time she pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders, Arya was already lying down, with her back to Daenerys. She huffed quietly and pulled back the covers. Arya broke the silence, but only after Daenerys was resting comfortably. “Goodnight,” she said. 

Daenerys responded in kind. She didn’t know how she’d be able to sleep with Arya just feet away, she just knew she needed to try. She refused to waste her day by sleeping half of it away. Although she struggled to calm down, Arya had no such problem, within minutes of Daenerys saying goodnight the soldier was breathing evenly. She listened and tried to match the speed. She smiled as she waited for sleep to come. They hadn’t kissed and Arya hadn’t joined her in bed, but she had stayed, and Daenerys liked having her nearby. That was the last thought she remembered having. 

She slept soundly, with pleasant dreams of life aboard her very own ship. Missandei was there, along with Arya, Aemon, Grey Worm and Rhaegar. She thought it was a part of the dream when she heard Arya whimper. She didn’t comprehend what was happening until she heard her friend cry out for her father. Daenerys awoke with a start, not in the belly of a ship surrounded by the people she loved most, but in the Red Keep, alone. 

Except she wasn’t alone. That became clear when she heard Arya muttering. She followed the sound, pushing off her blanket and crawling down the bed. What she saw made her heated blood run cold. Arya was thrashing wildly. Closer now, she could make out some of what Arya was saying. Daenerys didn’t know who she was talking to, but heard something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’ll kill you.” 

Without thinking she left the safety of her bed and went to Arya. She laid one hand gently on her shoulder, hoping to calm the violent spasms. She assumed she was successful as Arya stilled under her touch, but it didn’t last. With her teeth closed tightly, Daenerys heard what she could only describe as a growl. What was she seeing? Was this a dream or something else? Unwilling to find out what would happen next, she said Arya’s name gently, trying to rouse her. When it didn’t work, she took hold of her second shoulder as she had the first. She lifted Arya partway off the blanket and shook her. Again, she tried to be gentle, but grew more intense the longer it went without Arya responding. 

By the end, Daenerys was half yelling, half pleading for Arya to wake. When she finally did Daenerys was overcome with relief. She felt the urge to cry and likely would have given into it, had Arya not seemed so confused. Seeing the confident guard so vulnerable was unnerving, and it forced Daenerys to focus on Arya and not her own feelings. 

Thankfully Arya recovered quickly. Before long the dream faded and she returned to herself, reverting back to the woman Daenerys couldn’t get enough of. Just as things were calming, Arya pointed out her lack of clothes and the strain was back. 

She’d wanted Arya to see her naked the night before, but that was when it was by choice, when it would’ve been her decision. This was accidental and not at all the way Daenerys wanted it. She grabbed for a blanket to cover herself. As she did, she felt more than saw Arya watching her. Embarrassed, she hid her body. They tiptoed around one another, trying to talk after such a strange turn of events. Daenerys watched Arya’s eyes, making note of each time they strayed below her neck. As her tally grew, she felt braver than she had in a long time. Perhaps getting caught naked wasn’t the worst thing.

Alone now sleep was impossible, regardless of Arya’s instructions, she had too many questions. What was Arya dreaming about? Who did she want to kill? Also, she wondered what Arya was thinking now? Had she left because of the dream or because she was uncomfortable in Daenerys’s presence? Did she like what she saw, because she definitely saw everything? 

They were about to spend the whole day together. Daenerys hoped it could be like last night and not this morning. She wanted to see the happy relaxed Arya who could laugh and tease, not the one who was pained by a nightmare, who fled at the first opportunity. 

She assumed they’d wake up, eat breakfast as usual and then leave, but Arya mentioned they could depart as soon as she wanted to. If that was true, then Daenerys was wasting valuable time. It would likely take longer than normal to get ready since she wouldn’t have Missandei’s assistance, but Daenerys didn’t mind. She’d done a good thing by rewarding her friends with time away, she hoped they were enjoying it. If she had to fetch her own bathwater and style her own hair to give Missandei her first taste of freedom in far too long, so be it. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Not quite the romance most of you are waiting for, but I hope it was entertaining, nonetheless. Now that Arya knows what she’s missing, I don’t think her reasons for not pursuing Daenerys will hold up much longer. The next chapter has our favorite couple alone in the city. 
> 
> I’ll see you all then.
> 
> RC


	16. Chapter 16

The first rays of sunlight warmed her skin as they made their way down the street. Despite the early hour, many were already out. Most were hurrying from their homes to begin a day of work. These people were easy to detect by their clean clothes, clear eyes and rapid steps. A rarer sight was to find someone stumbling in the opposite direction, leaving a tavern or a brothel and finally starting the overdue journey that would end in their beds. Unlike the workers, their clothes were wrinkled and unkept, they staggered frequently and one man Daenerys saw actually needed the support of nearby buildings to keep from falling. She drank it all in gladly, even the parts she found revolting, because good or bad, she couldn’t see any of this from her room in the Red Keep. 

They secured their horses at the first available post and continued on foot. Arya insisted on carrying the clothes. Daenerys had suggested they divide the large pile, but Arya wouldn’t allow it. Although it was common for guards to carry things for her, she got the impression that Arya wasn’t doing it out of a sense of duty. It was more likely she wanted to and that made it better in every way. 

She took her eyes off the merchant who was opening his store and turned her attention to the sky. It was bright, with vivid colors. How many mornings had she watched the sunrise through her window? Dozens, hundreds perhaps? It felt like the first time again. Today, she wasn’t just seeing it, she was living it. 

As usual, Arya covered her armor and left her helmet behind, allowing Daenerys to feel like just another woman in the city. She loved it. “Look at that,” she remarked casually.

“It’s beautiful,” Arya agreed. Daenerys did her best to memorize all the colors and the way they melded together. She knew her best recollection would be pitiful in comparison to the real thing, but she tried anyway. 

They went another block in easy silence, before Arya said, “Daenerys, wait!”

Daenerys froze instantly. Arya never issued orders, never gave commands. She searched their surroundings for danger, for something that had the guard on alert, but she found nothing. The only thing unusual was that Daenerys herself was three steps ahead of her guard, when they were typical side by side. She backed up. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Arya said immediately, “my hands are full or else I would’ve redirected you with a hand.”

Daenerys’s cheeks warmed as she remembered how Arya steered her in one direction or the other with a hand on her arm or back. She cursed Arya’s sweet willingness to carry all the clothes. If Daenerys had persuaded her to share the load, she would have gotten to experience Arya guiding her again. It wasn’t the way she wanted Arya to touch her, but it was better than nothing and she’d take what she could get. 

“The orphanage is this way,” Daenerys explained feebly. Surely Arya knew where the orphanage was, they’d gone there the day before. 

“It’s still early, the kids probably aren’t even awake yet and there is something else I want you to see.” 

She punctuated her point with a smile, one that did things to Daenerys’s stomach. She didn’t need know where they were going or why. It was enough that Arya mentioned it. “Sounds interesting.” 

Given how their day began, Daenerys was nervous that things would be strained between her and Arya. The nightmare combined with the nudity would be a lot for anyone. Arya seemed unbothered by it, at least outwardly. She was relaxed and the conversation flowed easily. Arya apologized for not feeding the Princess before they left the castle, and promised they’d make a stop to ensure she got breakfast. Daenerys happily and honestly replied that a little hunger was worth their early departure. She made a point to thank Arya for thinking of it. 

When she realized where they were going, she slowed her steps and met Arya’s eye. “There likely won’t be many new ships. One or two could have come in overnight I suppose, but…”

“For once,” Arya interrupted gently, “we didn’t come here so you could admire the ships.” 

“We didn’t?”

A handful of steps later and Daenerys understood why they’d come. She thought the sunrise was beautiful in the city, decorating the sky, and warming the good people, but that was nothing. The way the light reflected off the water was breathtaking. She didn’t have words for how perfect it looked, so she just stared dumbly. 

Daenerys forced her eyes away from the spot in the distance where the water and the sky met. Over her shoulder Arya waited patiently, adjusting the cargo. “Thank you so much for this,” she said. “I had no idea I was missing out on this every morning.” 

“You’re welcome.”

R-C

The Septa was surprised to see them. It was a forgivable reaction given that the Princess had provided donations just yesterday and said nothing about returning. That said, she was gracious and invited them in. “Princess Daenerys, I wasn’t aware you’d be returning so soon.” She gasped when she heard her own words and made the appropriate amendment. “You’re welcome anytime of course, please take a seat. The children are just starting to wake, and they’ll begin trickling out shortly.” 

Daenerys smiled warmly, unbothered by the Septa’s comment. “Yesterday after I left, I realized how inconsiderate it was of me to only bring dresses for the children.” Arya could tell the Septa was going to interject, to claim her generosity was more than enough but she didn’t get the chance. “Last night I spoke with Prince Aemon. He asked that I bring some of his clothes as well, to be modified to fit the boys.” 

“That is very kind. Please thank the Prince for me, and for all of us here.” 

Daenerys drew attention to the clothes Arya was carrying. “Where can I put these?” the guard asked. 

“Anywhere is fine,” the Septa assured her, “and thank you again. This will help so many in need.” Arya found a small table off to the side. It was low to the ground and she guessed it was where orphans gathered to play games, but it was a fine spot to temporarily store the clothes. 

“I want to help. If there is anything else you require Septa, please do not hesitate to say. I’ve recently taken over a portion of the charitable giving on behalf of the Crown and I’d be more than happy to put you on the calendar if you wish.”

This caught the Septa by surprise. “That’s great. Traditionally such requests go through the Master of the Coin.” 

“Usually yes, but Lord Tyrion is quite busy with other matters, causing a delay in dispensing charity.”

The Septa smiled and reached for Daenerys’s hand. “That is great. Now all the people of King’s Landing will learn you are selfless and generous, just as I have.” 

From where she was standing Arya bit down on her bottom lip to keep from smiling too broadly as she listened to the older woman heap praise on the Princess. In this case, Arya actually agreed with the Septa. Many nobles gave money or donated their time, but Daenerys seemed genuinely committed to trying to improve things for people who were less fortunate. Unlike most highborn, she cared more about doing her good deeds than being acknowledged for them. It was a rare combination. 

When she rejoined the conversation, the Septa was still going. “With these clothes, we’ll be able to make several new pieces of clothing for each child. This will make a big difference in each and every one of their lives, Princess.”

“I’m happy to help.” 

While they spoke, a little boy made his way out of his room. His hair was wild, he was topless, and he was wiping sleep from his eye as he approached. Since the Septa and Daenerys were occupied, Arya set to intercept him before he reached them. She couldn’t do much, but she was capable of making sure the boy ate. She squatted down in front of him. “I’m Arya, what’s your name?”

He lowered his hand from his eye. “Wil.”

“Are you hungry Wil? I bet you’re hungry.”

He was wary of the guard, but the promise of food won the day. He nodded. Straightening up Arya held out her hand for him to take. When he did, she went with him to one of the three large tables used for meals. 

He was a little too short to get into the chair by himself, so Arya provided a helpful boost. Once she was confident he wouldn’t fall, she asked, “What would you like?”

The Septa answered for him. “There is oatmeal in the kitchen and bowls in the cupboard.” 

“I’ll take care of it.” To Little Wil, she whispered, “You stay here, and I’ll get you something to eat, sound good?”

He nodded again and rewarded her efforts with a smile. He was missing one of his front teeth but even Arya could see he was cute. 

In the next room everything was as the Septa said it would be. She scooped oatmeal into a bowl for Wil and then spotted pitchers of juice and milk. She carried as much as she could at once and set it all on the table near Wil’s chair. She presented him with his breakfast first and then positioned the juice nearby. On her second trip to the kitchen she collected an arm full of empty cups along with the milk. 

In addition to a lot more children, several of the adults who cared for them had also emerged. Most were already in action, pouring glasses or settling orphans. It was busy, but not chaotic. The children despite their hunger were well-behaved, and the staff worked seamlessly to make sure all their needs were met. 

After she set the milk down, a pretty young girl of about nine smiled and thanked her. The sentiment was echoed by a young woman about Arya’s age, who was on her way from the kitchen balancing more bowls of oatmeal than Arya would dare to try and carry. 

She decided to make herself useful by putting the oatmeal into bowls. It was an easy job and one she could do quietly and alone, while still contributing. Before long they fell into a routine that worked. The bowls were ready when the staff came to get them. 

Midway through, Daenerys appeared at Arya’s side. “How can I help?”

“I’m not sure actually,” she admitted. “I don’t know who needs what. The children would probably like to say they had breakfast with a Princess. Why don’t you go and sit with them?”

She hadn’t meant it as an insult but that was how Daenerys took it. “I will not go and sit when everyone else is working tirelessly to feed all these children. Put me to work.” 

A glance to her right revealed that she was running out of empty bowls. “That cupboard there,” she said pointing, “bring as many bowls as you can and then run and tell me how many people still need oatmeal.” 

Before she did as instructed Daenerys paused directly behind Arya and leaned into her, pressing her breasts into the guard’s back. “See,” she teased, “that wasn’t so hard, was it.” She laughed lightly, and then continued to the cupboard. “Now you’ll get to tell people you ordered the Princess around.”

She took her eyes off the pot she was stirring and tried to match Daenerys’s smile with one of her own. “It was less of an order and more of a polite request.” 

“Either way, here are your bowls.” 

“Much obliged m’lady,” Arya said with a bow. Daenerys was already moving toward the dining area, but she wasn’t too far away to prevent Arya from hearing her laughter for a second time. 

R-C

By the time the children were finished eating and began to leave the tables to go and play, Daenerys felt like she was in need of a nap. 

She always suspected the Septa was overworked but now she had confirmation. Even with two extra sets of hands, the adults never stopped during breakfast. From the moment Arya helped the first boy into his seat, until the last girl who ate the final bite, there was always more to do. 

While some wiped down the tables, Arya and several others were in the kitchen, doing the dishes. Daenerys meant to join them but was stopped by the Septa before she could. “Thank you so much Princess, you returning with more donations was beyond kind, choosing to stay and assist us, I’m not sure ‘thank you’ is enough.”

“It’s more than enough,” Daenerys contended. “Hopefully my schedule will allow me to visit you and the children here more often.” 

“They’d like that and so would I. You are always welcome here.” 

“I appreciate that.” And she did. She didn’t know if Rhaegar would allow her more frequent outings, but she could hope. She also knew Arya would be returning to Sunspear soon and that would likely limit the number of opportunities she had to spend her mornings like this. 

“May I ask a question Princess?”

“Of course, anything.” 

“Your friend, I do not recognize her. Who is she? I only ask because a number of the others have told me what a big help she was to them.” 

Daenerys grinned. “That sounds like Arya. She is my guard and my friend.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t aware… Oh, well please thank her for all of us.” 

“I will. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to spend a few minutes with the children before I have to go.”

“Of course,” the Septa said, stepping back and letting her pass. “I think they’d like that.”

“So would I.”

R-C

Arya stood off to the side watching Daenerys read to a group of orphans. She may have been looking at the Princess a little too intently, actively trying not to remember what the red dress was hiding. If she’d been more alert, she would have noticed the boy’s approach. “Is that a sword?”

He was about ten, with dark brown hair and matching eyes. “Yes, I’m Princess Daenerys’s guard.” 

“You’re a girl!”

“I am, and you’re a boy,” she retorted gently.

“Girls can’t be guards!” he said, his loud voice drawing the attention of some of his peers. 

Arya wasn’t sure how to respond. It was true that in this part of the Realm girls could not be guards, but in Dorne things were different. How could she explain that to a child? 

Luckily, she didn’t have to, a pair of girls who had been enjoying Daenerys’s storytelling got up and raced over, rushing to Arya’s defense. “Why not? Girls can do anything boys can, and they can do it better.”

“Yeah,” her friend chimed in. 

“They can not!” the male resisted. His face turned red as aggravation set in. 

“Princess Daenerys is a Targaryen,” one of the little girls explained logically, “I bet she gets the best guards. If she chose her, then she must be the best.” 

“You’re both right actually,” Daenerys said as she came to stand between the warring factions. She ruffled the boy’s hair. “Usually in King’s Landing guards are men, so you’re right.” 

“See!” he called as soon as his point had been validated. He went so far as to stick his tongue out at the girls opposite him. 

“But you two are also right,” Daenerys continued, addressing the females. “Arya is my guard and I chose her because she was the best out of hundreds of others.” 

All the children looked at the soldier with wonder. “Really?” the boy verified. “You?”

“How many were in your training with you?” Daenerys asked, though Arya was sure she remembered. 

“I was the only woman in a group of more than three hundred.”

“And you finished first?” one of the girls clarified, her voice filled with youthful awe. Arya guessed she would have sounded the same if she’d been given the chance to speak to an unfamiliar soldier, especially a woman, at that age. 

“Yes, in my final challenge I had to spar with a man who was bigger, stronger and faster. He beat me in every test we’d ever been given.” 

“What happened?” 

“He was tough, and he almost had me, but I won,” she recited fondly. 

“No wonder you picked her,” a girl with blonde hair said to Daenerys. 

“She’s a great guard,” Daenerys confirmed. “She’s kept me safe and become one of my dearest friends.” 

Arya was just about to thank Daenerys for averting a disaster when one of the girl’s asked a question that had the potential to destroy the fragile peace. “Can I be a guard too?”

The adults looked at one another. How could they respond? It wasn’t possible in the Crownlands, telling her otherwise would be a lie, but shattering her dreams felt worse. 

Daenerys squatted down to look the girl in the eye. “You can be whatever you want to be, a guard or a merchant, a wife and a mother. Just because someone tells you that you can’t do something doesn’t mean you have to listen.” 

“Okay,” she said, cheered by Daenerys’s encouragement. 

“You just keep practicing and working hard and one day, maybe I’ll make you my guard.” 

“I will, I will, thank you Princess!” she gushed. 

As they walked away Arya whispered. “That was kind of you. I would have loved to have heard that when I was young.” 

“You found a way, so can she.”

“She’s happy now,” Arya pointed out, “but when she’s older, she’ll learn the truth, that women aren’t allowed to take up arms here.” 

Daenerys looked back at the young girl they were discussing. “That may be the King’s law now, but by the time she’s old enough to begin her training, my father may not be King, and the rules may be different.” 

She almost reminded Daenerys that it was Rhaegar and not her who would lead after the Mad King, but she held her tongue. Who knows, maybe Rhaegar would be willing to permit women into the city guard. Stranger things had happened in Westeros. 

R-C

They were preparing to leave when Arya pulled her aside. Daenerys immediately assumed the worst. “Is something wrong?”

“I still have the gold you got from Tyrion, did you want to give it to the Septa or…”

The gold?! She’d forgotten all about it. “Yes, absolutely. We were talking about it when the kids started coming out of their rooms and we got distracted.”

“Understandable,” Arya supplied reaching under her cloak to produce the pouch of coins. 

The Septa was thanking Daenerys and Arya for a third time, when Daenerys was finally able to get a word in. “I have one more gift for you,” she began. “I imagine that few among you here have the time to tailor the donated clothes into items for the children, am I right?”

“That is true, but I’ve already spoken to a local seamstress. She’s going to come by in the next several days and is willing to give some of her time.” 

“That is very generous of her. Now you’ll be able to reward her properly for her kindness.” She held out the money for the older woman to take. “This should be enough to hire that seamstress and others like her to do the necessary work.” 

The Septa was at a loss. “Princess…” she said before trailing off. 

“If there are unforeseen expenses or if something comes up that requires attention, please come to the keep and make an appointment. I’ll do everything in my power to aid you in the good work you do here.” 

With tears in her eyes, the Septa replied. “Thank you, Princess, thank you so much. I’ll make sure all the children know who to thank for their new clothes.” 

Daenerys blushed and looked down. She wasn’t doing this for gratitude. “That’s not necessary. I’ll come back as soon as I can, but in the meantime, you take care of them, and yourself.” 

Holding the purse in both hands the Septa nodded. “We will, you be well Princess.” 

Outside the sun was much higher in the sky than the last time they’d seen it. “Not a bad way to start the morning eh?”

That was quite the understatement. “Not bad at all. Makes me wonder what’s next?”

Arya shrugged. “I have no idea, let’s go find out.” 

That was a tempting offer if Daenerys ever heard one. For the rest of the day, they didn’t have any plans, they could do as much or as little as they pleased. There was no schedule, no obligations, just pure freedom. Not knowing what was in store for them was exhilarating. Having Arya to share it with multiplied those feelings tenfold. With so much unknown there was one thing the Princess was certain of – today was a day she wouldn’t soon forget. 

R-C

They wandered without a clear destination in mind. The streets were much busier now, so they added themselves to the sea of people and just went along with the tide. That suited Arya fine. When she was permitted to leave the Water Gardens she’d often roam without purpose, just to see where she’d eventually end up. Given how many years Daenerys had been caged in the castle, she could hardly fault her for wanting to get lost in a crowd. 

As they turned down random streets, she kept a close eye on Daenerys’s face. She was smiling. Arya was no expert, but her expression appeared content. The guard hoped she was, she deserved it. 

They passed the sign in step with one another. She read the message hastily painted on a plank of wood and then disregarded it. Even if the sign was accurate and it was ‘Harvest Time’ that had nothing to do with her, she was no farmer. 

Daenerys’s squeal had her senses heightened. She reached her right arm across Daenerys’s body to stop her from going further, while her left went for the grip on her sword. She studied her environment for dangers but found none. None approaching appeared interested in them, no one avoided meeting her eye when she stared. Best she could tell, she was the only one in her immediate area that was armed. If there wasn’t a problem, why did Daenerys yell?

She kept her hand on her sword as she pivoted toward the Princess. “What’s wrong?” she asked, keeping one eye on the background. 

“Wrong,” she repeated, “nothing’s wrong. In fact, it just might be my lucky day.” 

The happiness in her voice reinforced what Arya’s eyes were telling her, there really was no threat. She took a deep breath and tried to order her body to relax. The hand that was keeping Daenerys in place dropped and she shifted her dominant hand off her weapon, though it didn’t go far. 

Next to her Daenerys was oblivious to Arya’s inner turmoil. She was up on the tips of her toes looking between the sign and the guard. Arya read the words a second time and still didn’t understand. “You wish to go?” she guessed after a delay. 

Daenerys squealed again, reaching for Arya’s hand. “Can we?”

She shrugged. “There are plenty of farms, I’m sure one of them would welcome some extra help.” As she said the words she wondered if the Princess was ill. Why would she, why would anyone want to labor on a farm during their first day of real freedom in Gods knew how long? 

Daenerys’s laugh was almost musical. The people who tired of waiting were beginning to walk around them. Some eyed them curiously, in an effort to comprehend why they suddenly stopped in the middle of the street. Arya empathized. She was wondering the same thing. “Not that kind of harvest. Do they not have Harvest Time in Dorne?”

“They do,” Arya assured her, “I took you past several farms when we were there.” 

Daenerys inched closer. “I remember,” she said looking up into Arya’s eyes, “but this Harvest Time is different, it’s a celebration.” 

Finally, things were beginning to clear up. “A celebration?”

She nodded with a widening smile. “I didn’t know it was happening now, I’d given up asking to go.” By the time she finished, she sounded sad for the first time since seeing the sign. Arya didn’t like it. 

The mystery of the shriek was solved. Arya also heard what Daenerys left unspoken. She wanted to go to this celebration, but was told ‘no’ probably by Aerys, Rhaegar or both. Well today they weren’t in charge, today Daenerys got to choose. “Harvest Time?” she suggested. 

Daenerys bit her lower lip as she hesitated. She studied the sign, then repeated her earlier question. “Can we?”

Arya chuckled, “Today Daenerys, we can do whatever the fuck we want.” 

Her arms raised like she was going to pull Arya in for one of her deceptively strong hugs, but she stopped short. Arya banished the disappointment she felt to the back of her mind. “We don’t have to stay for long,” Daenerys said quickly, actively working to temper her excitement. “I have always wanted to go but…”

For once, Arya initiated contact. She made the bold decision to take Daenerys’s hand instead of just laying it on her wrist. As soon as she did, Daenerys laced their fingers together. “We can stay for as long as you’d like.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?” 

She had no idea what Harvest Time would entail, but she’d survive. With a smirk on her lips she tried to set the Princess at ease. “I was going to take you to Harvest Time when I thought we’d spend the day in a field, I’m certainly not going to back out now that I know there will be drinking.” She waited until Daenerys was smiling and then confirmed, “There will be drinking right?”

That was all it took – Daenerys was in her arms. “Thank you so much, none of this would be possible without you.” 

Arya was careful when she slid her arm around Daenerys, brushing her fingers against her back. “Thank Rhaegar, he agreed.”

“I’ll thank him too,” Daenerys promised as they began moving again, “but he only said yes because you kept asking.” 

Unsure of what to say, Arya shifted the conversation to something she liked far more than praise. “So, drinks?”

Daenerys reclaimed her hand as soon as they separated, swinging it between them as they walked. “And games, and food, and dancing and music.”

“Where is it? Will we need our horses?”

“It’s not far, I don’t think. We could get the horses, but I wouldn’t mind walking.” 

Arya hoped the decision was made but Daenerys’s inclination to seek approval was deeply engrained. As a pre-emptive strike Arya agreed, “A walk sounds nice.” 

R-C

Her day was going great. She and Arya left early enough to avoid seeing Tywin, Rhaegar or Aerys and her visit to the orphanage was a huge success. Now she was on her way to Harvest Time, something she’d given up hope she’d ever get to experience. That she was doing it with Arya only made her appreciate it more. 

They walked in favor of horses and were passing the time by trading questions. They started out simple and meaningless, things like Daenerys’s favorite color, or Arya’s preferred style of armor. Before long, they were engaged in a deep discussion about real topics and Daenerys hung on Arya’s every word. While she tried to keep the conversation going, she also desperately wanted to ask the right questions, inquires that would allow her to learn significant things about her companion. 

Arya was finishing up a story in which Oberyn took all of his daughters and Arya hunting together. Daenerys laughed sincerely as she recounted the intense fight over who would hunt their dinner. The competition was so fierce Oberyn had to permit the older girls to hunt for themselves while he took the younger ones and taught them to track and kill a deer. No one starved that night, but insults were traded around the fire over the results. The bickering continued until Oberyn suggested the older girls spar to settle their differences. Naturally, they were eager and willing to settle their differences through combat. 

Daenerys had seen the eldest three fight during their matches with Arya, so it wasn’t difficult to imagine the scene being described. In addition to making her laugh and letting her feel closer to Arya, it also reinforced Oberyn’s message from before they left Sunspear, he really did consider Arya to be one of his daughters. He wouldn’t have included her in his father-daughter bonding trip if he didn’t. She was reminded of the promise she made the Prince that day and looking to Arya, she silently made the same pledge a second time. She wouldn’t let any harm come to her. Not because it would upset the Prince, but because it would destroy Daenerys. It would break her heart if something happened to Arya. 

The next question pulled her from her thoughts. “If you had a ship and could leave and go anywhere, where would you go?”

She took a moment to imagine it. To be free to do as she pleased, to have a ship under her and the wind in her hair, it sounded glorious. She liked the Daenerys her mind conjured up far more than the one she was within the Red Keep’s walls. “Everywhere,” she said simply. “I’d want to take Missandei back to her homeland, so she could see it again. She has only vague memories of it now.” A smirk curled her lip when she continued, “But we’d probably start in Dorne, my last guide told me there was still much I have yet to see.” 

Arya’s expression mirrored Daenerys’s and it had her heart speeding in her chest. “She sounds smart,” Arya quipped, “you should probably listen.”

“The smartest,” Daenerys confirmed, before she bit back a laugh. “I’d be a fool not to heed her advice.” 

Daenerys liked this, it felt natural, being with Arya, talking with her, not as Princess and guard or Targaryen and Sand, but two friends who enjoy each other’s company. They walked in a peaceful quiet for a few steps and then Daenerys realized it was her turn to ask something. Without consideration she took Arya’s question and sent it back. “Where would you go?”

She was watching a bird, so she only saw Arya’s pained expression briefly from the corner of her eye. “Home.” 

It had been the perfect day, so naturally Daenerys had to find a way to ruin it. How stupid did she have to be to ask Arya something like that? She hadn’t wanted to come to King’s Landing, she wanted to stay in Dorne. Her face felt redder than it ever had, and she welcomed the burn of the blush and the embarrassment that accompanied it. She’d truly earned both this time. “Arya,” she said, as she stopped walking. They’d been holding hands since Arya agreed to take her to the celebration, but she feared that was at an end. “I’m sorry that was beyond rude and I don’t really have an excuse other than to say I wasn’t thinking, and I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that is the poorest of poor excuses but it’s true and I’m truly sorry.” 

She stopped walking when Daenerys did but that was the extent of her concessions. She didn’t turn or speak, and Daenerys was beginning to worry she wasn’t breathing. Her grey eyes stared off into space and seemed empty, leaving Daenerys to contemplate what she was thinking, feeling, remembering or reliving. 

She had such high expectations for the day and now she’d gone and caused pain to the last person she wanted to hurt. Why couldn’t she behave normally, just once? Was it her Targaryen blood that poisoned every good thing in her life or was she just defective? 

When the silence ended, it wasn’t with a violent jerk to free her hand or harsh, angry words. Unshed tears were welled up in Arya’s gorgeous eyes and she smiled ever so slightly when she said, “If I had a home left, or a family, I’d go there.” 

Given that she started all this with her thoughtless, ignorant question it was plausible if not likely that Arya wouldn’t want to be close to her, but she couldn’t help herself. She wrapped Arya in an embrace. It was awkward and strained, though Arya didn’t complain. “I’m sorry Arya,” she whispered. As the hug progressed with no sign of stopping Daenerys wound her free arm around Arya’s neck. In response the taller, stronger, tougher woman brought Daenerys even closer. “Maybe you can,” she said after a prolonged quiet. “If you want to go back, to see it again, I’m sure we could.” 

She hadn’t meant to include herself in that, but like her stupid question, it was out before she could catch it and impossible to take back. Correcting herself now would only draw attention to her original statement. That, she decided, was worse than leaving it as it was. Besides Arya’s focus was on other things, she probably didn’t even notice. 

Time stood still as they did, just holding one another. Arya stepped back first, putting a very distinct space between them. 

She cleared her throat and looked away as Arya wiped under her eyes subtly. “That was careless of me and I’m sorry,” she said, hoping to convey the depths of her regret. 

“You did nothing wrong Daenerys,” Arya countered, fussing with the frayed edge of her cloak. “You asked a question, I answered it and then I started blubbering.” 

She didn’t really want to do this, get into an argument over who was at fault. Daenerys knew it was her. She should have been more considerate. “We can go if you no longer feel like attending a celebration,” she allowed. She’d be disappointed to miss it again but another year without getting to go seemed like a minimal price for her rudeness. 

“What? No! We aren’t leaving, I was promised drinks.” She sounded better, but Daenerys recognized a fake display of happiness when she heard one. 

“You don’t have to,” she insisted. “I wouldn’t blame you if I was the last person you wanted to spend your day with right now. We can return to the castle and I’ll ask Jorah to serve as my guard for the remainder of the day, longer if you need more time.” 

How had she let everything get so fucked up? After the night before and their near-kiss she had hoped the day would provide more opportunities for she and Arya to get closer, but she’d wrecked it before it began by being selfish and thoughtless. How many times had she thought herself better than Viserys, how many times had she looked down on him for the things he said and did? Too many to count surely and here she was behaving in a way he’d be proud of. It turned her stomach. 

She was preparing for all the negative responses she might get, so she was knocked off balance by the positive one. Arya reached for and took her hand, returning their fingers to the positions they’d been in before her question. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I am just not used to talking about them. It’s been a very long time since someone asked.” 

“I shouldn’t have…”

“If you didn’t, I probably wouldn’t have spoken about them to anyone for the remainder of the year.” She was more like herself when she stood a little straighter and said, “Pretending they don’t exist isn’t honoring their memories or appreciating their sacrifices.” 

Wow! Arya was constantly giving her reasons to be impressed. It began when she beat the bigger man in the dining hall, when she defied the King and refused his order to kill, when she grabbed Viserys’s arm to keep it from hitting her, those were just some of the many examples she had. Now there was one more. She stood there idiotically, marvelling at the strength in front of her. It was beyond beautiful. She had so many questions. She knew very little about what happened to Arya’s family, except to say they were gone. She knew Doran took her into his service at a young age and that she worked as a servant in the Water Gardens before training to become a soldier, but most of the details were missing. She really wanted to know, feeling in her bones that learning about Arya’s past would fill in many of the largest pieces of the puzzle, but she couldn’t ask, wouldn’t ask. If Arya ever told her about her family, she wanted it to be because Arya chose to let Daenerys know. 

She selected her words carefully, practicing in her mind first before setting them loose. “I think they’d be happy to know you’re thinking about them,” she said slowly, watching for any hint that her words were doing more harm than good. “Should the day come that you want to talk to someone about them, I’ll be here.” 

“Thank you.” 

She should have left it alone, but it upset her to think Arya didn’t really have anyone to share her burdens with. Daenerys could relate to that. Before Missandei, she’d been alone too. “It’s no one’s business but yours Arya. You don’t have to tell me or anyone else unless you want to, but if you do, I’ll listen.”

She cursed herself for not shutting up when she had the chance. The long seconds before Arya’s reply were painful. When it finally came it was the same two words, the same tone, the same sincerity. Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief. “What now?”

Arya’s attractive face provided a fraction of a smirk as warning before she said, “I believe it’s Harvest Time Princess.”

Daenerys chuckled and felt lighter. As Arya dragged her toward their destination Daenerys said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever God was watching over her. She’d made a stupid, careless mistake and somehow, she and Arya were still alright. The Targaryen had never felt quite so lucky. 

R-C

Not for the first time Daenerys found herself wishing she lived a different life, one with more friends, more experiences, more normalcy. She wasn’t asking for a lot, just enough to know how to help Arya now. 

It was clear that her guard opening up about her family was significant and traumatic. She wanted to ease her discomfort but didn’t know how. She had little practice reassuring someone she cared about and even less consoling them, regardless of how badly she wanted to. She stayed silent, too frightened of saying the wrong thing, to say anything at all. 

They added themselves to the masses and approached the border of the celebration. Daenerys wondered if she should change the plan. Would Arya prefer to go back to the castle? She probably didn’t feel like spending the next several hours in a festival. Even though she said it was fine, it didn’t feel that way to the Princess. It was a mercy that Arya didn’t hold a grudge, but Daenerys wasn’t quite ready to forgive herself. She had always wanted to attend Harvest Time, but for once it couldn’t be about her. She needed to put Arya first, to show her that she was cared for. 

Admittedly Daenerys didn’t have the best relationship with the majority of her family. Her father was distant and dismissive, Viserys was cruel and cold, she had no memories of her mother and it wasn’t uncommon for her to catch Rhaegar only pretending to listen when she spoke. She knew he loved her, so she was quick to forgive, but it hurt nonetheless. The Targaryen heir had a habit of getting lost in his thoughts, distracted by something he refused to share, whether it was the future, the present or the past, she didn’t know. Honestly, Aemon was the only one she didn’t need to make allowances for. He was kind, friendly, and treated her well. Their bond was real and the older she got, the more important her nephew became to her. Over time she developed a keen appreciation for their relationship, aware it was unlike any other in her life. 

Her family wasn’t the easiest group to like but Daenerys did love them, and she was grateful to have them. She couldn’t imagine how hard it had been for Arya, to lose all of her family, to have no choice but to grow up alone. She wanted her to know that she wasn’t on her own anymore. She had Daenerys and she could trust her. If that meant she had to skip Harvest Time for another year, or forever, then so be it. 

“We don’t have to stay,” she said without a preamble. She didn’t bother working her way to the larger point, she just threw It out there like a fool. 

They were passing the first booths, one selling fruit and the other wine. Arya turned to the Princess, confused. “What? Why? I thought you wanted to come here.”

“I did,” she admitted, deciding the truth was best, “but it’s not really important.” She was done, until she saw Arya’s thin lips part as she prepared to respond. “After everything, if you wanted to go somewhere else, do something else, or go back to the keep even, I’d understand.” 

When she understood Daenerys’s reasons Arya appeared more troubled instead of less. “No,” she ruled, “I told you I’m fine and we’re already here.”

Daenerys fully intended to make another argument, but the words died on her tongue when Arya marched ahead, leaving Daenerys to chase after her. Her heart was pounding but she didn’t think it was from the exertion or the speed. Apparently. Arya decided they might as well spend at least a few minutes at the festival. 

R-C

What was wrong with her? What was she thinking, bringing up her family in a casual conversation, and with Daenerys of all people? It was rare she discussed her former life with anyone. When it did happen, it was exclusively Oberyn she confided in. 

Now she was trying to prove she was fine, steering Daenerys along with the flows of people, past the food vendors and the merchants selling trinkets, toward the games, just waiting for something to catch her interest in the hopes it’d keep her brain from dwelling on the past. 

What would her father say if he could see her now? He’d be ashamed of her most likely. She had befriended a Targaryen and was opening up to her. She immediately rushed to Daenerys’s defense, even if only in the privacy of her mind. She arranged her thoughts into the arguments she would make, if she could actually see and speak to her father again. She’d try and make him understand what she did, that Daenerys was special. She wasn’t Aerys and she wasn’t Rhaegar, she cared about people, she cared about Arya. Wasn’t that what truly mattered? Wasn’t that more important than Daenerys’s relation to the Mad King and his raper son? 

Still in the process of coming to terms with her conflicted feelings, Arya was barely paying attention to the world around her, at least until Daenerys began veering to the left. She gave her head a violent shake to try and clear it. Arya loved her father and she always would, but he was gone, while she was left behind. She couldn’t live for him, the best she could do was to try and honor his memory while building a happy life for herself. It would probably upset Ned Stark to learn his daughter was friends with the Dragon Princess, but now was not the time to obsess over it. She could do battle with her father’s disappointment later, when she was alone. For now, she owed it to Daenerys to try and give her the best day possible, especially since she didn’t know when or if they’d be permitted to leave the Red Keep again. 

She forced her attention to the present and took note of the nearby merriment. The first thing she recognized was a boar roasting on a spit. “Hungry?” she asked her companion, hoping to restart their conversation and push Arya’s moment of weakness to a forgotten, distant memory. 

R-C

She declined when it was suggested they leave. She said she was fine, but Daenerys knew better than to believe that. She felt she understood her guard fairly well and she knew that ‘fine’ was what Arya said when she wanted to deflect from how she was really feeling. Hearing that Arya was fine was the fastest way to convince Daenerys the opposite was closer to the truth. 

For a very long five minutes, as they strolled through Harvest Time, neither woman said anything. As the silence persisted, so did Daenerys’s concern. She was trying to choose the best way to broach the subject of leaving when Arya looked at her with eyes of melting steel and asked if she was hungry. She wasn’t, food was the last thing on her mind, but if Arya wanted to eat, then they would. “Sure, but you’ll have to share with me.” 

“Agreed,” Arya said, gifting Daenerys with a smile. It was tense and gone almost immediately but Daenerys saw it and knew Arya was trying. 

She smiled back at her friend, holding the gesture for much longer than Arya did. “Alright then, what are we having? Everything smells so good.” It was a slight exaggeration maybe, but not an outright lie. It did smell good and she could probably take a bite or two before leaving the rest for Arya. She was making an effort, so Daenerys could too. 

R-C

By the time she threw away the paper wrapping from their snack, things were much more natural. She’d successfully contained her feelings and the tension from her unguarded admissions about her family was beginning to dull. The embarrassment she felt exposing her secrets to Daenerys would take longer to forget, but she hoped that alone wouldn’t taint their day. 

When she heard a loud voice calling out to her over all the others, Arya saw another opportunity to correct her earlier mistake. “Games!” a man yelled. She slowed her steps slightly and waited to see if she could interest Daenerys in a little sport. 

“Games,” the man yelled again, “win gold and prizes!” Standing several feet closer this time, in the center of a large crowd she noticed Daenerys lifting up onto her toes, as she tried to peek over all those who were taller.

Arya smirked. She wouldn’t have guessed that Daenerys would be interested in childish games for cheap prizes but at least she wasn’t trying to get them to leave anymore. Even if Arya didn’t have plenty of practice overcoming her past, the last place she’d want to go today was the Red Keep, especially given what she knew was happening there. So far, she’d managed to avoid the King and his madness, but Arya knew better than to tempt fate too directly. “Want to play a game?” 

“What game?” she asked, following Arya’s eyeline to find the right one. She doubted the Princess could see with so many people obstructing her view. 

“Want me to give you a boost?” Arya teased without bothering to hide her amusement. 

She slapped her guard in the arm but couldn’t maintain her disgruntled pose. In short order a smile broke through. “Don’t you dare, it’s bad enough I get confused for a child, I don’t need you drawing attention to it.” 

She was prepared for more jokes, but Arya’s stare turned intense instead and her tone shifted to something deathly serious. “You may be short, but no one would mistake you for a child.”

R-C

Her blood heated more than usual in response to the unexpected compliment. She looked away from Arya’s face and studied the dirt under her feet. Before she recovered enough to reply, Arya had her hand in hers again and they were going. 

Where they’d end up or why was insignificant. All Daenerys could focus on was Arya’s comment. Did she mean that in the way Daenerys hoped she did? She wanted to think Arya meant she was all women despite her height, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. She was attracted to Arya and it wouldn’t be beyond her to read into every word to find proof that Arya felt the same way. 

Arya cut through the crowds easily, using a glare, a polite ‘excuse us’ or in one instance a hard shove to clear space for her and Daenerys to slip by. 

When they stopped, they were in front of a stall where a lone middle-aged man worked.

The game was set up in such a way it reminded Daenerys of an alley. A wooden plank that served as a counter prevented the participants from getting too close. At the other end of was a purposefully arranged pyramid of bottles. It didn’t take a scholar to realize the point of the game. 

Arya said nothing as she produced a few coins and laid them out. The man swept them off the wood and tucked them away before he bent down and picked up three leather balls. They were small but hard-looking. He set them in front of Arya and nodded to the bottles. 

When the guard picked up the first ball and tested its weight by throwing it into her air and catching it, Daenerys took half a step back to provide her more room. She’d never seen Arya throw anything, but she didn’t think the bottles stood a chance. 

“Knock down five or more and you get a prize,” the man told her. “Knock down all the bottles and you get to pick from our special items and claim a bonus paid in gold dragons.” 

Arya nodded to confirm she understood and then just when Daenerys thought she’d finally release a toss, she turned, extending her arm and the ball to Daenerys. “Five bottles, think you can do it?” 

Wait! Was she serious? Arya wanted her to throw? “Um…”

She moved closer and physically placed the ball in Daenerys’s palm. “I think you can do it.” 

“Are you sure?” She glanced at the bottles and then back at her friend. “Arya, I’ve never…”

“Just try,” she encouraged, coming closer and lowering her voice so they could speak privately. “We didn’t come over here so I could throw a ball, I’ve done it before.” 

Her anxiety was temporarily dwarfed by the sweetness of the moment. She knew now why they were doing this, it was so Daenerys could try something she’d never been allowed to before. She wanted to thank her, but before she could, Arya gave her a gentle push toward the counter. “Go on, you can do it.” 

She had her doubts but regardless of success or failure, she wanted to try. She did her best to recall all the times she’d seen items being thrown about, trying to break down the act into something she could emulate. When she was confident in her approach, she pulled her arm back and tried to launch the ball with as much power as possible. 

Pride was her primary emotion as she released the ball and watched it arc toward the bottles. What had started with so much promise faded rapidly as the ball dropped abruptly less than foot in front of the pyramid. There was snickering coming from both sides. She ignored the man running the game, choosing instead to face Arya and apologize for wasting her money. Her apology died on the vine, because Arya wasn’t the one laughing at her, it must have been someone else, further back. The guilty party was likely the man Arya was glaring daggers at. 

She noticed Daenerys looking at her and stepped up. “That wasn’t bad for a first shot,” she lied. 

“You don’t have to say that, Arya.”

“Try again, you’ve still got two more,” she reminded the dejected Princess. 

“I can’t do it,” she acknowledged, wishing she had her earlier confidence back. 

“You can,” Arya disagreed. “Use your whole body this time, not just your arm.”

“What?” she couldn’t help but ask. How could she throw with anything more than her arm? 

“I’ll show you.” Together they walked up to the counter and Arya handed her the second ball. Once she had it. Arya slipped in behind her. She shivered when she felt Arya’s body against her back. The sensation of Arya’s rough hands on her hips, altering her stance, had her biting down on her lip to keep from saying or doing something inappropriate. It was easier to think without Arya touching her, but Daenerys wouldn’t complain no matter how long they stayed. A foggy brain seemed like a fair price for having Arya so close. “Show me how you’d throw,” Arya directed. 

Daenerys pulled her arm back as she’d done the last time and Arya reached out to correct the motion. Before she could the man objected. “No, no help, she has to do it on her own or not at all.” 

Daenerys planned to obey but Arya wasn’t as repentant. “Shut your mouth!” she demanded. 

“My game, my rules. You paid for three balls and one thrower.”

With a sigh Arya retrieved more coins from her purse and set them down. “Happy now?” she asked him sarcastically. 

Daenerys was stunned. “Arya don’t,” she hissed, “it’s not worth wasting all your money.” 

She shook her head, dismissing Daenerys’s point and then returning her attention to the bottles. “Okay, this time I’ll guide your arm, you just hang on to the ball and then let it go when your arm’s coming forward, okay?”

“Okay.” She fixed Daenerys’s posture and then guided her arm through the act of throwing. She released the ball just an instant late, too distracted by Arya to remember her one job within their conspiracy. 

Her delay aside the ball soared through the air with real velocity this time. Daenerys watched it, mesmerised, unable to comprehend how that could have come from her. There was a clanging when the ball hit the bottles, knocking several of them out of their original positions. In the end only one fell off the table and qualified as a hit. The man running things probably thought she was mad when she squealed in excitement and dove onto Arya for a hug. “I did it!”

“You did,” Arya confirmed squeezing her, “and that is how you throw with your whole body.” 

She’d forgotten about her third ball until Arya retreated and retrieved it for her. Surprised that Arya didn’t fall into place behind her, she looked further back. “You aren’t going to…”

“You don’t need me, you can do it.”

She didn’t think so. She’d only knocked down one bottle so far. She’d need four more on her last throw to win. “Any advice?”

“Aim for the bottom row,” Arya advised. “If you knock out those ones, all the bottles above them will fall too.” 

Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that? She took a moment to try and select the most vulnerable bottles, lining herself up to strike there. She closed her eyes and pretended Arya was behind her again, adjusting herself as Arya might. Then she opened her eyes and threw the last ball with all the strength she had. 

She held her breath until the ball hit the exact bottle she was aiming for. It was a little higher than she intended, but a hit was a hit. She watched as the bottle was pushed clear off the table, causing the whole pyramid to crumble. As it fell, Daenerys waited to see how many additional bottles might spill over. Before she could, Arya was there with another hug and more heartfelt congratulations. “I knew you could do it!”

They parted when the game-master yelled her results from the other end. “Four knocked down!”

She was a little disappointed to have gotten so close, but it didn’t erase the smile on her face or the memory of Arya holding her. Even if she didn’t get a prize, it was still wonderful. 

“Thank you, Arya,” she said, watching from the corner of her eye as the man reset the bottles. “That was great.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Worth the wait?” 

“Definitely!” She couldn’t believe she’d never played such a simple game before. “It was exciting.” 

They didn’t go back the way they came, rather Arya stepped up to the counter and laid out the coins for another try. 

“What are you doing?” Daenerys whispered as she hurried to the counter and tried to cover the coins with her hand before the greedy man could see them. 

“I think you’ll win this time,” Arya explained. 

“No, Arya that’s madness, I wanted to try, and I did, but you’ll go poor if you keep paying until I win.”

“I don’t think so,” she disagreed, “you got four bottles down in only two throws last time. You’ll keep getting better.”

The man was back, and the bottles were ready. He gathered his money, working around Daenerys’s fingers without comment. “Who’s throwing?” he asked them. 

Arya looked to Daenerys. “She is.”

The ass snickered again, louder and more openly then after her first throw. “Whatever you say, it’s your gold.” 

Since they arrived Daenerys had appreciated the fact that no one recognized her. None of these people were the sort to frequent the Red Keep, and because she was often confined, there wasn’t a lot of opportunities for common folk to meet her. She was tempted to tell him who she was, just to wipe the smirk off his face, but she knew that was a bell she couldn’t unring. Once word spread that Daenerys Targaryen was at Harvest Time, they’d need to leave to avoid being swarmed. 

Arya turned her, gripping her upper arms while staring straight into violet eyes. “Don’t listen to him,” she said, making no effort to control her volume. “He’s a fool who thinks what he’s got between his legs makes him better than you. Prove him wrong.” 

Not only did she agree with Arya’s assessment of the man, there was something empowering about hearing Arya say it so plainly, loud enough to be overheard by the smug idiot. She wanted nothing more right then than to fulfill Arya’s instructions and win a prize to put a permanent end to his arrogant remarks. 

When she was ready to accept the first ball she noticed that the man wasn’t looking at her, or his game, he was watching Arya with poorly concealed rage. 

Building on the lessons she received from Arya, Daenerys’s first throw went for the base of pyramid. She knocked over a large section of the structure, but only one bottle was struck with enough force to leave the table. 

Her second throw was better. With so many already close to the edge Daenerys’s ball knocked three bottles onto the ground beside the first. 

Before her third throw, Arya was there with reassurance. “One throw, one bottle left,”

Although she knew the score, having Arya accurately state the situation did nothing to calm her nerves. “I’m sorry in advance for all the money you spent.” She was trying to lighten the mood while secretly hoping to prepare Arya for disappointment in the event she failed. 

The guard wasn’t having it. “Stop. You are a warrior, a Dragon, you can do this, you will do this.” When she didn’t look properly motivated, Arya pressed on. “Close your eyes, imagine that prick having to let you choose a prize, imagine him forced to congratulate you on your victory, do you want that?” 

“Yes,” she confessed quietly. She’d never won anything before, not really. Everything she had was given to her because she was a Targaryen or a Princess. This was different. If she won this game, it’d be because she succeeded using the same rules as everyone else. She knew if she could somehow manage to knock one more bottle off the table, she’d have a real accomplishment, perhaps her first. 

She took an extra few seconds, once again deciding the most opportune place to aim. Then she needed a moment to calm her heart. When she was as relaxed as was likely, she threw the ball as hard as she could. 

While it was still in the air Arya was already clapping and cheering, as if she knew what the outcome would be. Daenerys held her breath and chanted, “Please, please, please” inside her head as the ball made contact. She was no expert, but it seemed her last throw was her best. It was by far the most natural she felt since she began. 

When not one, but three more bottles fell from the table Daenerys couldn’t believe her eyes. She turned to Arya for confirmation and Dorinshwoman hugged her again, bathing her in more praise and affection. Her smile was so wide her cheeks hurt and yet she was struck by how right it was, being in Arya’s arms. She could get used to this. After she’d sufficiently complimented Daenerys’s bottle-knocking abilities, Arya’s demeanor changed. “Told you so,” she teased, making Daenerys laugh. 

She really had. Not only had she paid for Daenerys to play the game more than once, she provided the help and support needed to ensure success. Awash with pride and countless other positive feelings, she remembered that without Arya she wouldn’t have any of this. 

R-C

“We have a winner,” the man running the game announced without enthusiasm. 

Arya stayed back and enjoyed the way he had to bring his chest of prizes to Daenerys and make them available to her. They were junk really, certainly nothing befitting a Princess, but if the look on Daenerys’s face was any indication, she didn’t care. 

As she searched for a suitable reward, Arya was more than a little curious about what she’d choose. She moved closer so she could peek over Daenerys’s shoulder and see. 

She picked up a few items to admire them in the light before setting them back where she found them. Not surprisingly there was a large amount of poorly made, dragon items. She guessed the prizes were either crafted or purchased before each stop, to ensure they had enough Golden Suns when in Sunspear, enough Roses in the Reach or in this case enough Dragons in the Crownlands. 

She didn’t think Daenerys would choose anything with a dragon on it, especially since she had no shortage of dragon pendants, dragon bracelets, dragon chains, dragon pins, and pretty much dragon everything else back at the keep. 

When she finally selected something, it was one of the simpler pieces. A thin square of copper with a flying dragon stamped on it. “I’ll take this one,” she said, cradling it carefully in her hands so not to damage it. 

It annoyed her that Daenerys had chosen the last thing Arya would have predicted. Just when she thought she was getting better at understanding her. She couldn’t resist asking, “Don’t have enough dragons at home Princess?”

The last word caught the man’s attention. “Pr…Princess?” he stammered weakly. He looked at the silver haired woman with new eyes and came to a very different conclusion about the kind of woman she was. “By the Gods, you’re…” As he spoke, he was looking around, probably for a member of the Kingsguard or some other clue that would confirm his suspicions. 

Daenerys gave him a tight smile but didn’t say anything. 

“Ready to go?” Arya wondered. 

Daenerys nodded, reverting back to the meek young woman she became when faced with an authority figure. 

“Oh Princess, no, you can’t take such a prize. Allow me to show you our special stock, I’m sure you’ll find something there more to your liking.” The man was struggling to repair Daenerys’s opinion of him. Arya didn’t think it would work, but she’d been wrong before. 

“No, I don’t want anything I didn’t earn. Thank you, Ser,” she said formally, “have a fine day.” 

He wasn’t prepared to let her go. “Please Princess,” he said, sounding almost frantic, “please tell the King how pleased we are that he allowed his daughter to visit us here. Thank you for gracing my humble game with your presence and I’ll tell others of your victory.” 

Arya wanted to roll her eyes. He was trying too hard. When she was just a common woman who thought herself capable of trying his game, she wasn’t deserving of his time or courtesy. Now that her father was the Mad King, he was desperately trying to leave her with a favorable impression. 

“Time to go,” Daenerys whispered. Arya couldn’t argue with that. She could feel the stares and hear the whispers. Word was already spreading that Daenerys was near. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Another chapter finished. It had a lot, watching the sunrise, feeding some orphans, a little bump in the road when Daenerys stuck her foot in her mouth and couldn’t forgive herself, and then finally her success toppling a pyramid of bottles. I liked it, but I’m curious what everyone else thinks. 
> 
> I hope this lived up to the expectations. I know people have been waiting to see Daenerys and Arya explore the city together for a while. A little more next time, before they’re back to the keep. 
> 
> I’ll see you all then. 
> 
> RC


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I’m posting this a few days early as a thank you to all the people who are reading, liking and commenting. I appreciate it. 
> 
> RC

Back inside the walls of King’s Landing, Daenerys was still basking in the glow of her victory. It had been more than an hour since they left Harvest Time with their winnings, but she couldn’t stop talking about it. 

“That was incredible. I mean I always wondered what it would be like, but wow. I wasn’t expecting all that.” -

“You did good.” 

“Thank you for taking me there, I’ll never be able to repay you.” 

“You don’t have to repay me. I had a good time too.” 

Daenerys watched her face closely for any sign that she was exaggerating, but she didn’t see any. “All the money the treasury has, all the space in the yards, and the Red Keep has nothing like that, it’s such a shame.” 

“Most nobles wouldn’t consider throwing balls at bottles fun, it’s more of a smallfolk pastime.”

“Then I think I prefer smallfolk to nobles,” she admitted in a moment of unguarded honesty. 

“Me too.” She chuckled darkly. “Did you see that prick’s face when I called you ‘Princess.’”

Daenerys laughed too, but it was a little less authentic. “I’m glad I got to prove him wrong,” she began, “but I hate when they do that.” 

“Do what?”

She took a moment to collect her thoughts, to decide how she would try and explain. “When they act different. When I was just a random woman, he was mocking me, but as soon as he realized I was a Targaryen, he was apologetic and considerate.”

“He was an ass,” Arya said simply, as if maybe that really was the long and the short of it. 

She laughed again, for real this time. “He was, I just don’t like how people become afraid when they learn…” She trailed off, not wanting to actually finish the sentence. She trusted Arya would understand what was being left unsaid. 

“I told you the night we met you aren’t responsible for your family’s behavior. Strangers might fear you when they learn who you are, but it’s different for people who know you.”

She hoped Arya was right, but the game-master’s abrupt change unsettled her, making her wary. “Is it? You can’t know how other people feel.”

She wasn’t trying to be difficult, she just worried that there would be one more person telling their family and friends a story about their run-in with a Targaryen tonight. She didn’t like being included with the rest when commoners spoke of the royals. 

“I know how I felt,” Arya justified. “Your father was going to kill me, if anyone had a reason to be a little upset, it was me.” 

She was afraid to hear the answer, but she asked the question anyway. “Why didn’t you blame me?”

“Because I saw your face when your father ordered me to kill, you didn’t want to be there anymore than I did. I didn’t have a choice and after I met you, I realized that you didn’t either, not really.” 

“I wanted to stop it,” she admitted, “I hated it.” 

“You did stop it,” Arya said, laying a calloused hand on her smooth arm. “You saved me that night, because it was the right thing to do. Most wouldn’t have, but you did, that’s how I know you’re different.”

Daenerys set her hand over Arya’s trapping it against her forearm. “Thank you, it’s nice to be reminded of that from time to time.” 

“That’s what I’m here for Princess.”

R-C

Bells were ringing to mark the hour. Daenerys and Arya had been wandering the city at random, laughing and talking. Aside from Daenerys ducking into a couple of shops to make quick purchases, they didn’t have a plan. 

They stopped walking and glanced toward the bell. “Do we need to head back?” she asked, assuming they’d be expected at dinner. 

“Not tonight. Your brother said business will keep he and the King late, so we are free to remain where we choose.” 

“Really?” She felt like she was going to overflow with excitement. This whole day had been amazing. The orphanage, being with Arya, Harvest Time, and now she didn’t even need to rush back. . 

“You did tell me you wanted to see the city after dark, didn’t you?” Arya questioned gently, already aware it was true. 

She thought back to their conversation. “Wait, you knew when I told you that, that we would get the chance.” 

Arya shrugged. “As always it’s up to you. We can go to the keep for dinner if you like. I’m sure they’ll have enough food for us.”

Daenerys enjoyed this, having someone in her life who could joke with her, who didn’t shy away from the difficult things. “And if I choose not to return?” she wondered, unsure if Arya had something specific in mind. 

“Well, in that case I guess I’ll have to find you something to eat. I can’t let you starve they’d never let me guard anyone ever again.” 

She said it with such conviction that Daenerys almost forgot Arya didn’t especially want to be a guard. “What a burden that would be for you. I’d hate to taint your future like that.”

Arya’s serious expression didn’t crack. “Very kind of you, I’ll be forever grateful.” 

It was Daenerys who laughed first, unable to hold back, but to her delight, Arya joined in almost immediately. “Can we walk around a while more, I’m having fun.”

“Sure.” 

That is what they were doing when the bell tolled again. Why was ringing if not to signify the time? They got their answer, gruesome as it was. In the distance, past the bell was the keep. Nothing appeared amiss until Daenerys spotted the distinct green clouds billowing up into the darkening sky. She hung her head and the smile she’d been wearing most of the day disappeared. “By the Gods,” she gasped as thick columns of smoke continued to rise. 

“Are you okay?” Arya asked her, resting a comforting hand on her back. 

She wasn’t. He was killing people. That’s why Rhaegar had let Arya and Daenerys leave, it’s why she didn’t have to attend dinner. All the things she enjoyed about the day were purchased with a life. She didn’t know who or why, she didn’t know if they were guilty or innocent, but it didn’t really matter, not to her and not to Aerys. If her father didn’t have enough guilty men to burn, he’d find innocent ones to fill the void. He just wanted death. Daenerys’s opinion was the opposite. She didn’t care who had done what or how vile they were, she’d tired of it. The occasional execution could be tolerated and understood, but that wasn’t what this was. Didn’t anyone in the castle realize there were other forms of punishment that didn’t include indiscriminate murder. Since Arya was still waiting for a response, Daenerys blinked back tears and tried to provide one. “Y…yeah, I’ll be okay.” She hoped she wasn’t lying. 

“If you don’t want to stay, I’d understand.” 

Honestly, Daenerys’s mood had sharply declined, and she didn’t feel much like enjoying the remainder of the day, but her only alternative was to return to the keep, the same place where the stench of charred flesh would be thick in the air for days. “Can we keep walking?” she asked, hating how fragile she sounded. No one would mistake her for a Dragon now. 

As if she understood all of the reasons why Daenerys wanted to keep moving, Arya took her hand and led her down the nearest side street, carrying the only Targaryen Princess away from the evidence of her father’s madness. 

R-C

The first few minutes after they saw the plumes of green smoke, Arya feared Daenerys was lost to her. She was staring straight ahead without seeing and didn’t acknowledge multiple attempts by the guard to engage her in conversation. Not for the first time, it became evident that she wasn’t equipped to handle the Princess’s emotions. She scoured her mind for a safe topic they could discuss, for something, anything that might take her mind off the King’s murderous acts. When she finally found something with a reasonable chance of success, she was so eager to get started that she didn’t ease into the conversation as she should’ve. 

“Tell me about the ship!” she all but begged. 

Daenerys turned her head in Arya’s direction and raised a thin eyebrow. “What?”

“The ship you want to own one day, the one you want to build, tell me about it. How big will it be?”

The intervening seconds were some of the longest in Arya’s life and that was saying something. When Daenerys looked more confused than intrigued, Arya provided what she hoped was a reassuring nod. “You promised you’d tell me about the ship you wanted.” 

For the first time since the Mad King murdered one of his subjects, Daenerys cracked a smile. “I remember.” 

Far from an expert, Arya considered this progress. “So how big?” she tried again. 

“Big enough to see the distant corners of the world, but small enough that I wouldn’t need dozens of crewmen to help sail it.”

Help sail it, so Daenerys planned to do more than just sit back and allow someone else to sail her ship. That made sense. Although she knew exactly what Daenerys had in mind, she posed another question, just to keep her focus on the future and not the past. “So as big as the ship we took from Dorne, then?”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, no, smaller than that. That ship was much too big.” She paused briefly and then clarified her opinion. “Ternesio’s ship was the perfect size.” 

With a hand on the small of her back Arya nudged her to the right, to avoid an approaching trio of drunks. “What about the sail?” she asked. “Do you want to sail under the three headed dragon?”

“No, when I’m out there, I don’t want to be Daenerys Targaryen , daughter of the King, I just want to be Daenerys.” 

Having spent enough time with Daenerys the Princess, Arya could understand why she wanted something separate, something of her own, untouched by the throne, her blood or her title. “Out there you wouldn’t just be Daenerys,” Arya noted, “you’d be Captain Daenerys.”

A slow, easy smile spread across her face. “Captain Daenerys,” she repeated, testing it out. 

“What about the crew? Who would you trust enough to let sail your ship?”

When she stopped without cause, Arya feared she had unintentionally brought about a return of Daenerys’s sombre mood, but instead of frowning the Princess just said, “I was hoping you’d be available.” 

Standing there stunned, it took a moment or two for Arya’s mind to connect the response to the prior question. Daenerys wanted her to be there? It was strange, the way she thought she’d feel was not how she actually did. She expected to be enraged that another Targaryen was trying to keep her from realizing her dreams. From the moment she was given to Daenerys and ordered to serve as her guard, Arya had been counting the days until she could return to Sunspear and take her rightful place in the army. That’s what she wanted, or it’s what she thought she wanted. Now she was imagining a life with Daenerys, aboard a ship, sailing across the vast open water, going in whatever direction the winds or fate propelled them. She remembered her trip to Essos with Oberyn and all the meaningful memories she made. She guessed that travelling with Daenerys would be much the same, and that had her intrigued. It was unlikely that Daenerys would ever get a ship of her own, or the freedom to use it, but Arya still caught herself hoping that if that day came that they’d get to experience it together. “We’ll need more than just me and you to sail a ship that big,” she pointed out. 

“We won’t be alone,” Daenerys assured her. “Missandei will be with us, and if she comes then Grey Worm will too. If he comes, his men will follow.” 

Arya assumed it was idle fantasy they were discussing but by her tone alone she could tell Daenerys had given this a lot of thought. For the first time since the Mad King summoned her, and definitely for the first time since reaching King’s Landing Arya wasn’t in a rush for the wedding between Viserys and Eliza. If some unforeseen disaster delayed things and forced the Martells and the Targaryens to postpone, she for one wouldn’t be cursing the Gods. 

R-C

After an hour of aimless walking, chatting about the ship of Daenerys’s dreams, Arya was confident she would be okay. She was relaxed and engaged, talking fast, waving her hands in wild gestures to emphasize her points. It was a marked improvement when compared to the woman who was distraught at the sight of dark green clouds and everything they represented. 

Arya was just about to propose they find a place to eat when a familiar set of dark, bouncy curls caught her attention. Missandei had decided to return after all, just as she said she would. She and Grey Worm were hand-in-hand, talking quietly and rarely looking away from one another. It was chance that had them approaching Arya and Daenerys. She stopped walking and decided to wait, wanting to surprise Daenerys with an unexpected reunion. She’d wager Missandei’s return would improve Daenerys’s mood in a way Arya hadn’t been able to. 

The Princess looked at her quizzically when she stopped without warning. “What’s wrong?” she asked, assuming the worst. 

“Nothing’s wrong, I actually have a surprise for you.” 

“A surpr…” she stopped, and her nose scrunched as she tried to make sense of things. She studied the guard closely. “How is that possible? I’ve been with you all day.” 

She wanted to peek, to make sure Missandei and Grey Worm were still on the same course, but she was afraid if she did, Daenerys would notice and realize what was happening. 

“What is it?” Daenerys pressed when Arya wasn’t forthcoming. 

She strategically placed herself in Daenerys’s path, blocking her view of Missandei’s approach. “Have patience Princess,” she teased, knowing the use of her title would only annoy her further, “all you have to do is stand here and wait.” 

“Wait for what?”

“Daenerys?” Missandei called when she spotted her friends. “Is that you?” 

Arya stepped to the side and revealed the handmaiden and her lover. Her choice to surprise Daenerys with Missandei’s presence proved a good one. A hand moved to cover her mouth but stopped before reaching its destination. “Missandei, by the Gods, what are you doing here?”

The friends hugged and Grey Worm and Arya both stood back and watched with matching expressions. “We were on our way back to the keep,” she explained. 

Daenerys released Missandei and then moved on to Grey Worm. When the reunion was done, she pinned Arya with an intense stare. “How did you know she’d be there?”

“I didn’t, I just saw her coming and guessed you’d appreciate the surprise.” 

Her eyes made clear how grateful she was. “Thank you,” she said sincerely before dedicating her focus to Missandei. “How was your trip? Where did you go? Did you have a nice time?” 

She didn’t want to interrupt but having this conversation in the middle of a busy street didn’t seem like a great idea. “I was just about to suggest to Daenerys that we find a place to have dinner, would you and Grey Worm like to join us? I’m sure after two days spent with just me, Daenerys is more than ready for someone else’s company.” 

While Missandei and Grey Worm communicated wordlessly about the offer Daenerys put a warm hand on Arya’s wrist. “I could never tire of you,” she said passionately, “ever.” 

Unsure of how to respond to that comment, Arya was relieved when Missandei spoke. “We would love to join you, if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind us intruding.”

“Of course not,” Arya assured her. 

“You still have to tell us where you went and what you did on your trip!” Daenerys added, breaking her contact with Arya so she was free to grip Missandei’s hand. 

The soldiers shared a knowing look, which Arya punctuated with a roll of her eyes. They walked behind the two excited friends, listening to the fast-talking women in front. As she kept a look out for a place to eat, Arya couldn’t help wondering how this had become her life? She was going to dinner with friends. Not too long ago, such a circumstance would have been unfathomable to her. A lot had changed since the night she was called before the Mad King and forced to fight. 

R-C

Spirits were high as the foursome entered the keep well after sunset. Missandei and Daenerys were walking hand in hand, whispering in what Arya could only assume was some dialect of Valyrian. The guard and the commander were a full two steps behind. It amused Arya the way Daenerys and her handmaiden discussed their time apart. If she hadn’t known better, she would have assumed the separation was months if not years instead of only days. 

Although he surely understood what was being said, Grey Worm remained stoic and contributed nothing to the conversation. Like Arya he seemed content to blend into the background. Some she met would bristle at not being the center of attention. Many others wouldn’t want their lover to be distracted by anyone but him, Grey Worm was bothered by neither of these circumstances. He appeared accepting of Missandei’s friendship to the Princess and the visible affection between them. While they most often walked in amicable silence, occasionally one of them would ask a question of the other, usually about weapons, tactics or combat. They were in the midst of comparing the methods with which they were taught the spear when the women in front of them stopped suddenly. 

The warriors halted their discussion, and each took a purposeful stride forward. Narrowed eyes searched for danger but found none. There wasn’t a threat, but it was also no mystery what had stopped Daenerys in her tracks. 

There up ahead, at the other end of the long corridor they were walking, was a collection of familiar faces. They appeared to be locked in a heated exchange of some kind. it was Aerys, with Rhaegar, Selmy, Tywin, his three children and one man Arya didn’t know. She intended to ask the identity of the last man but before she could she noticed the far away look that had taken up residence in Daenerys’s eyes. She hurried to the Princess’s side and touched her shoulder. “Should we use another gate?” she wondered. If there was a mercy to their situation it was that the group down the hall was too busy with whatever was going on to notice their approach. “It’s not too late to slip back out, they’ll never know.” 

Daenerys looked tempted, but it didn’t last. With a surge of determination, she squared her shoulders, raised her head and marched forward, leading the other three toward the collection of Targaryens and Lannisters. “No,” Daenerys said when it was already clear she’d made up her mind, “I refuse to scurry and hide, this is my home too.” 

More than a little impressed, Arya glanced to the side and saw Missandei smiling proudly. “Yes, it is,” the handmaiden agreed. 

As they got closer it became easier for Arya to make an educated guess about what they were witnessing. Cersei was standing next to Rhaegar and though he was expertly avoiding meeting her gaze, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him for long. 

The Prince was more interested in the back and forth between the King and his Hand. Even when they were still too far away to hear the exact words, it was clear Rhaegar had an opinion about whatever Aerys and Tywin were debating. 

The knight said nothing, but stayed close to Rhaegar, watching and waiting to be use. It was as if he expected the cane to crumble and the Prince to fall at any moment. 

Opposite Barristan were Tywin’s sons. If most seemed angry or annoyed to varying degrees, that didn’t apply to Tyrion. The Master of the Coin stood next to his Kingsguard brother, grinning as his eyes bounced from face to face. He seemed particularly interested in his sister’s reaction and that of Daenerys’s brother. 

If Tyrion was getting some joy out of any of this, the same could not be said for Jaime. The elder Lannister male looked livid. His sole focus appeared to be catching his sister’s eye and conveying some sort of message. 

The final man, the one Arya didn’t know was a short, fat man wearing a faded green cloak. He had unkept hair the color of rust and dark, beady eyes. Unlike the agitated Lions and Dragons this man was the picture of calm. In fact, he looked utterly bored. 

The knight charged with Rhaegar’s safety was the first to notice them. He pointed it out to the Prince and Rhaegar seemed only too happy to make his escape. “Dany!” he shouted dramatically, moving as quickly as he could on damaged legs.. 

As he limped away, Barristan went with him. Cersei scoffed and rolled her eyes, grumbling under her breath. Once the space next to her was empty Jaime rushed to fill it. 

Arya who had moved up to walk at Daenerys’s side, fell back as they neared the Prince. “How was your day?” he asked as they embraced. Daenerys snaked both arms around him, while he cradled her gently with only one of his. 

“Great!” Arya heard her reply, she was speaking into his chest. “It was perfect. We had a great time.” She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding after Daenerys confirmed their day was pleasant. When did it become important to her that Daenerys enjoy their time together? 

When she released him, Daenerys did so with care, making sure she didn’t upset his delicate balance in the process. Rhaegar gave his sister a sincere smile before he turned his eyes to the rest of their party. Arya resisted the urge to slink back, not wanting to show weakness. “Missandei,” he said, “welcome back.” 

With a respectful bow of her head, she responded. “Thank you, Prince.” 

“What’s all this about?” Daenerys asked, using her chin to point to the scene they’d walked in on. 

Rhaegar rolled his eyes to emphasize his true feelings before he said, “More of the same. We were leaving the throne room, and before we could separate Cersei cornered me.” 

Daenerys’s expression was an odd mix of horrified and amused. “Again? I thought she got the message last time.” 

“Apparently not. Tywin was there and overheard my refusal. He didn’t take it well and tried to get Father to see reason.” 

She took a quick peek over Rhaegar’s shoulder toward the King, before she inquired. “Did he?”

He answered with only a shake of his head. There was a pause before he continued, “I am glad you came along when you did, you likely spared me another twenty minutes of that.” 

“Always happy to help.” Daenerys joked cheerfully. “We were just going to my chambers for a drink, would you care to join us?”

She bit her lip to keep from speaking out of turn. She had no interest in sharing a drink with the man whose greed and selfishness caused so much pain but suffering through it was preferable to drawing attention to the depths of her hate. 

“Thank you, but no, it has been a long day and I want to spend some time with Aemon.” 

With an understanding smile Daenerys didn’t press the issue. “Tell him I said ‘hi’.” 

“I will, enjoy your night.” 

Rhaegar and Selmy went one way while Daenerys, Arya, Missandei and Grey Worm went the other. 

Things remained intense despite Rhaegar’s departure. Tywin and Aerys were whispering together, obviously disagreeing if their facial expressions were any indication. 

Cersei was watching Rhaegar leave, while Jaime valiantly tried to regain her attention. The man Arya didn’t know had escaped too at some point, and that left only Tyrion. He was strategically placed between the siblings and the fathers, dividing trying to hear everything. When he was angled toward Aerys and Tywin he seemed amused, like he was anticipating the end to the funniest joke ever told. 

If asked Arya would have said it unlikely that they would be able to pass without being stopped by someone. She didn’t like their chances of getting to the stairs unbothered, but she was pleasantly surprised. Cersei glared while Jaime whispered to her, trying to improve her sour mood. Likewise, The King and his Hand were so focused on whatever had them at odds, a pack of direwolves could have run past and garnered barely a second glance. 

Tyrion was the exception, though he provided only a smile and a nod for each of the four as they passed. 

“What was that all about?” Missandei asked Daenerys on the staircase. 

“Cersei Lannister making another attempt to try and seduce my brother,” she explained. 

“Does this happen often?” 

Arya probably should have left it for Daenerys, but she shared what she knew. “The other morning when I went to see the Prince, they were engaged in a similar disagreement.” 

Daenerys looked back at the guard and smiled. “That’s not surprising. She’s been trying to win his affection for years. She is just unwilling to admit he’s not interested.” 

“That is…” Missandei stopped and took time to choose the appropriate word, “persistent.” 

Daenerys laughed. “That’s one way to describe it. I’m just glad my father didn’t side with Tywin and try and force Rhaegar into a marriage he doesn’t want.” 

She waited until they were inside Daenerys’s bedchamber before she asked the question that had been on the tip of her tongue. “When we first saw them, there was a man in a cloak standing with the King, who was he?” 

She didn’t miss the serious look that passed between Missandei and Daenerys. All good humor was gone, and Daenerys hung her head. Missandei answered for her. “Rossart is his name, he’s from the Guild of Alchemists.” 

Understanding struck like a punch to the gut. There was only one reason the King allied himself with the Guild and it was because they provided his favored weapon. So that fat little man was the King’s pyromancer? Oddly enough neither Rossart nor any of his order were there when the Starks came before the Mad King. On that day, Aerys used more traditional weapons to exact his revenge. As bad as it had been, she wasn’t above admitting it could’ve gone far worse for the surviving members of her family if Rossart and his wildfire made an appearance. 

“Wine?” Daenerys asked, hoping to redirect things. 

Missandei agreed quickly with Grey Worm joining in shortly after. They all turned to her. Daenerys’s bright violet eyes were the hardest to look away from. “Sure,” she agreed. For the second time that day it occurred to her that she wasn’t especially eager for the wedding that would precipitate her return to Dorne. She was quite content where she was for the time being. 

R-C

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she walked Grey Worm and Missandei to the door. The day was beyond successful. Apart from a couple of bumps in the road, she couldn’t complain. She got to spend the day with Arya, who was rapidly becoming one of her favorite people, she got to go to the Harvest Time celebration and then she had dinner with Arya, Missandei and Grey Worm, in the city. Not even the tension they walked in on between Rhaegar and Cersei could dampen her mood. In fact, she probably owed Cersei since it was the awkwardness that prompted Daenerys to invite everyone for a drink. 

Now Missandei and Grey Worm were gone for a walk and that left Daenerys and Arya alone. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been lost in thought, until Arya was suddenly standing right next to her. “I should probably go,” she said gently, “you’ve had a long day and you probably want to rest.” 

Go? Rest? No! That was the last thing she wanted. Her cheeks felt warm and she avoided the mirror so she wouldn’t have to see the blush on her cheeks. “Wait!” she called a little too loudly. 

In a flash Arya was by her side again, this time looking at the Princess with concern. “Is there something you needed? I can stay until Missandei gets back if you’d rather…”

Daenerys did want her to stay, but not because she had need of a servant. She liked Arya’s company. The guard was waiting for her to explain her outburst, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Suddenly there were so many things she wanted to say, and it was as if all of them were trying to get out of at once. The clog in her throat kept her mute and made her look foolish, she was certain. 

With panic bubbling up she grasped Arya’s hand and forced her best approximation of a smile as she pulled her away from the door and back toward the table and chairs. On the way she recovered her voice. “Let’s sit, I’m not quite ready for today to be over.” 

Her words sounded idiotic in her ears and she resisted the urge to cringe, but somehow Arya understood. She smiled and let Daenerys steer her back to the table. At the last moment the Princess spotted a padded bench and thought it more suitable. She went there instead. Big enough to sit three with room to spare, Daenerys sat in the middle and then patted the space on her left to invite Arya to do the same. 

When Arya’s lips parted, likely to ask what was wrong with her, Daenerys felt compelled to save her the trouble. Without releasing Arya’s hand, she tried to explain herself. “I had a good day,” she began, minimizing things severely. “It never would have happened without you. I want to thank you, but the words alone aren’t good enough.” 

She was beginning to ramble, so she was relieved when Arya squeezed her hand and made speaking temporarily impossible. “You don’t need to thank me,” she disagreed, “I had a good day too. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” 

“I have dreamt of having a day like that, for as long as I could remember, and somehow it managed to surpass any and all of my expectations.” She didn’t say so, but secretly Daenerys knew why the reality was so much better than her fantasies, it was because she was ill-prepared for Arya Sand. 

An idea came to her and she popped up off the bench and hurried to the desk where she set her things. “Is everything okay?” 

Daenerys looked back at her friend and saw her looking down at the hand Daenerys had been holding. Was she missing the contact between them as much as Daenerys was? That didn’t seem likely, but what other excuse could there be for the way her empty hand was now her entire focus? “I just thought of something, I’ll be right back.” That promise was as much for herself as it was for Arya. And, she decided, when she was close enough, she’d take Arya’s hand again too. 

It wasn’t difficult to find, the small piece of copper with the mark of a dragon on it. It was the prize she won for knocking over the bottles, the first thing she’d ever actually earned. With care she picked it up and brought it back to the bench. As she crossed the room, she traced the outline of the winged beast with her thumb. “I know it’s not much,” she said in warning, “but it would mean a lot to me if you’ll accept it.” 

“Accept what?” Arya asked, rising up off the bench. 

She held out an empty hand and motioned her back down. She reclaimed her seat next to Arya and immediately reached for her hand, just as she told herself she would. She savored the rough feel against her smaller, softer skin. It was all she could do not to melt into Arya’s touch. 

It was probably a stupid idea, but it was too late to stop. She’d come too far. With one deep breath and then another she extended her closed fist toward Arya and slowly unwound her fingers. “I know it’s cheap and you didn’t even get to pic…”

“Daenerys,” she said, stopping what was sure to be embarrassing, “this was your prize, don’t you want it?”

She did want it, but she wanted Arya to have it more. “If you don’t want it, I’ll keep it,” she said, forcing the words out in a rush. “I just…”

She had been looking into her lap as she spoke but made the mistake of glancing up to assess Arya’s emotions and got lost in her eyes. “Don’t you want a keepsake of your victory?” 

She couldn’t say what compelled her to tell the truth in that instant, but the words were out before she could catch them. “I’ll always remember today,” she admitted openly. “For as long as I live, regardless of what happens in the years to come or how old I grow, I’ll remember every detail. I don’t need a trinket for that. I could never forget.” 

“You won this,” Arya reminded her, picking up the copper dragon from her palm. “You should keep it.” 

“I’d rather you had it,” she confessed sincerely. “Soon we’ll be thousands of miles apart. When you’re gone back to Sunspear and the army, I’d feel better knowing that you had something to remember me by, even if it’s junk.”

There was a gasp that Daenerys was powerless to identify, was it her, or had her heartfelt admission struck something within Arya? When the guard leaned forward, without releasing her hand Daenerys had to wonder for a moment if her dreams were coming true. Was Arya going to kiss her? 

It wasn’t to be. Arya just adjusted her posture slightly and then sat back. She held up her the token and studied it by firelight. She was treating it with much more reverence than the cheap copper deserved. She passed her thumb over the engraving as Daenerys had done when she brought it over. “Are you sure? Like you, I’ll remember today with or without a keepsake.” 

She was tempted to ask what about the day was memorable to Arya, but she got the distinct impression that she’d pushed far enough for one day. “I’m sure,” she confirmed. “I want you to have it, so you can remember me and the time we spent together when you’re off with your fellow soldiers.” 

Arya had been looking down at the copper, but her head snapped up about midway through Daenerys’s speech. “You need not worry about that, I’ll always remember you,” she promised. “Thank you, Daenerys,” she said with feeling. “I’ll take this with me wherever I go and I’ll cherish it.” 

Something about the way Arya said that, made Daenerys believe with certainty that she was telling the truth. It was what she wanted, to know that Arya would remember her after they parted, so why did she try and turn it into a joke? “Don’t get too excited, it’ll probably break in half before you ever see Dorne again.” 

Arya didn’t appreciate her attempt at humor. “Don’t do that,” she insisted, “It’s great. Thank you, Daenerys, truly.”

“Like I said, I know it’s nothing special…”

“It is special,” Arya disagreed, “because it came from you, and because I know how significant it is.” Daenerys thought that that was all there was, but Arya had more. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else sees when they look at it,” she said holding the copper dragon, “when I look at it, I’ll see today and you and how happy you were when you won.”

She chuckled and tightened her hold on Arya’s hand for a moment. “Thank you for everything Arya, today wouldn’t have been as memorable without you there.” 

“We aren’t done yet. It’ll be a few more weeks before your brother returns, I think we can have at least one more day like today, don’t you?”

She didn’t know, didn’t know if Rhaegar would approve of more outings, didn’t know if anything she and Arya did could top the day she just had, but she was hopeful and willing to find out. No matter what the future did or did not include, no one would be able to take her memories of Arya. 

R-C

Long after she blew out the candle nearest her bed, she remained awake. She squinted through the darkness until she could make out the raised edges of the dragon’s spread wings. 

She held the gift Daenerys gave her and lost track of time. How long had she been staring? She couldn’t seem to put the thin square down. She’d been stunned when Daenerys expressed her desire to give the token to Arya. It had been a long while since anyone gave her a gift, and even longer since it had been for no real reason at all. Sure, Oberyn gave her things occasionally, but when he did, it was more practical in nature. He gifted her with things she needed, but couldn’t afford, like when he had her helmet fixed. The present from Daenerys was different, there was no logical reason to give Arya her prize, except that she wanted her to have it. That it wasn’t given out of pity, or to satisfy a need made the trinket more meaningful somehow. 

It had taken a year before Arya permitted Oberyn to buy even the most basic things on her behalf. She appreciated that he wanted to help her, she just didn’t want his gold. Oberyn was the first friend she’d made since losing her family. She didn’t want to corrupt their bond by benefiting financially from their friendship. After all, she wasn’t friends with the Prince because he had lots of gold, she was friends with him because he was sarcastic, good with a blade and better with a joke. Her instincts were deeply engrained, and they almost demanded Arya refuse Daenerys’s generosity on reflex, but she stomped out that impulse before she could hurt the Targaryen’s feelings. 

She hadn’t known Daenerys very long, not really and yet she allowed her to give her a gift and not for the first time either. Arya let Daenerys purchase food for her in Sunspear once too. Trivial as the concessions might seem, Arya knew they were anything but. So, the question remained, why didn’t she lash out at Daenerys? Why not rebuff her kindness? She didn’t know exactly, but she had plenty of theories. For one thing Daenerys was generous with everyone she cared about. Arya didn’t need to feel guilty because she wasn’t being singled out for special treatment. When she scoured her mind for a second reason, her brain unhelpfully reminded her just how beautiful this particular gift-giver was. Once she was thinking about that, it was a short walk to remembering how flawless her body was. She’d seen all of it when they shared a room. With effort she worked to stifle those thoughts before they could multiply. Spending her days with Daenerys was hard enough without being able to recall what she looked like naked. Desperate for a way to change the play being acted out in her head she searched for another more suitable explanation for why she allowed Daenerys to give her things. It was her eyes, she decided, her whole face really, and the arrangement of those attractive features when she was trying to justify giving the copper dragon to Arya. She was so sincere, so vulnerable, the guard just didn’t have the heart to refuse her. She also didn’t want to, but that was a secret would take to her grave. 

With the upmost care she tucked her newest possession under the corner of her pillow. In the morning she’d add it to the wooden box that held the remnants of her former life that she managed to hang on to. Daenerys’s prize for knocking over bottles would be the fifth item to gain entry. 

Thinking about the box inevitably led to thinking about her father. She felt guilt when she remembered him tonight. He would be appalled to hear she was accepting things from a Targaryen. His hate ran deep and rightly so. Ned Stark had suffered more than most at the hands of Aerys and his kin; first a sister, a brother and a father and then later, he lost his family a second time. He would be disgusted to learn she counted Daenerys among her friends. He wouldn’t understand and she didn’t know how she’d explain it. How could she make him see that Daenerys wasn’t Rhaegar and she wasn’t Aerys? Daenerys was kind, sweet, honest and fair. 

She tried and failed to articulate what it was about Daenerys that set her apart from almost all others who shared her name. It wasn’t just one thing, more accurately it was everything, all of it combined that told Arya she was worth of the foster’s trust, even if she was a Dragon. In truth she would have preferred it if the Princess was spiteful and cold, as Arya originally expected she would be. Then it would be easy to overlook her beauty and dismiss her goodness as an act. Unfortunately, she had little in the way of excuses to fall back on. Daenerys wasn’t cruel, nor was she rude or entitled. As surprised as she initially was, she accepted it as fact now. She’d given up expecting Daenerys to stoop to her low expectations and stopped being shocked when each day she found another trait to add to the growing list of admirable qualities she possessed. There were so many at this point, Arya was able to overlook her place on the Targaryen family tree – a feat Arya would have thought impossible six months ago. 

Ned Stark’s disapproval wasn’t enough to create doubt anymore, especially since she’d never have to confess to him. It would never be her favorite topic, and she hated feeling like she was letting him down, but she’d make her peace with the guilt and get past it. This night she chose to believe her father would understand if he met Daenerys. If he spent time with her, he’d see the same things she had, right? He’d agree with her, once he realized Daenerys had nothing in common with the Targaryens she’d been raised to despise. Whether it was true or not, she hoped it would be enough to satisfy her chaotic brain. She needed some sleep and morning would come early. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: That wraps up their two-day adventure. It was fun to write and provided a glimpse of who Daenerys will eventually become. After a lot of happy, of course there had to be a reminder of the King and the threat he poses. 
> 
> Now I need the help of my readers. If you’ve gotten this far you’ve heard me say more than once how big this story will be by the end. One way or another it will get done I promise. I couldn’t abandon it now. The question comes as I edit chapters to post, sometimes weeks after originally writing them. I see a lot of extra detail. I included it to try and build compelling relationships between secondary characters, Arya and Aemon, Arya and Missandei, and in one instance far in the future Arya and Daario. These additions don’t change the overall story I’m telling, they just add more depth to some of the characters and I think, makes them more interesting. That said, I’m not the one reading it, so I ask – would you rather I cut out, or limit those sorts of things and focus on the main storyline only, or would you prefer to see it all? 
> 
> As an example, I have Daenerys’s nameday coming up in a few chapters and although it’s largely irrelevant to the larger plot, I did write Jorah giving her a gift and her reaction to it. Likewise, Lady Olenna sends her something from Highgarden. 
> 
> The story will work well with or without these scenes, but I think it adds an extra layer to later interactions between Jorah and Daenerys and Olenna and Daenerys respectively if they’re kept in.
> 
> What do you think? Is anyone getting bogged down and bothered by the large number of interwoven characters I’m trying to keep afloat in this story? 
> 
> I appreciate anyone who reads and then takes the time out to help me make this story better. 
> 
> Thank you and Stay Safe
> 
> RC


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Okay just a little bit of world-building background before we get started. In this story anyone aligned with the Targaryens is going to prosper, including the Daynes. If Ned never made it to the Tower of Joy, then Arthur Dayne doesn’t die and would’ve successfully protected Lyanna while Rhaegar went off to kill Robert, earning himself and his family quite the reward. Taking it one step further, if Ned never had to return Arthur’s sword and report his death Ashara would have no reason to climb that tower and jump. Which loosely translated means she’s alive and well and able to visit the Red Keep to cause trouble – enjoy. 
> 
> RC

Fresh from a bath Daenerys was sitting on her recently made bed in a silk robe while Missandei was in the closet hunting for the perfect dress to wear on the first day of her new job. She was supposed to be paying attention, to rule on the garments Missandei held out with an extended arm but she was much more interested in the story she was telling. “I thought she was going to kiss me,” Daenerys admitted. The disappointment was just as profound as it had been the night before. 

Instead of just a dress and a hand being made visible Missandei’s deep, dark, understanding eyes peeked out too. “You don’t sound especially horrified,” she teased. 

She was certain she was blushing. “I’m not, I’m sad that I misread things so drastically.” Almost as an afterthought she added, “Not that dress.” 

Missandei returned to rummaging and came out holding a pale blue dress, with white trim. “Perhaps you didn’t misread her at all,” the helpful handmaiden supplied. 

“I thought she would kiss me, and she didn’t, what other reason can there be?” 

“Maybe she wanted to.” 

Daenerys appreciated her friend’s efforts, but she disagreed. “You know Arya, if she wanted to kiss me, she would’ve.”

The dress she was holding jiggled as Missandei shook it to redirect Daenerys’s attention. “This one is nice,” she observed. 

She knew she was being childish. They needed to get ready and Daenerys was too busy whining about things she couldn’t change. “I’m sorry Missandei, you’re right, it’s radiant.” 

She carried the dress over to the bed and gave the Princess a smile. “No need to apologize, but if we don’t get you dressed before Arya arrives, she’ll see much more of you than you intend to show her today.” 

It was meant to be a joke, a way to lighten the mood and make Daenerys smile, but it hit a little too close to home, calling forth a recent memory from when Missandei was away. Her cheeks burned for a second time as she confessed. “She’s already seen everything.” 

The normally composed handmaiden faltered briefly. “What?” 

Daenerys enjoyed seeing her flustered. She smiled and savored the moment as she stood up and untied the knot at her waist. She shrugged out of the robe and let it drop as she explained. “Arya insisted she stay with me, since you weren’t here.” Only as she watched Missandei digest this new information did she recall Arya had a second, more logical reason for sleeping on the floor. “She wanted to get an early start on our day in the city, so we didn’t waste any of it needlessly,” she said weakly. 

Missandei smirked knowingly as she handed over the dress. “Yes, because the walk from the barracks would have ruined everything,” she opined sarcastically. “She does know I don’t typically sleep in your chambers, doesn’t she?” Daenerys’s face must have betrayed her because with a quiet laugh Missandei shook her head. “I’d wager you didn’t try overly hard to send her away.” 

It was scary sometimes, just how well Missandei knew her. She avoided her friend’s eyes when she said, “It was nice having her here, even if she stayed on the floor.” 

Sensing her discomfort, Missandei moved on. She was behind the royal now, helping her secure the dress in place. “How did that lead to her seeing all of you. Her tone turned suggestive on the word, ‘all.’

“She had a nightmare,” Daenerys explained. They moved to the mirror to begin styling her hair. “It was horrible, she was thrashing and mumbling.” 

“What happened next?” Missandei wondered, appearing fearful of the answer. She wasn’t asking to be polite, she truly wanted to ensure Arya’s well-being. They were friends too.

“I didn’t know what to do.” She quickly amended her statement. “I mean, I did, I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how. When she started moaning in pain and whimpering ‘no’, I couldn’t do nothing anymore. I got out of bed and went to her.” 

“I’m sure she appreciated that.” 

“I don’t think so,” Daenerys noted sadly. “When I got close to her it was like she knew I was there. Without warning she became angry, she started thrashing again, and this time I heard her say ‘die!’”

Missandei smiled sadly through the mirror. “That sounds terrible.” 

“It was,” she confirmed, “I hated feeling like there nothing I could do.” 

Missandei provided immediate reassurance. “I’m certain that you helped.” 

“Do you know what she could have been dreaming about?” She hadn’t meant to ask that, but it occurred to her that maybe Missandei knew. They shared a cabin on the ship, so it was possible that Missandei was aware of the nightmares already. She also couldn’t discount the idea that maybe Arya chose to confide in the woman from Naath instead of her. Remote as the chance was, she felt obligated to check. “Has she mentioned anything to you, about her past?”

“Very little, she’s as skilled at avoidance as she is with her sword.” 

The relief she felt was unfair, but undeniable. If Arya wanted to open up to someone, Daenerys wanted it to be her. Satisfied, she finished her story. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t dressed until after Arya woke up.” 

“That must have startled her.”

She laughed, forcing Missandei to stop braiding until she finished shaking. Her friend had a talent for understating things. Startled wasn’t quite the word for it. “No more than me,” she said as she reflected on the past, “I hadn’t thought to grab the robe, I just wanted to help her and then I’m suddenly naked, grabbing her, trying to jostle her awake.” 

“Perhaps you were right not to pick a dress,” Missandei joked, “we could have tempted her into action.” 

All too easily her mind followed the path being laid out, imagining everything that might happen next if Arya was tempted by her. “I doubt it would work,” she lamented, “she didn’t seem interested.”

One of Missandei’s hands stopped working in her hair and slipped to rest on her shoulder for a moment. “Take it from me, nightmares can be painful and vivid. She probably wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

That was probably true, Arya had seemed confused when she woke, going so far as to ask where she was? “I wanted to ask about it…”

“It’s best you didn’t,” Missandei interjected. “If it was a memory, it likely isn’t the sort of thing she’d want to talk about.”

Once again Missandei’s words rang true. “You’re right. We better finish getting ready, we have a meeting with a Septon this morning.” 

“We do?”

“Yes,” she replied happily, preparing to tell Missandei about her bargain with Tyrion and the newfound responsibilities she’s undertaken. 

R-C

One of the things she noticed about the Red Keep was how drastically things could change in a short amount of time. In the span of minutes an empty room would fill to capacity. It wasn’t just the nobles either, a hall empty one moment could be lined from end to end with servants the next, as they rushed to fulfill their appointed tasks. 

So, it wasn’t all that odd when the empty courtyard she crossed to reach Tyrion’s office was bustling with activity on the way back. Dozens of Unsullied were paired off, sparring with one another using all manner of weapons. Separate from them and much less enthusiastic was a handful of the Kingsguard. They were talking more than training and didn’t appear motivated. The lone exception was Jaime Lannister. He was wielding his sword with a determination and dedication that could rival Grey Worm or Oberyn. Arya was impressed. 

With so many roaming about she almost didn’t spot Aemon. He was standing between the Unsullied and the Westerosi, as if he didn’t belong with either group. His focus was on the man-shaped target directly in front of him. He had his sword out and was imagining an epic battle. Rather than attacking the unmoving dummy at full-speed, he was perfecting his technique, moving with an exaggerated slowness, guiding the blade with care to precise parts of the target’s frame. He pierced the heart with one thrust then followed it up with a quick slash across the side of the neck. Aemon wasn’t solely focused on offense. He’d also freeze at random intervals and take a distinctly defensive posture. It was clear to Arya what he was doing, he was imagining a suitable counter to his attempt, and then wondering how he might protect himself against such a strike. His form was good, and he had plenty of Gods-given talent.

Aemon never took his eyes off the enemy and yet he somehow knew she was there. He shouted her name before he sheathed his sword and jogged over to meet her. 

Daenerys and Missandei were probably waiting for her, but she still stopped. She liked Aemon and not just because he was likely a member of her family. He was straightforward in a way that seemed out of place in the capital. He wasn’t the sort to smile while he stabbed you in the back. Arya could respect that. She hadn’t had many opportunities to spend time with him. They sparred a few times, and shared casual conversation when their paths crossed, but that was the extent of their interactions. 

“Come to train?” he asked with undisguised hope in his voice. 

“Afraid not,” she responded. “You were looking good though. Have you been out here long?”

“I wasn’t hungry, so I skipped breakfast and got an early start.” 

Arya understood. More often than not she would forgo the first meal of the day in favor of stealing a few extra minutes with a weapon in her hand. “I used to do the same thing.” 

The comparison made him smile. His eyes, her father’s eyes, shined with pride. “Got time for a quick match?”

She didn’t. She’d just come from visiting Tyrion, picking up the gold for not only the Septon, but also another smaller purse for a family who appealed for the Crown to assist in paying for their son’s burial. Tyrion had scheduled one after the other. He made it clear that he was willing to handle anything Daenerys wasn’t, but knowing how excited the Princess was to be useful, Arya assured him the extra work wouldn’t be a problem. “I wish.”

He wasn’t ready to give in. “Dany wouldn’t mind,” he tried. 

From the corner of her eye Arya saw Jaime had stopped swinging his sword and was wandering aimlessly in their direction. Was he waiting to hear her answer? That seemed unlikely. Chastising her overactive mind, she gave Aemon her full attention. It didn’t matter if the Lannister wanted to watch her spar, she couldn’t. She was already late. “The Princess has several appointments this morning.” 

By the time she took note of Aemon’s disappointment Jaime was back with his brethren, showing off his many abilities. Was it a coincidence he’d stopped listening as soon as she made clear she couldn’t fight? Was he interested at all in their conversation or was he just taking a break and happened to do it closer to Arya? 

Aemon flashed her one of his rare smiles, the kind reserved for his father or his aunt. “She’d hate to hear you call her ‘the Princess’.”

That was true. “She would, but she’d hate it more if I made her late for her appointment with the Septon.” 

“Yeah,” he acknowledged, “you’re right.” Before she could step away, he had more to say. “Can you come back later if you’re not too busy?”

“To train?” she guessed. 

“Yeah,” he repeated, “and I, I have a question I’d like to ask you too, when you have the time.” 

She could have gone, he was giving her an escape, but her feet wouldn’t budge. “I don’t have time to spar, but I can answer your question, if you want.” 

Nervous all the sudden, he wasn’t sure how to reply. “Oh, I didn’t mean now, I…” he paused and made another more successful attempt. “You’re from Dorne right?”

“Yes,” she said simply, aware she was nearing a battlefield littered with traps. Why was he questioning her about her origins? Did he suspect something? Was the question his or his father’s? 

“I don’t know if you noticed,” Aemon began looking at the ground beneath him before he caught himself and adjusted his gaze, “but you and i look a little alike.”

A little? They could pass for brother and sister easily. It wasn’t just the eyes either, it was the hair and the structure of their faces. Nearly everything about Aemon Targaryen reminded her of the family she had. “I did,” she finally said, wary of where this was leading. 

At the first opportunity he rushed ahead to finish his point. “Yeah, me too, and that got me thinking. Maybe my mother was from Dorne too, that would make sense, right?”

Since she met Aemon and saw the similarities he had to her father and brothers Arya had wondered how much he knew. If he was asking her, it confirmed that Rhaegar hadn’t been forthcoming about his mother. What should she tell him? How much could she without revealing her own secrets? Her own feelings for Rhaegar aside, Aemon seemed to love him, and Daenerys did too. Apart from petty retribution, what would she gain from damaging one of the few meaningful relationships in her cousin’s life? 

While she was debating her options, Aemon was filling the silence. “Does that make sense? Are there many people who look like me, us, in Dorne? When I read about Dornishmen, it’s always dark hair, dark eyes and bronze skin.” 

The risks not withstanding, she would never have a better chance to inquire and learn the extent of Aemon’s knowledge. She’d need to tread carefully. “Do you not know your mother?” she asked, not needing to try very hard to sound empathetic. 

“No, not even her name. Father won’t speak of her and not just to me, to anyone. Daenerys has asked about her too, and he refuses to discuss it.”

Her knowledge made it difficult to craft a reply. She understood why Rhaegar didn’t want to tell his son the truth. It wouldn’t benefit Aemon to discover he was the product of a kidnapping. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. She meant it, she regretted that he was distraught about this. That he was willing to bring it up at all suggested that it was on his mind frequently. It’d have to be to compel him to ask her of all people. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said quickly in a well-practiced way. “I was just thinking that maybe she is from the same place as you.”

She took an extra moment to review her response before she said it aloud. “I think you’re right. I don’t think I ever met your mother, but it’s likely that she and I were born in the same place, that would explain the similarities we’ve both noticed.” 

Aemon was so pleased to have his theory validated that he missed the way the words were arranged. Lying to him about this would’ve tormented her, so she danced around the truth instead. She couldn’t tell him everything, not without exposing herself but at the very least, she could give him small pieces of the puzzle he’d been obsessing over. She hadn’t met Lyanna and they were from the same place, though she never specified Dorne. 

“I knew it!” he said loudly. “I knew it couldn’t just be a coincidence. Do you know anymore about her, could you put me in touch with someone there?”

“I didn’t remain where I was born for long. I moved to Sunspear young, so I wouldn’t be able to help. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay, you’ve given me more information in a few sentences than I’ve ever had.” He paused just long enough to take a breath and then steered them to another topic. “Do you think I could join you when you return? If it’s where she’s from, I’d like to see it, and maybe the people there have more information.” 

Could she take him to Dorne with her? Sure, if his father permitted it, but he wouldn’t find what he sought there. In truth if he wanted to find his roots, he needed to head North. “I wouldn’t mind a travelling companion, but you’d need to ask your father.”

Aemon’s high mood fell sharply. “He’d never allow me to go.”

In an effort to cheer him up, she called attention to the one place he wanted to go above all others. “You’ll probably be on the Wall by the time Viserys returns anyway. Last time we spoke of it, you told me the Prince was close to allowing it. Do you no longer wish to take the black?” 

“Of course, I do,” he said without hesitation, “it’s where I belong.” 

“I need to go, Daenerys is waiting for me, but I’ll try and come back if I can. We need to get you ready if you’re going to be a Ranger.” 

Mentioning the Wall and his potential as a Ranger served its purpose, he was smiling again as he nodded and stepped back. She admired his commitment and his willingness to serve the Realm, even if it wasn’t in the way Targaryens traditionally did it. “I’ll let you go, thanks for everything Arya and please apologize to Daenerys on my behalf for keeping you.” 

She pointed to the target he’d been practicing on. “Keep going. Try and imagine an enemy just as smart and strong as you. How would you defend against your own attack? How would you beat that defense?” 

With renewed purpose Aemon went back to the target and Arya broke into a run as she hurried to make up lost time. As she weaved through the busy hallways she thought of Aemon. He didn’t know it, but she’d given him more than guidance in combat. Dorne didn’t hold the answers he wanted, but if he went to the Wall, he’d be much closer to finding them. Maybe her Uncle Benjen would have the courage to say what she couldn’t. One way or another she hoped he learned the truth. She just needed to make certain that she was back in Sunspear before that happened. 

R-C

She stood with her back to the wall, three feet behind Daenerys’s chair. This position wasn’t random, it afforded her a clear line of sight of the room’s only door, she could be at Daenerys’s side in an instant and most importantly she could look over Daenerys’s slim shoulder and see the face of the man or woman sitting opposite her. If the person she was meeting had less than pure intentions, Arya would take action. 

Her first meeting, the one with the Septon had gone so well it made Arya question why Daenerys hadn’t been taking such appointments already. She certainly had a knack for it. She asked Missandei to bring juice and snacks and she spent the first half of their hour discussing the wide-ranging programs offered to the citizens of King’s Landing. Daenerys listened intently and asked intelligent, relevant follow-up questions. 

The Septon was only too happy to talk about all the people the Crown’s donation could help and Daenerys hung on every word. The Septon was reluctant at first to give anything beyond the basics. Arya guessed he developed a script after Gods knew how many requests for funding. How many times had he been encouraged to stop talking and just take the gold? She couldn’t fault Tyrion or any other Master of the Coin if that was their approach. They had a lot to deal with. They didn’t have time to sit and listen to the Septon’s grand plans, but Daenerys did. More than that, she wanted to hear all of his ideas. She opened him up with a few innocent sounding questions and before long he was telling her everything.

The more they talked, the more relaxed Daenerys became. She really listened, and complimented the Septon on his commitment, when many others might have given up. 

When it was his turn to thank her, Daenerys brushed it aside. “You’re the one doing the hard work. The least the Crown, the least my family can do is make sure you have the resources you need to succeed.” 

The actual giving of the money only happened at the end. The meeting had run long, and their hour together was up. Daenerys gave him the gold and then encouraged him to make another appointment if and when he needed assistance with his future projects. 

Daenerys stood when the Septon did but didn’t exit. Missandei was the one who helpfully offered to escort him out. She maintained her composure until the door closed and they were alone and then she shrieked in delight and threw herself at Arya. 

Arya caught her in a hug and held a little tighter than usual. “You did great,” she said honestly. “A lot of people will be getting help now, thanks to you.” 

The hug was over, but Daenerys didn’t retreat. They remained face to face, the only major difference was that their arms had returned to their sides. “I didn’t really do anything. It wasn’t my gold, I just…”

Going back to when she was Arya Stark, she never really liked being praised. There were exceptions of course, when the compliment was coming from her father, for example, then she couldn’t get enough. When she was being singled out for her talents as a soldier or a warrior, that too she could tolerate, but all other praise aimed at her made her uncomfortable, especially when she felt it undeserved. Therefore, she could relate to Daenerys’s habit of downplaying her achievements, but in this instance Arya couldn’t allow that. Only a few people were even aware Daenerys took on this job. Unless Tyrion told someone, the list was limited to him, Arya, Daenerys and Missandei. In such a small group, Arya couldn’t rely on others to adjust Daenerys’s point of view, she’d have to be the one to make her see how meaningful an impact she was having. 

She waited for the anxiety to come, but it didn’t. Whether she was Arya Stark or Arya Sand, the fastest way to make her uneasy was to force her into a conversation about feelings. There weren’t many people Arya cared enough about to try and provide reassurance in a moment like this, but Daenerys was one. 

With a deep breath she thought about her mother and how she’d comfort her youngest daughter when Arya was upset about one thing or another. She’d sit down on the edge of the bed where Arya was lying face down, crying into her pillow. She’d take Arya’s hand and trap it between both of hers. “It’s going to be okay,” she’d promise. “I’m here.” 

No matter what had Arya distraught, Catelyn Stark always managed to make it better. She’d need different words, but she could at least try to do that for Daenerys. 

She took her hand, an easy feat given how close they were. Daenerys looked down at their linked fingers and then up into Arya’s eyes. Unasked questions were written all over face. Arya took the plunge before the Princess could find her voice. 

“You did do something!” she said with passion. “You heard what Tyrion said, it would be days if not weeks before he could meet with the Septon. How many people would have suffered or worse in that time? The only reason people will begin to get help today is because of you.”

When Daenerys didn’t say or do anything in the wake of her comments, she feared she’d make a mistake. It sounded okay to her ears, but maybe Daenerys disagreed. She never should have tried, she’s not Sansa, she’s not made to have deep, meaningful conversations, her place was swinging a sword, she should’ve stuck to that. 

While she was contemplating the best ways to apologize to Daenerys the limited space between them vanished. Daenerys was hugging her again, even more vigorously than before. “Thank you,” she said, leaning in fully. 

After a delay that stretched beyond what was proper, she managed to convince her arms to hug back. She tried not to notice the way they fit together, or how she felt warm in every place Daenerys’s skin brushed hers. “I mean it. The people of King’s Landing will never know what you did for them, but I will.” 

“How do you do that?” Daenerys asked. She leaned back so she could look at Arya’s face. 

Unsure of what she was being accused of, she needed to clarify. “Do what?”

“Know exactly what to say. I was happy before but now…” she trailed off. 

This was why Arya didn’t talk about feelings, once that door opened, it led to this. What sort of reply would get her out of this? 

It took an unusually long time, but she eventually settled on, “I just told the truth. The Septon is lucky you were here, or he’d still be waiting.” 

With some extra color in her cheeks Daenerys smiled sweetly and rocked back and forth, going from the tips of her toes to the back of her heels. Arya recognized the habit as one Daenerys engaged in when she was too excited to remain still. That said, she was clueless about what exactly had the Princess nearly bubbling over. 

Before she could take another stab at solving the riddle, Daenerys rocked even harder, going as far back as she could without falling and then surging forward, using her momentum to carry her to Arya. The guard lifted her hands, anticipating another hug, but that wasn’t what Daenerys had in mind this time. She pressed her lips into Arya’s cheek, suspiciously close to the side of her mouth, while the soldier just stared. She’d been trained for war, to kill, to fight, to defend and die if necessary but none of her lessons covered this. All her swords, spears, daggers and bows left her woefully unprepared now. She couldn’t recall ever feeling more vulnerable than she did right then. 

It was such a strange circumstance. To have so many thoughts in her head one instant and then for them to be gone the next. She had been thinking about Daenerys, questioning her behavior, trying to select the right strategy to show her she was valued, even privately taking delight from seeing Daenerys excel at something and then suddenly it was gone. In its place was a very different collection of details about Daenerys, everything from the smell of her perfume, to the softness of her lips. She spent more time than she’d dare admit wondering what it would be like to kiss Daenerys, and although it wasn’t a real kiss, it was sufficient to assure Arya’s most detailed fantasies were cheap forgeries of the real thing. 

Slowly the world expanded beyond Daenerys again and she noted other things, for one the incessant pounding in her ears. It was just a kiss on the cheek and her heart was threatening to break through her ribcage all the same. 

Arya wasn’t the only one coming to terms with their kiss. In front of her Daenerys looked to be on the verge of panic. Why? Had she not meant to kiss her? If that was the problem, it was no reason for distress, it was a kiss, not a marriage proposal. 

The long awkward quiet came to an end when they both spoke at the same time. 

“Arya.”

“Daenerys.”

Their dueling attempts to restart the conversation eased some of the tension and Arya saw a brief but real smile on Daenerys’s face. “You go ahead,” Daenerys encouraged. 

She wasn’t sure what to say, she just knew she had to say something. She didn’t want Daenerys to feel guilty. It was a kiss, in the heat of the moment, when emotions were high. Even if Arya may have wished otherwise, it didn’t mean anything. They were friends and that was enough. Arya just needed to keep her safe and bury her affections for the older woman until the wedding. 

Aware that Daenerys was still waiting for her to respond, she opened her mouth to try. She had no idea which words to use or in what order. 

Mercifully Missandei arrived and brought with her a middle-aged woman, a girl of about twelve and a boy of six. They were obviously a family, with matching blonde hair and light green eyes. “Princess, this is the Whitley family, Bren, and her children Ava and Thom.”

Daenerys was visibly conflicted, looking between her guests and Arya, unsure of which to choose. Arya tried to help. She retreated to her place against the wall but not before whispering, “We’ll talk later.” 

Instantly relieved, Daenerys’s smile became more genuine. Arya relied on the wall to hold her up as Daenerys approached the mother and children. They took a knee before the Targaryen. 

Daenerys encouraged them to stand and then hurried them to where they could all sit comfortably. She asked rather than ordered Missandei to get another round of drinks and snacks. 

Once everyone was seated, Daenerys started her second meeting of the day. “I’m so sorry for your loss, I can’t imagine losing my child,” she said to Bren, “or one of my brothers,” she continued, looking each sibling in the eye as she spoke to them. “You have my sympathies.”

With glassy eyes and an unsteady upper lip Bren replied. “Thank you, Princess.” The gratitude was divided by sniffling. 

Arya didn’t need to see Daenerys’s face to know her smile was a little less real now. “Please call me Daenerys.”

Missandei returned and began passing out the food and drink. “Thank you,” Bren said politely. 

Daenerys waited until both of the children were occupied with their snack before she addressed the mother. “So, Bren tell me about your son.”

R-C

She would have been content to spend another evening with her closest friends in her room, enjoying wine and stories, reliving their favorite moments from the past few days, but she couldn’t. There was an urgent matter that needed her attention. She postponed it long enough. 

It was why she released Missandei early, and dismissed Arya, why she spent the next hour alone going over the various things she wanted to say. When she was sure she had her thoughts properly arranged she slipped out of her room and headed down the hall. She knew Arya would be disappointed that Daenerys put herself in danger, but this was one appointment she needed to have alone. 

Barristan Selmy was at the door. The fact that he was in the hall and not the room suggested that her brother was in one of his moods. That was fine, Daenerys was confident she could match any of his emotions tonight, the hurt, the pain, the outrage. She didn’t even consider leaving and trying again later, this needed to happen, and it couldn’t wait. Missandei was back now, and Daenerys needed to do everything in her power to ensure her friend was safe. 

“Princess, is everything al…”

“Is he in there?” she asked bluntly, cutting the kind, old knight off. 

“He is, is something the matter?”

She ignored the question and took a step toward the door. Understanding her intent, he opened it for her. “Prince,” he called, “your sister wishes to speak to you.”

He set down his drink and stopped staring into space. He provided a smile but it was clear whatever had been on his mind before she entered, remained. “Dany,” he said, just as Selmy closed the door behind her back. “What brings you at this hour?”

She moved directly in front of her brother’s chair. “First, I wanted to thank you. Arya told me that our time in the city wouldn’t have been possible were it not for you, so thank you.” 

“I’m… glad you enjoyed it. Did you have a good time?” By the end he had fully recovered from her unexpected gratitude, sounding more like the confident Crowned Prince she knew he was. 

“It was two of the best days of my life,” she admitted without exaggeration. “It was incredible.” 

His smile reminded her of her youth. When she was a girl and she’d receive a new toy or decide a particular dress was her favorite, when she learned a new random fact about the Realm and wanted to share that knowledge, she’d always run to Rhaegar. She’d inevitably interrupt a conversation of some kind, but he’d listen intently anyway and compliment her with the same smile he wore now. It was indulgent and real, like she was important to him. It warmed her heart, but the sensation didn’t last, not tonight. 

“That’s great Dany,” he said, gesturing for her to sit. She did. “You deserve it. So, what did you do?”

She was tempted to launch herself into a retelling of the monumental experiences she’d had, but she refrained. That wasn’t why she’d come. She rose out of the chair she had just settled into. “What happened at dinner?” she asked, unable to keep the scorn from her voice. 

“Dinner?” he repeated dumbly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean with Father,” she snapped, “the other night he accused Missandei of being disloyal and you didn’t correct him.” 

Understanding passed over his face and that familiar smile became a distant memory. “You had it under control,” he contended. 

No, no she didn’t. In fact, she’d been too afraid to even speak until Arya stole everyone’s attention and gave her time to think. She didn’t want a meaningless compliment from her brother, she wanted an explanation. “I didn’t. I didn’t know what to say or do, I was frozen.”

Rhaegar took her hand. In years past his touch would have brought her comfort but it felt as hollow and insincere as his words now. The older she became, the harder it was to overlook his intentional ignorance. He was no fool and yet he pretended not to see all the horrible things happening around him. She used to give him the benefit of the doubt, insisting, believing he was trying his best to make things better, but it was difficult to convince herself of that lately. It was more likely that Westeros’s next King favored doing what was easy over what was right. How else could he justify allowing their father to misjudge Missandei like that? 

“It worked out,” he said, diminishing the horror of what had almost been. 

She yanked her hand free. “You know what he would have done!” she screamed. “He would’ve killed her or burned her or both and for what? She didn’t do anything!”

“Calm down!” her brother demanded, though his words did nothing to ease her fury. “Nothing happened. Father didn’t hurt her, Missandei is fine.” 

She didn’t want to hear it. “Nothing happened this time. She’s fine for now, but what about the next time he gets it in his head that she’s disloyal?”

As she grew more and panicked, Rhaegar remained largely unmoved. His indifference multiplying her pain. “There won’t be a next time,” he stated simply. “It’s over.”

She scoffed. “You don’t honestly believe that, and even if you do, you can’t mean it. He’s not in control of himself. There is no way for you or I or anybody else to predict what he’s going to do. No one else hears the whispers he does, so we can’t know what he’s thinking and that scares me.” 

With every negative word spoken about their father Daenerys watched Rhaegar’s face shift into an angry mask, but it changed back just as abruptly when she admitted her fear. “I’d never let him harm you,” he swore. 

Although she knew her brother meant to help, his promise proved he was missing the larger point. “It’s not me I’m worried about.” 

Rhaegar tried again to placate her. “I’ll do everything in my power to ensure no harm comes to your handmaiden.” 

She was tempted to remind her brother that Missandei had a name, that she was more than a handmaiden but there were more pressing matters to discuss first. She steeled herself for what was coming, knowing it would be the most difficult conversation she and her eldest sibling ever had. “Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile to start them out on the right foot, “but even if he never accuses Missandei again, he will accuse someone.”

“What are you saying?” he fired back, his concern for her covered completely by his frustration. 

“Isn’t it time Father stepped down?” she asked carefully. She knew Rhaegar wouldn’t want to hear it, but the facts remained. 

“Absolutely not!” he roared, gripping the arms of his chair tightly. “How can you even suggest such a thing, he’s your father and your King!”

“He is my father,” she agreed calmly, “and he is the King, but he’s also sick.” 

“This is treason!” Rhaegar cried. “I shouldn’t even be listening to this. I demand that you stop this at once and never speak of it again.”

For a girl who worshipped her brother and spent a large portion of her life seeking acceptance, those words nearly hit their mark. A part of her – and it wasn’t a small part – wanted to abide by Rhaegar’s wishes and submit, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t about her anymore. Her long-held desire to be viewed as an equal, her overwhelming urge to forge a strong bond with her brother, those things weren’t quite so important today. There were other considerations that needed to be taken into account, things far more valuable and irreplaceable than an insignificant Princess or her feelings. “Someone needs to speak of it,” she countered, “and if not us then who?” She was glad she’d practiced ahead of time, she never would have been able to get those words out otherwise. 

“No!” he said, as if that would be enough to silence her. 

“He can’t help himself, he can’t control it, he needs to step down before any more innocent people die.” 

“No, our father is the King and that’s the way it’ll stay.” He infused his words with a finality that he likely expected to subdue her. Unfortunately for Rhaegar she was no longer a scared little girl too afraid to speak her mind. She still had a long way to go to be as confident and self-reliant as she wanted, but she was strong enough to withstand her brother’s disapproval. 

“And how many people will die before the end of his reign?” she wondered. “How many of your people? How many loyal subjects will you allow a murderer to kill before you stop him?” It hurt calling her father a murder, and she could see Rhaegar was as pained by the label as she was, but it was true, and they couldn’t continue to hide from it. It was time for change. It may have started as a quest to keep Missandei safe, but it went beyond that. This was for all the people who would be summoned to the throne room for a meeting with their King, this was for Westeros. 

“Enough!” he screamed, rising up out of his chair slightly before the pain in his legs became too severe to continue. “We aren’t talking about this anymore.” 

“You can’t ignore it any longer,” she pressed. “You’ll be King after Father, wouldn’t you rather there still be a Realm to rule by the time you get there?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rhaegar said after a dismissive, hurtful scoff. “The Realm will be fine, and Father will be fine. I’m sorry about your friend but you’re overreacting.” 

She wasn’t. If anyone was at fault it was him and everyone else for underreacting. “If he wasn’t your father, you’d have killed him already,” Daenerys predicted darkly. 

“How would you know that?” Rhaegar spat bitterly. “Is that your expert opinion after so many years mastering politcs and leadership? Leave ruling Westeros to the rest of us, you just go back to your tea and cookies with wives and children.”

She knew what was happening, he was retaliating, pushing back after she pushed him too far. He was taunting her to try and direct their argument to a safer subject. She knew he didn’t mean it, but the words still hurt. How many times had she gone to him, asking, pleading, begging for the chance to be involved in the Realm’s business? He always refused her and now he was using her lack of experience against her, when the only reason she didn’t have it was because of him. “You’re right,” she said with a cold, detached calm, “I don’t know anything, I’m just a woman, but consider this, men have been fucking up the Seven Kingdoms for centuries, maybe an opinion like mine is exactly what you need.” 

“Dany, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

She was at the door when she looked back in her brother’s direction. “Think about what I said, if you need me, I’ll be enjoying my tea and cookies, with the wives and children.”

“Dany!” he tried again, louder this time. 

In the hall Barristan was there, unchanged from when he let her in. The walls were thick, but she and Rhaegar had gotten pretty heated, neither concerning themselves with their volume. Had he heard all of that or some? She didn’t know and right now she didn’t care. It was obvious he wanted to speak with her, but she dodged him and walked away. 

She’d done the right thing, she knew that, but it didn’t absolve her of the guilt that came from betraying her father. Rhaegar wasn’t wrong, she was condoning and actively encouraging treason, but it seemed like the lesser evil. If she could convince her brother to ascend to the throne, it would have a significant, and calculable effect on not only King’s Landing but the whole Realm. The change could be measured in lives saved. What she was suggesting might make her a terrible daughter, but it made her a good neighbor and a good person and wasn’t that more important? If she had to carry the burden of ‘bad daughter’ to save untold lives, she’d do it, especially if Missandei was among the rescued. 

R-C

She’d just finished in her morning ritual. She met with Tyrion and Rhaegar to learn what the Princess’s day would hold. The dwarf had no meetings for Daenerys to take, and Rhaegar refused to allow his sister to leave the keep. The castle would be receiving visitors and Daenerys needed to be on hand for their arrival. 

Arya was nervous. The Musgoods of Storm’s End were coming to visit King’s Landing. After the rebellion failed Aerys gave all Baratheon lands and titles to families loyal to him. Storm’s End ended up in the care of House Dayne. Dornish by birth the house was led by Arthur Dayne until he accepted a post as one of Aerys’s Kingsguard. Presumably, that was when Arthur and Rhaegar’s friendship began. It was even rumored that Dayne was given a special assignment by the Crown Prince himself before Rhaegar led the army to the Trident. it was just speculation really, but no survivor could confirm seeing the Sword of the Morning on the battlefield that day. Maybe he wasn’t there, but it was just as probable that all those who saw him didn’t live to say so. 

Since the Kingsguard are prevented from holding titles, the spoils of the war fell to Dayne’s only kin, a sister named Ashara. Aery’s decree not withstanding, Storm’s End wasn’t Starfall and they wouldn’t follow a woman. Within months of Robert’s death Tywin Lannister had a solution for that particular problem. He arranged a marriage that would satisfy everyone. The beauty Ashara Dayne would be wed to the Lord Jon Musgood. Based in the Stormlands the Musgoods were an inconsequential house. They had so few men at the time Robert was gathering his forces that he didn’t even stop marching long enough to ask for the Lord’s troops. That decision would prove significant, because by being the only house in the region not aligned against Aerys’s son, it put tiny House Musgood in the King’s good graces. 

Jon was moved from his family home to the much larger and more impressive Storm’s End where he ruled the whole of the Stormlands for the Targaryen King. Most of the Lords who fought for Robert kept their lives and their titles, the exceptions being Robert himself, the Starks and Jon Arryn. Everyone else was allowed to keep their lands, although the capital did impose a crippling tax on each and every house from the losing side. For each of the next ten years the King punished those who opposed him, taking from men and women who had very little to give. The financial hardship was enough to cause the end of more than one formerly great house. 

When Ashara learned what had been arranged, she left Sunspear where she was serving Princess Elia, and went to Storm’s End to join her husband. As a girl Arya was required to learn about every house in the Seven Kingdoms and the Musgoods were no exception. It’s how she knew Ashara gave Jon three daughters lauded for their beauty before they were finally granted a son. It also made her aware of the fact that while Jon may hold the titles, the real power resided in his wife. Few considered Jon Musgood anything more than the lucky prick who got to marry the true ruler of Storm’s End. 

Although she tried to remain calm, she worried Ashara would know who she was. The future Lady Musgood left Dorne long before Arya was sent there, so their paths didn’t cross but just two years before the King sailed to Sunspear to barter away his son, the Musgoods returned to Ashara’s homeland and stayed in the Water Gardens as guests of Prince Doran. She came to seek forgiveness for abandoning Elia and leaving without permission. It was a formality since Doran couldn’t take revenge without risking a war with the Targaryens. It amounted to little more than a tense week-long visit, but one Arya had been present for. She delivered food to both Ashara and her husband on more than one occasion. They never spoke, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t remember her face. It was also possible, if not likely that during her stay in the Water Gardens someone told the Musgoods about Doran’s Northern foster. Any one person with that much knowledge about her past was dangerous. If they put the pieces together, Ashara would tell Arthur, who’d tell Rhaegar, who’d tell Aerys. From there, she knew what would follow – her death in Fire and Blood. 

What choice did she have? She could flee, but how far could she rightly expect to get? Could she make it to Dorne or Essos before she was cut down? How many others would be killed in the Mad King’s hunt to locate and murder her? If she knew where Ternesio was she could go to him and begin a new life as a deckhand on his ship. He’d take her on gladly and it wouldn’t be the worst outcome, unfortunately without knowing where he was going next, it was hopeless. It could be months until he returned to Westeros. All she could do was minimize the amount of time she spent with the King’s guests. If she stayed in the background and began wearing her helmet again, maybe they’d never associate the soldier guarding the Princess to the servant who waited on them years before. 

With that problem resolved, another reared its head. Daenerys’s nameday was fast approaching and Arya had yet to get her a gift. She knew what she wanted. she just hadn’t had the opportunity to go and get it. Long days with Daenerys had been keeping her occupied. She needed to make this a priority. If she didn’t place her order soon there was no guarantee it would be ready on the date. The situation demanded haste, but Arya remained reluctant. She almost turned back twice. Sneaking into the city to buy Daenerys’s present would demand her to swallow her pride and ask someone she hated for help. 

She knocked on the door of his bedchamber hard and fast, before she could lose her nerve. She heard him moving around and seconds later the door opened to expose a topless Jorah Mormont. He looked at her in surprise, but by the time he was ready to speak it had shifted to anger. “What do you want?”

She fought the urge to look away from his contempt, staring him down instead. “I have an appointment in the city,” she explained, “it’ll be brief, less than an hour.” 

Jorah continued to glare. “Go then, why are you telling me?”

She wanted to roll her eyes. How had a man this slow bested her father? “Daenerys can’t join me, she’s needed at the castle for the arrival of the Musgoods.” 

Recognition flickered in his eyes. “Oh,”

“It’ll be quick, but could you watch over Daenerys and Missandei until I get back?” The words tasted like acid on her tongue, but her cause was just. She was doing a good thing and that made her discomfort bearable. 

“Does the Princess know about this?” He stepped back from the door, but didn’t close it, allowing Arya to see through the opening. Jorah was already putting on his Targaryen armor. 

“No, I haven’t seen her yet. I spoke to Rhaegar and Tyrion and neither have anything for her. She’s required to stay in the castle, so she’ll be available when the visitors arrive, but…”

“I get it,” Jorah snapped, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind him, “I don’t need you to tell me how to guard the Princess, I was doing it for a long time before you got here.”

More than anything she wanted to ask why if he was such a superior guard did Daenerys prefer her to him? She wanted to remind him Daenerys had all but exiled him, but she held her tongue. Jorah, despite his many flaws was doing her a favor and so she gagged on all her rude comments and nodded. 

They parted ways at the crossroads of four connected halls. Jorah went toward the royal quarters, and Arya headed the opposite way, looking for the first available exit. 

She promised Jorah she’d be quick, and even with Mormont guarding them, Arya wouldn’t be able to relax until she was back with Daenerys again. Before she got too far away, she reached under her armor and found a collection of tattered pages. She flipped through them quickly, counting them in her mind to ensure she had them all. Confident that she did she returned them to their hiding place and took off running for the stables. 

R-C

“You kissed her!?” 

Daenerys had told the handmaiden everything, she needed to tell someone before she burst and Missandei was the obvious choice. Still, did they need to discuss it at such a high volume? The Princess looked behind her to make sure they were alone. “Yes,” she confessed in a whisper. “On the cheek,” she amended after too long.

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing, you returned with the Whitley family and that was it.”

Missandei’s dark eyes were filled with sadness. “I’m so sorry, had I known…”

This wasn’t Missandei’s fault. Daenerys patted her hand gently. “You couldn’t have known. Arya said we’d talk, we just haven’t yet.” 

“Perhaps today.” Missandei was a bright light of optimism in Daenerys’s life. Her friend could always be counted on to find the good in a situation. 

“Maybe.”

“What made you do it? Why then?” 

Daenerys thought back. It was everything, how Arya had been so accommodating and helpful. She was the one who went to meet with Tyrion, to pick up the gold and it was Arya who agreed when he suggested Daenerys meet with the Whitley’s. She’d been so happy listening to the Septon talk about his plans for the Crown’s money and that was before she was bathed in Arya’s approval. She was overwhelmed. “She was so sweet,” she remembered, aware Missandei was still awaiting an answer, “she made me feel like I had just saved the Realm singlehanded. She was hugging me and then we were standing so close together, I just couldn’t help it.” 

“How was it? Better than you dreamed?” By the end Missandei was wearing a knowing smile, one that made it clear she already knew the truth. 

“It was just a kiss on the cheek,” she said, even though it felt like so much more. “It was great, but I think I scared her.”

“I don’t think Arya gets scared,” Missandei noted, “but it was probably a surprise. I’m sure now that she’s had some time to think about it…”

Maybe that’s why they hadn’t talked about it, maybe Arya did think about it and she didn’t want to do it again? In the moment, when she was pressing her lips to Arya’s cheek, she considered herself to be cautious, restrained even. She wanted to push Arya against the same wall she spent the meeting standing against and kiss her senseless, not on the cheek but on the mouth, she wanted to slip her tongue past her lips and taste her. She wanted to see how their bodies would fit together without their burdensome clothes in the way. She was dying to hear the sounds she might be able to coax out of the quiet woman and she was aching to feel her strong hands moving over every inch of her body. 

When Arya said they’d talk about it, Daenerys assumed it was a good thing. She thought they’d talk and she’d be able to make Arya see how good it could be for them, but what if that wasn’t the script Arya was planning to follow? What if she wanted to remain friends, or worse yet didn’t want to be friends anymore? In just a matter of weeks Arya had become an integral part of Daenerys’s life. She was happier and that was due in no small part to Arya. She knew she’d need to return to Dorne eventually, but that was why Daenerys didn’t want to waste the time they had. 

She been lost in her mind too long, so Missandei brought her out. “It’s okay,” she said, she sounded much closer to Daenerys than she’d been when she began worrying. Her instincts proved true when she focused her eyes and saw the handmaiden kneeling on the ground, holding each of Daenerys’s hands. “It’s okay,” she repeated, “and it’s okay to be happy. You deserve to be and all the people who love you, we want you to be.” 

When had she begun crying? She didn’t know but the evidence was clear. She had tears running down her cheeks. Missandei released one of her hands, produced a cloth and wiped them away. “I’m sorry,” she said, as she tried to manage her emotions by willpower alone. 

“Does Arya make you happy?” Missandei inquired without advanced warning. 

Arya’s face popped up in her mind. She thought of her smirking and laughing, and how proud she’d been when Daenerys won that stupid game with the bottles. The memories flashed rapidly but left her with an overwhelming realization – Arya did make her happy. “Yes.” 

The tears gone, Missandei looked her in the eyes. There was a kindness there that never left. Daenerys was awed by it. After everything she suffered in her life, after everything she endured, Missandei remained at her core, a good person. “Tell her,” she encouraged gently, “I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.” 

She nodded not only to confirm she understood, but also as a sign of agreement to Missandei’s larger point. She would regret if Arya left King’s Landing and they never spoke of what they had. If it was entirely one-sided and Daenerys was the only one with romantic feelings, it would hurt, but at least she’d know. She wouldn’t be left to wonder forever. 

It would be hard to talk about her feelings with Arya, she’d struggle with the words, aware none she knew did justice to how important the other woman had become. If she did as Missandei advised and told Arya, she’d probably embarrass herself more than once, but the alternative was equally unappealing. Doing nothing would mean that nothing would change. Arya would remain with her for a while and then leave, never knowing that Daenerys felt the way she did. That option may spare her pride the awkwardness of confessing, but it also ensured they would never be more than friends. That was the crux of it, if Daenerys wanted more than friendship, she’d need to act like an adult, be brave and take a chance. She had no experience with such things, Daenerys was traditionally the one refusing affections, not the one declaring them. She had a newfound sympathy for all the suitors she rejected. Was Arya worth the potential pain? As soon as her brain posed the question, Daenerys knew the answer. Yes, Arya was worth the risk. She didn’t know if Arya felt the same way, or could learn to in time, she didn’t know what would happen next, but she was convinced Arya Sand was worth just about anything. 

R-C

The sky was dark with a drizzling rain when Arya finished her business and stepped out onto the street. The wind was just strong enough to bite at her through her thin cloak. Poor weather notwithstanding she was pleased with her progress. Daenerys’s present would be ready in a few days, if not in time for her nameday then immediately after. 

She expected to only be ten or fifteen minutes. She thought she’d explain what she wanted, he’d listen to her idea and that would be that. It wasn’t quite so simple. 

Bevin, the man she entrusted with this task was older than her but significantly younger than she thought he’d be. Beyond that, he was tall and thin without appearing frail. He was already beginning to lose some hair and squinted frequently as he reviewed the notes she brought for reference. 

Arya had become a good judge of character. It was a skill she never needed as a Stark but one she acquired quickly as a servant. She learned to pick out who would be amenable and friendly and which guests to avoid as much as possible. When interacting with the volatile ones she made a point to be prompt, well-mannered and to slip away the second they were distracted. It was a habit she couldn’t stop, but one that had benefits in her current line of work as well. As she made the short walk to her horse, she considered Bevin. He was undoubtedly intelligent, gruff, a little rude and set in his ways. The only other person in the shop was a young man and although he appeared to work for him, Bevin didn’t give him instructions or ask to be assisted in anyway. He spent a few minutes early on reviewing the documents she brought, squinting but saying nothing as he struggled to read her messy writing. After that, he wrote near constantly in a leather-bound book. Arya couldn’t confidently say the color of his eye’s because she saw them only momentarily before he opened his book and began writing. He rarely looked up after that. If he memorialized every word she said between hello and goodbye twice, he wouldn’t have needed half the pages he filled during their hour together. 

She hoped the price for his services reflected the quality of his work. His fee was significantly higher than she estimated but she paid it nonetheless. She had only a handful of coins left from the money Oberyn gave her. What remained would need to last until she got back to Sunspear. It was okay, she had far less once and she survived, she could do it again. 

As if for no other reason than to try and ruin her good mood, the sky opened up and the trickling water became a downpour. She cursed as her horse trotted down the road. Her cloak was useless as a means of protection and her hair matted to her head with the edges hanging just low enough to irritate her vision. 

Of course, something had to go wrong! She’d been awake for hours and wasn’t completely miserable yet, naturally the Gods couldn’t allow that to continue. The fates preferred it when Starks were angry, defeated or afraid. 

She squeezed her thighs and tried to urge her horse to move faster. He was a remarkable animal. She’d need to remember to thank Daenerys for allowing her to choose one from the Targaryen stable. 

Thinking of Daenerys brought their predicament to the forefront. She’d been working tirelessly not to think about it. It wasn’t a reasonable long-term solution, but it had worked so far and petty as it was, Arya intended to milk it for as long as she could. 

What else could she do? Daenerys had kissed her. It was just on the cheek and probably didn’t mean what Arya secretly hoped it did, but what was she supposed to do now? Initially she thought it was just a friendly gesture. She couldn’t recall Daenerys kissing Missandei’s cheek, but that didn’t mean it didn’t occur from time to time. After all, Arya wasn’t all knowing, especially on a topic like friendship. She was shocked but prepared to accept it as a one-time, pleasurable albeit meaningless occurrence, until she looked at Daenerys. In that single moment she knew it meant more. Her original shock returned tenfold. After she corrected her expression she was face to face with Daenerys, standing there, looking into those eyes, wearing one of her heart-stopping smiles and all Arya could think was how badly she wanted to kiss her again, properly this time. She said they’d talk later, because she had to say something. She thought that with time and space she’d be able to think clearly. She’d get the smell of her perfume out of her nose and the soft touch of her lips off her skin, and all the reasons they could never be together would become obvious. It was a solid, logical plan with only one flaw – it didn’t happen. Even now hours removed from the kiss, she could still feel it, like it was happening again. All those arguments she was expecting never came, and she would know, she stayed awake most of the night waiting for them. 

This thing with Daenerys, whatever it was she was feeling, it couldn’t be allowed to proceed. It didn’t matter if Daenerys was willing, in fact it made it worse if she was, because it would end badly, and Daenerys would get hurt. She didn’t want that. Daenerys was a kind, honest person and if by some joke of the Gods she was interested in Arya, then she was destined for pain. She’d be hurt when Arya left for Dorne, she’d be hurt when her father or brother found out and forced her to end it, she’d be hurt when Arya inevitably fucked up and made a mistake, because she would. She had a pitiful amount of experience being someone’s friend and even less as a lover.

If this were anybody else, she would rely on the vast differences in their statuses to justify not acting. It had worked when Rhaenys had shown an interest in her, and would be a sufficient excuse with most partners, but wouldn’t deter Daenerys. The last thing the Princess wanted for her future was a noble partner her father approved of, or worse, handpicked. Arya’s unsuitability would only make her more appealing to Daenerys, not less. She’d jump at the chance to swim against the tide, to do the opposite of what was expected of her. 

A more compelling argument involved her work. As the Princess’s personal guard, her only responsibility was to protect Daenerys and keep her alive. It was a job she took seriously, not because Jorah and Rhaegar threatened her, but rather because she liked Daenerys and didn’t want to see her harmed. Those feelings were deeper and more intense now. She couldn’t be watching for danger if her eyes were glued to the swaying of her hips. Daenerys would be vulnerable to a threat if her guard’s hands were too busy tracing the curves of her body to grab her sword. It couldn’t happen, if it did, it wouldn’t just be a failure of Arya the soldier. If Daenerys were hurt on her watch, it would be a failure of Arya the woman too and that woman had already been unable to protect so many people she loved. She refused to add Daenerys’s name to the list of apologies she whispered to the Gods each night.

In addition, it wasn’t like everyone else would be accepting. Most nobles in the King’s court had a brother, nephew, son or cousin they wished to wed to the Princess. They wouldn’t take kindly to Daenerys inviting the help into her bed, and that was also true of her family. It wasn’t hard to imagine how her life would end if Rhaegar or Aerys learned Daenerys had feelings for her. 

It hit her like a bolt, she yanked the reigns and brought her stallion to a halt, she barely noticed. Although she’d been swarmed with valid points, she’d missed the most glaring one. She was a Stark. Worse than that, she was a foster. She was removed from her family and sent to Dorne so she could learn from a non-traitorous Lord, in the hopes she might be rehabilitated. She went to Sunspear to live under Doran’s care because her father was deemed unfit. The stain of her father’s crimes bled onto her and everything she touched. The fact that she elevated herself to the position of soldier didn’t matter, to most, she’d always be a traitor’s daughter and little else. A commoner might be able to get away with engaging in a relationship with a foster, but not a noble, and certainly not royalty. Though she didn’t act like it, Daenerys was a Targaryen and a Princess. There would be outrage if she chose a Stark. She’d be mocked, ridiculed and berated. Members of noble houses would avoid her as if she had Greyscale and she’d become even more isolated within her home. As bad as that would be, that was the second half of a much larger problem. 

Before Daenerys could choose to be with Arya Stark, Daenerys needed to find out that Arya was a Stark. She wasn’t sure of much, but this was absolute, if Daenerys was going to be with her, she was going to do it knowing everything. Whether it lasted a day, a year or the rest of their lives, Arya refused to build it on a lie. She’d need to confess that she wasn’t Arya Sand. When that happened, Daenerys would hold her life in her hands. She’d know that Arya lied to her, not only the day they met, but everyday since. She’d have to tell her everything, about why she hid the truth, why it mattered, who her father was, his role in the rebellion, Robert, Rhaegar, Lyanna, her Uncle Brandon and her grandfather, even her suspicions about Aemon. She couldn’t do this halfway she’d need to tell it all, including what happened to a little girl from the North who was summoned to the Red Keep’s throne room. She’d need to talk about things she hadn’t discussed with anyone, not even Oberyn. 

If she was going to offer her heart to Daenerys, she’d first need to give her some deadly, volatile information. She’d need to put her faith in Daenerys, that no matter how hurt or angry she became, she’d hear Arya out before revealing the guard’s secrets. She’d be asking a lot, too much, trusting Daenerys to not only understand and forgive but perhaps more importantly to not share the information with anyone. She’d be asking Daenerys to lie, to her father, her brother and everyone else. She’d worried earlier that morning about Ashara Dayne’s visit and how she might possess knowledge that could condemn Arya to death, but what she was contemplating now made serving Ashara a few drinks seem like child’s play. Her entire future would be Daenerys’s, to cradle or crush. Was it fair or cruel to share her story? 

Maybe it was better for the past to stay where it was. Was knowing nothing better than being fully aware? Arya knew too much and was haunted by it. She knew the stories of all seven of them, the man, his wife and their children. She knew who they were before that day and she knew which of them never got to be anything else. Arya knew and there was nothing she could do to change that, but it wasn’t too late for Daenerys. She didn’t know anything, and no law said she had to learn, but if she didn’t, they could never be together. 

She sat on her horse, blocking the road, unmoving, getting pelted by rain she could no longer feel. What was the right thing to do? Did Daenerys deserve the truth? Would she be glad Arya shared it or resent her for spreading the pain around? Was there even a right thing in a situation like this, or was it about choosing the lesser of all the bad options? 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I know everyone’s waiting for the romance and I promise we’re getting there, but Arya’s carrying a lot of baggage and it’s getting in the way. Luckily, I don’t think Daenerys is going to be deterred. And, since we are making progress on that front, we need a little bump in the road. The next chapter is one of my favorites at least so far. 
> 
> A special thank you to all the people whose comments helped me decide the future of this story, I appreciate it. 
> 
> Thanks, and Take Care
> 
> RC


	19. Chapter 19

Daenerys was only too happy to put her book down when she heard the knock on her door. She hadn’t really wanted to read - it was a bargain she struck with herself in a less than successful attempt to keep from counting every second until Arya arrived. 

She was anxious, wondering if they would finally get the opportunity to talk, about the kiss and everything else. Missandei had offered to busy herself elsewhere so they could be alone. She hated the idea of sending her friend away but agreed anyway. Arya wouldn’t open up to her if there was someone else listening. Seven Hells, there was the distinct possibility Arya wouldn’t open up to her if they were the last two people left in the world. 

Her emotions swung from excited to frantic with moments of utter terror thrown in for good measure. Was this normal? If it was, how did anyone confront the person they were interested in? The longer her conversation with Arya loomed on the horizon the more Daenerys considered crawling back into bed and hiding under the covers until tomorrow. Behaving like a child felt safer than what she was contemplating. 

Since she couldn’t get her mouth to cooperate, Missandei made an invaluable contribution. “Come in,” she said for the panicked Princess. 

Her heart increased its speed as she prepared to see Arya again, her dark, slightly overgrown hair, those expressive eyes, that body concealed by immaculately maintained armor. When she originally offered to get Arya Targaryen gear, she’d been thinking of it only as a practical matter. She hadn’t considered the underlying significance. Why would she? To her armor was armor regardless. After hearing Arya’s reasons for declining however, she gained a new perspective. It showed the guard’s loyalty and character that she didn’t want to wear another house’s sigil, even for a short time. Although she still felt that way, Daenerys couldn’t deny her desire to see Arya wear a Dragon, so everyone would know she was marked as Daenerys’s.

Her wayward thoughts, which were unhelpfully comparing Arya in her armor and out of it, stopped the instant the door swung open. It wasn’t Arya at all. Since their disagreements, she kept her interactions with Jorah to a minimum. They saw one another of course, but when they did, Daenerys was terse, slightly cold, and formal. They limited themselves to pleasantries, unimportant issues like the type of day she was having, or his opinion on the cook’s last meal? She steadfastly avoided all of Jorah’s attempts to talk to her alone, not wanting to provide him another opening to try and manipulate her. She was confident she would see it coming this time but wasn’t in a rush to put her newfound observation skills into practice. 

He hadn’t come to her chambers like this since the morning after their return to King’s Landing. “Ser Jorah, hello.”

He ducked his head. “Princess.”

Whatever he’d come for, be it new business or old, he wasn’t earning himself any grace. He ignored Missandei completely, his eyes never leaving Daenerys. 

She provided a chance for him to explain himself, but he didn’t so she was forced to ask. “Is there something you needed?” A little pointed maybe, but she was still angry with Jorah. He tried to use Arya’s injury to take back the job he wanted and when that failed, he conspired with Rhaegar to corner her in the throne room. It came back in flashes, blaming Arya for being attacked, then his arrogant presumption that only those of means were suited to be guards, and finally leading her away so her brother could question Arya. She remembered everything and she wasn’t ready to forgive. 

“I thought you knew,” he said, moving deeper into the room. “I thought she would have told you.”

Daenerys peeked at Missandei to see if the handmaiden had any idea what he was going on about. She appeared equally confused. “Who would have told me? Known what?”

“Arya,” he answered and suddenly Daenerys’s anger melted into fear. What was wrong with Arya? Why would she go to Jorah of all people if she had a problem? Arya was too smart not to notice the contempt Jorah held for her. She was hurt too, though she tried not to dwell on it. If something was happening, why hadn’t Arya told her, come to her? 

Missandei was there, providing support with her presence. She took Daenerys’s hand and with a squeeze reminded her that she wasn’t alone. It helped. Fears and exaggerations weren’t required, Jorah had to have more to tell. She turned to the knight and braced herself for what was coming. “What about Arya? What is going on Ser?”

Jorah moved to stand beside her. She could see he was eyeing her empty hand, the one Missandei wasn’t holding, but he didn’t reach for it. She was glad, she didn’t want his comfort, she wanted his information. “Arya came to see me this morning,” he explained, “it was early. She said she had business and would be unable to act as your guard. She asked that I serve in my old post until her return.”

Just like that, her debate over what to say to Arya, about their kiss and the future was insignificant. Arya was gone! Where would she go and why would she leave without telling Daenerys about it? With a brick in her stomach she wondered if kissing Arya the day before had propelled her to leave? If that was the cause, Daenerys didn’t think she’d be back. 

Missandei asked one of her many questions. “Did she tell you where she was going, Ser?”

He answered without looking away from the Princess. “She did not, she seemed to be in a rush however and last I saw, she was going in the direction of the stables.”

Just like that Daenerys was paying more attention. The stables? The horse, her first gift to Arya, although the Dornishwoman didn’t know it yet. Arya was honorable and fair. She believed the horse was a loan and as such wouldn’t steal it. If the horse was missing from the stables, then Daenerys could reasonably expect Arya would be coming back at some point. 

Missandei was still trying to gather the facts. “And she said nothing about the reason for the trip, or when she expected it to finish?”

“I’m sure she’s fine.”

Daenerys erupted, living up to her dragon blood. “Answer her!” she demanded of the knight. “What do you know of this?”

His eyes flickered to Missandei for the first time but didn’t stay there. They bounced back to Daenerys a moment later. “I know very little Princess, she was vague, almost intentionally so. She mentioned some business she had to attend to.”

What business could Arya have? She didn’t know anyone in the capital. “That’s it?” she verified. 

Jorah nodded and tried to redirect them. “She will return, until then, I will act as your guard, so what would you like to do today?”

If that was all the information he had to share, then she would discover more on her own. Where would she like to go? To wherever Arya was, but in the meantime, they’d start at the stable. “The stables,” she answered, already moving toward the closet where she kept her cloak. 

“Princess, it’s raining quite hard and although the grounds are vast, do you really want to risk falling ill before your nameday?”

“Yes,” she lied. She had no intention of going for a rain-soaked ride but telling Jorah her true intentions would take time she wasn’t willing to waste. Every second she was there with him, was another she had to wonder about Arya. 

From the closet she grabbed two of her thickest fur-lined cloaks, one for Missandei and one for herself. She was putting hers on when Jorah responded. “Daenerys, be reasonable, you’ll catch your death if…”

“I am going to the stables,” she declared with finality, “I may be confined to the castle, but that doesn’t mean I must remain locked in my room.”

“I was not suggesting…”

She didn’t feel obligated to let him finish. “Ready?” she asked Missandei, checking to make sure the woman from Naath was sufficiently bundled up to protect her from the elements. 

While they were speaking, Jorah was still trying. “There are many things we can do indoors today and then tomorrow if the weather clears…”

Tomorrow? He was already planning to make his reassignment permanent. She’d correct his error later, for now she had something of the upmost importance to do. When the women turned for the door Jorah was positioned directly in their path. “You should probably find a cloak Ser, I fear it’s raining.”

He stared at her dumbfounded and in other circumstances Daenerys might have been amused. He was taken aback by her blatantly sarcastic comment. She never spoke that way to anyone and certainly not him. “Princess,” he said, “it is not safe for you to be going out in a storm like this.” 

She’d had her fill. “I’m going,” she told him, “whether you come along is your choice, but with or without you, I’m going.”

“You can’t leave your chambers without a guard,” he reminded her. She could see he was growing exasperated with her defiance. “You promised the King and the Crown Prince you’d abide by the rules.”

How dare he?! Telling her of the rules she was required to follow, using them as weapons to control her. Invoking the titles belonging to her father and brother as if he himself could wield the corresponding authority. She didn’t care if he didn’t like it, she didn’t care if he didn’t understand, she didn’t care if he came along or not, but she was going to the fucking stables and she was going to find Arya, no matter the cost. “You are not the only guard in this castle,” she noted aloud. 

He flinched at her words but didn’t relent. “You can’t simply choose to show your independence by going for a ride in the rain. You have obligations to the Realm and you’re too important.” 

He was doing it again, telling her what she couldn’t do. That wasn’t for him to decide. She felt taller as her anger burned every inch of her. She stepped forward, away from Missandei and toward the knight. She had to look up to meet his eye, but she didn’t mind. “Unless I’m mistaken you Ser are a member of the Kingsguard, sworn to obey and safeguard the King and his family.” Her volume rose as she continued, “I am Daenerys Targaryen, a member of that family.”

He made a feeble attempt to calm her. “I know that Princess.” 

“Do you?” she pressed. “You are a knight. You don’t get to say where I can go, or when I can go there. I’m done! Are you coming to the stables, or are you leaving?” 

“Daenerys,” he implored. 

“Which is it? I’ve been delayed long enough.”

“What about Missandei?”

So typical, he ignores Missandei until she’s useful and then he treats her like a tool to achieve his goal. Daenerys was prepared to give her friend the choice, she could stay inside and remain dry or join her. She didn’t get to even make the proposal. 

“The rain reminds me of home,” she said plainly, as if the two people she was speaking to weren’t in the midst of the worst fight they’d ever had. “I’m going with the Princess.”

Missandei was always saying or doing something remarkable, something inspirational and this was no exception. She was fully willing to march out into the rain without knowing Daenerys’s plan. 

With the handmaiden’s allegiance clear, Daenerys levelled Jorah with a single word. “Move,” she commanded, and he did. She paid Jorah no mind, having wasted too much energy on him already. While descending the stairs it become obvious that he was going to be accompanying them. There would be consequences for this, Jorah wouldn’t stay silent for long, but that knowledge didn’t give her pause. She meant what she’d said, she was done, and she didn’t just mean with the conversation or Jorah, she was done with all of it. She was done living like a prisoner in the nicest castle in the Seven Kingdoms. She was done doing her best to be perfect, done trying to earn her father’s attention, Viserys’s respect or Rhaegar’s approval. She was done living a life where hers was the only opinion that didn’t matter.

R-C

“What is the plan?” Missandei asked as they walked toward the stables. The wind was blowing in their faces and the rain was every bit as unpleasant as Jorah warned, but Daenerys knew she was doing the right thing. There wasn’t even a shred of doubt anywhere in her. She needed to solve the mystery of where Arya had gone. To do that, she needed to know if she planned on coming back. If she wanted to go why hadn’t she said goodbye? Did she fear Daenerys would try and stop her? 

“Plan?” she tried, hoping to sound more casual than she felt. “I just want to take my horse for a ride around the grounds.” They were conversing in High Valyrian, a language Jorah did not understand. 

They looked at one another for one moment and then two. Daenerys cracked first, smiling. “I know you didn’t come out here without a plan.”

That was true, but the bond they shared went both ways. Just as Missandei knew she was lying, she knew her handmaiden hadn’t exactly been honest either. “And I know you,” she countered, “I know for a fact rain does not make you think of home, because the rain here is nothing like the rain you remember from Naath.” 

Missandei’s smile became a smirk. “Whatever you’re doing, I want to help.” 

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I just need to know if Arya’s coming back. That’s why we are going to the stables.”

Missandei caught on right away. “Her horse.”

“She doesn’t know it is hers yet, so she wouldn’t take it.”

Instead of nodding along with the Princess’s logic, or grumbling about the cold, Missandei beamed with pride. “That’s clever, Princess, you’re good at this.” 

“Let’s hope I don’t have to be for much longer, maybe Arya is already back.” It was wishful thinking, but Daenerys felt entitled. She cared about Arya and didn’t want her to be gone. 

Missandei knew exactly what Daenerys needed to hear and provided it. “She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to you.”

“I don’t think so either, but what else explains this? She doesn’t know anyone in the city.”

As they neared the stable a young boy came running out, passing right in front of them. He had his head down and something in his fist, sprinting for the warm, dry castle. 

Daenerys wanted to hear what Missandei thought, but they reached their destination, so the High Valyrian stopped and they slipped inside. The handmaiden sighed in relief and one drop at a time puddles began forming under all three of them. They were soaked. Jorah was in the worst shape since Daenerys didn’t stop long enough for him to get a coat or a cloak. His armor could withstand swords, arrows and all manner of deadly tools, but it provided only minimal protection against the downpour. She’d never worn armor but guessed the excess water would only make the plate harder to carry. Daenerys herself felt ten pounds heavier and was certain she looked ridiculous. Her shoes squeaked against the floor as she tried to shake off a fraction of the accumulated water. Missandei’s usually bouncy curls were substantially flatter. 

Daenerys was still gathering herself when the stablemaster addressed her. “Princess, how are you? Should I ready your horse? It’ll just take a minute, we’ve been busy today despite the rain.” 

She gave up trying to separate her waterlogged clothes from her body and turned to reply to the kind man. When she did, she was stunned to find Arya standing next to her horse, calming petting his mane. She was drenched in a way that the others were not. She’d definitely been out in the elements far longer than the time it took to go from the keep to the stables. She looked miserable and beautiful. 

A gasp came, likely from her and then she was gone. “Arya!” She was going to hug her, was looking forward to it actually but before she could Arya’s arms extended, grabbing Daenerys by the upper arms and keeping them apart. That did not bode well. Arya had never refused to accept an embrace before. Sure, she didn’t seem to like them as much as Daenerys did, but she didn’t typically refuse them outright. 

“Don’t,” Arya said quietly, looking deeply into Daenerys’s eyes. “I’m soaked.” 

A humorless laugh escaped her lips. That was why she stopped her? As reasons go, it was one she could live with. “Me too,” she promised, leaning in and trusting Arya would understand. 

With a dramatic huff she allowed Daenerys to get closer. Had she not spent a considerable amount of time watching Arya, she might have missed the subtle lift in the corner of her mouth. She was supressing a smile. 

When their chests came together Daenerys’s arms wrapped around her and held on as though her life depended on it. This was good. This felt right. Moments like this made everything else worthwhile. “Don’t do that to me again,” she mumbled. “I thought you left.” 

The hug was abruptly over, though Arya didn’t go far. She placed her hands on Daenerys’s arms again and separated them just enough to see the Princess’s face. “What? I told Jorah I had an appointment. He agreed to watch you until I came back.” 

With a little distance and low volume, they didn’t need to worry about anyone listening in. “You told him you were coming back?” she verified. 

“Daenerys what’s going on? What are you doing out in the rain?”

“Looking for you!” she said a bit too loudly. “I didn’t know where you’d gone or why, and I wanted to see if your horse was here.” 

Was it to prove the stallion was in his place, or to provide them more privacy? Either way Arya waved Daenerys over and they moved down the horse’s body to stand near its hindquarter. “I’m sorry,” she said to start, “I didn’t want you to worry, I thought I’d be back before now. It took longer than I planned.” She was petting her horse but turned her head toward Daenerys. “I would never do that,” she said seriously, “I wouldn’t leave without telling you.” 

Her sincerity was undeniable, and it eased much of what had been plaguing her since Jorah appeared. They still had a lot to talk about, but it was nice to know she’d been right one thing – Arya wouldn’t’ just disappear like that. “Where did you go?”

“I had to order something, like I said I thought it’d only take a minute, but he had a lot of questions.” 

Curiosity burned her. She wanted to know what Arya wanted to buy, she wanted to know, so she could get it for her. It must have been obvious how she felt because Arya said, “It’ll be ready in a few days, and I’ll show it to you then, okay?”

That was more than fair. Did she purchase a weapon for herself? Daenerys hoped not. Tyrion assured her that the blade she had commissioned for her guard was on schedule and due to be finished any day. She hoped her gift wouldn’t be a duplicate of the one Arya ordered herself. Then she remembered how much gold she needed to pay the smith and that worry faded. There was no way Arya could have bought a sword similar to the one Daenerys had forged for her, not unless she had access to the royal treasury too. 

“I’m sorry,” Arya said again as they prepared to rejoin the others. 

Daenerys took her hand, needing the contact. She overreacted when she learned Arya was gone, but now she was back. Daenerys could see her, talk to her, touch her, it was going to be okay. 

Daenerys wasn’t the only one happy to see Arya returned. Missandei greeted her warmly and Arya surprised them all when she gave the handmaiden a hug. 

Just as everyone was preparing to step out into the storm the door to the stables swung inward, forcing Jorah to take a step back to accommodate the new arrivals. Daenerys recognized them at once, Ilyn Payne and three members of the Kingsguard. Unable to speak Payne went from face to face, looking at each of them in turn. He made a motion with his hand, one Daenerys didn’t understand. He held up one finger and then pulled it through the air as if drawing some sort of circle. 

One of the men spoke for Payne. “Apologies Princess,” he said to her, “but the King requests your presence in the throne room.” 

Four men had to come to tell her that? Strange but okay. “Very well,” she said, only to have Arya release her hand and take half a step forward. “Do I have time to change into dry clothes?” she asked. The prospect of spending hours dripping was unappealing. 

“I’m afraid not, it is urgent, you’re needed at once,” the guard clarified. 

Resigned, she nodded. Surprisingly Jorah of all people rose in her defense. “Surely the King can wait long enough for the Princess to put on dry clothes.” 

“It’s okay,” Daenerys assured him, managing a smile for the man who tried to do her a kindness, “I’ll go.”

“You all need to come,” he clarified, “the King is waiting.” 

“All of us?”

“That is what he said Princess, I’m sorry.” 

The tension around them multiplied. No one complained on the walk back, not about the wind or the rain, no one said anything. Arya was on her left, with Missandei on her right. Jorah was behind her with one of Payne’s men, and the stablemaster. When he said everyone, he really meant it. 

Something was wrong. Her father rarely summoned her, but when he did, he didn’t take the time to mention Missandei or Jorah, he typically just sent for her and expected they’d come along. 

She went through her most recent sins, searching for the one most likely to have been exposed. Did her father discover she lied when she said she sent Missandei on an errand? If it was about that, why had they collected the stablemaster too? 

To the best of her recollection, today was the first time they’d all been in the same room at the same time. Did that mean whatever was happening was related to today? She hoped not. 

Every step carried her closer, to her father, to the throne. She dreaded being the center of attention, despised the way the court treated her, like an object more than a person. She hated it and she’d submit to it a thousand times if it meant the King’s focus stayed on her and her alone. 

It was an odd circumstance to have to admit you’re frightened of your own father. Not of his disapproval or disappointment, not of a slap or a cruel word, but of the very real possibility that he might murder you. As a girl she believed anything her father did, he did for the Realm and with the best of intentions. She heard what people said about him, but that was just because they didn’t understand his burden. They didn’t know what it was like being King, being a Targaryen. She assumed those she heard gossiping were bitter, jealous or both and she paid it little mind. With age came wisdom and clarity. The first time she watched her father burn a man alive she was sick for days. The second time, she cried so hard Rhaegar had to take her out. It wasn’t until the third wildfire execution she witnessed that she remained composed enough to hear the King laughing as his victim screamed. That was when she knew, her father wasn’t the good, decent, deeply misunderstood man she believed him to be, he was everything they said he was and worse. Unfortunately for Daenerys, whatever he was, he remained her one and only father. She couldn’t just snap her fingers and stop loving him. It would’ve been easier if she could. 

By her tenth year she understood why the people called him ‘The Mad King.’ It wasn’t a permanent, all-consuming madness, but it was madness, nonetheless. He could be asking her about her studies one minute and whispering about betrayals and fire the next. She loved him in spite of the things he did, but she stopped trying to justify them. There was no excuse for the crimes he committed, yet no one objected because he was King, and his word was law. She cherished the good times, rare as they eventually become. In her youth, he’d summon her to a sitting room near the library and ask about the book she was currently reading. Aerys would listen to her opinion on the author, sharing his own if he had one. He’d ask for tea and snacks and they’d sit like that the remainder of the afternoon, allowing Daenerys to fool herself into thinking they were just like any other father and daughter in the Seven Kingdoms. 

Once when she was almost fourteen, Aerys strung together nearly a full month of lucid, logical governing. Daenerys was thrilled, and she knew Rhaegar was too. More than once as she walked around the castle, she heard whispering voices. Instead of discussing who the King burned and why, they were asking ‘is he cured?’ 

Until the first time she heard it, Daenerys never considered such a thing might be possible. Afterward though, she could think of little else. When her father smiled at her one evening and invited her to join him later to talk, Daenerys thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. He claimed he wanted to get to know her. It was as if everything she ever dreamed of was becoming real. She accepted and spent the rest of the day preparing, wanting to make a favorable impression, to make him proud of the young woman she’d grown into. 

There was no guard, and the door was slightly ajar when Daenerys got there. She didn’t think much of it to be honest, her focus was on Aerys and the evening they were going to spend together. 

When she pushed open the door slightly and crept inside, it hit her like a wave, an immediate, inexplicable sense that something was wrong. For one thing the room was dark, not just poorly lit, but pitch black. To this day, Daenerys wished she had it to do over again. She would have refused the King’s offer, or run from the room the moment she saw it dark, she would summon a guard, or ten, anything and everything except say the words, “Father are you here?” If she never said it, he’d never light the candle and the room’s secrets would have remained hidden by the shadows. In a dark room she could’ve overlooked the body of the Kingsguard lying dead between her and her father. Perhaps it was her youth, her naivety or the shock of finding a man with a breadknife sticking out of his neck, but for whatever reason she felt compelled to offer her father the chance to explain himself. Maybe there was a logical reason, maybe he was defending himself. “What happened? Father are you alright?” 

Aerys was sitting on the floor next to the victim’s head. The pool of blood under the wound was large enough that the King was sitting in it, yet he made no effort to move. His fingers played with the blood as if it were paint, marking the floor randomly. “Everything is perfect. I stopped him.”

“Stopped him from what?” she asked through tears. 

“Killing you,” he declared simply. 

She looked at the man’s face, at least the parts visible. He meant her harm? If he did, then the King was justified in his violent resolution. That delusion, however pleasant didn’t last long. 

“I heard him,” Aerys said, no longer talking to her. “I knew what he was going to do, he was going to kill me, kill us all, he was a traitor and he deserved the fire.” 

Daenerys recognized the signs and she knew what they meant. Her father wasn’t cured of anything. She cried and cried, for the dead man and his family, for her father, for the future she’d never get to have, one with a loving, rational father. 

All at once he was in front of her, holding the candle dangerously close to her face. “You there,” he said, poking Daenerys in the center of her chest, “go find the pyromancer. Tell him we have a body to burn.” 

He backed up then, taking the candle with him. Daenerys didn’t need further encouragement. She ran and went straight to Rhaegar, telling him through sobs what happened. 

A lot about that night haunted her long after the blood was cleaned, and the body laid to rest. She was tormented by nightmares in which the dead man asked her for help. No matter how strenuously she tried, she never managed to save him. After the nightmares came the disappointment. It took a long time for Daenerys to make peace with the fact that there was no cure for what afflicted her father. His illness would get worse not better. Most troubling of all though was the painfully accurate moment when Aerys addressed her and didn’t realize she was his daughter. As his sickness grew more powerful, it happened with increasing frequency. but Daenerys never forgot that first time, the finger in her chest and the blank stare. 

If she was just another random woman in the castle to him, was it inevitable that one day she’d be accused of a crime, like the servant last month or the member of the City Watch last week? Both were burned. Was that her destiny, to die at her father’s hand? Would he wield the weapon or just give the order? Would he know he was killing Daenerys, his daughter and if so, would he care? Would he feel guilt? Would he mourn her? She didn’t know. She’s not sure it mattered. 

Those questions echoed inside her ears as the doors opened and Ilyn Payne escorted her and many of her closest friends to a meeting with the King. The court was in place, watching, they turned as one to assess the wet, line of people. There was a Princess, a slave, a knight, a bastard and a stablemaster. 

The man who helped arrange for Daenerys to give Arya a horse looked terrified and she couldn’t fault him for it. She had no reassurance to give, because she knew better than anyone how right he was to be afraid. 

When she looked at Jorah, he was already watching her. He gave her a slight, sad smile and she responded with a nod of understanding. Somehow, he had for her what she couldn’t muster up for the stablemaster. His reassurance was wasted on her however, she already what awaited them. The only things yet to be determined were the harshness of the punishment and who exactly would pay it. 

Next to her Missandei was staring straight ahead. She was taking slow, methodical, breaths that were perfectly timed to match her steps. With her head high and her shoulders back, anyone watching would be forgiven for assuming Missandei was the same composed, unflappable woman she’d always been. Only Daenerys knew the horrible truth, that the King reminded her of the Masters who forced her into slavery. It was a comparison she wanted to reject but couldn’t as her friendship with Missandei deepened. The Masters treated people like property and killed with impunity. If she tried to claim her father was different, she would’ve gagged on the words. He was every bit as bad as the Masters who had brought Missandei such pain, maybe Aerys was worse, depending on how you scored such things. Daenerys spotted the tiny quivering in her lip and the tension in her jaw as she kept her lips closed tight. She was scared, but brave. This was not Missandei’s first time facing off against a tyrant, where the wrong word could result in death. Daenerys said a quick prayer to any God listening that Missandei would find a way to survive this one too. 

She wanted to take her hand, to try and comfort her, but she couldn’t, not with so many people paying such careful attention. As a poor substitute she began swinging her arm a bit as she walked down the center of the room. Halfway to the throne she brushed her hand against Missandei’s stiff one. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Missandei tore her eyes from that one spot on the back wall and looked at the Princess. Daenerys hoped she knew how special she was, how much it meant to have a friend like her. There wasn’t time to say so now, and she wasn’t sure she’d get the chance later. They had run out of time. 

Lastly there was Arya, like Missandei she was standing tall, willing to face what was coming. Where they differed was that when she checked, Daenerys couldn’t see any hint that Arya was masking her emotions. She was tense but beyond that, showed no signs of fear. It didn’t make sense because Arya knew what her father was capable of. She nearly lost her life to him once already and somehow, he still didn’t intimidate her. As it’d done with Missandei, her mind taunted her with all the things left unsaid. She’d had much longer to show Missandei she cared about her, that she loved her, but she got only weeks with Arya. Would she know how Daenerys felt? How could she when Daenerys was too afraid to say it? Her early morning talk with Missandei about Arya was a cruel reminder of how fickle the fates could be. Then she was worried she wouldn’t have the courage to reveal the truth, now she just hoped they all survived long enough for her to have the chance. 

“Daenerys,” her father bellowed, “take your seat next to your brother.” 

There was a fraction of a second, a sliver of a moment before she looked toward the throne and after Aerys spoke, that Arya turned to her, their eyes met, and she saw sadness in the grey. 

It felt wrong leaving her friends and taking a seat next to her family but what choice did she have? Defying the King wouldn’t help anyone. 

Aerys had the highest perch in the room, but just below him, on an equal tier were an arrangement of chairs on both his left and his right. She belonged on the side reserved for family. They were arranged by age, Rhaegar first, then the empty spot for Viserys and lastly her. Behind Rhaegar Aemon sat, watching her approach sadly. Selmy stood behind the Prince’s chair. Normally Arya, Missandei and even Jorah would occupy the same space behind her but not this time. She’d never realized how much comfort their presence brought her, but she knew it now, on the long, isolated walk. 

Opposite the Targaryens was a section reserved for advisors. Tywin was there in his role as Hand of the King. Behind him, he had two of his three children. Tyrion and Cersei. She attended almost every meeting even though she didn’t hold an official position. Jaime wasn’t sitting but he was definitely present, likely near the King. In addition to the Lannisters, there was Varys, the Master of Whispers, Grand Maester Pycelle and most alarming Rossart, the alchemist. He rarely made an appearance unless he was needed. 

She took her seat and didn’t know where to look. Should she try and persuade Rhaegar to intercede? Should she be watching her father or was her time best spent on her friends? 

Ilyn Payne and a small group of others left their positions around Arya and approached the King. Although she was relieved fewer men with swords were clustered around her friends, it was hard to see the good in this situation. 

“Well done Ser,” her father praised, as Payne knelt before the throne. 

On his feet again he went to stand between the Clegane brothers. Daenerys swallowed hard. This inquisition was about to begin in earnest. 

The room was on edge. There was no murmuring from the gallery, not one impatient noble tapping his toes, not a cough, a sneeze or a clearing throat, it was completely silent. 

When the quiet ended, and the King spoke, it was every bit as bad as Daenerys feared. “Arya Sand,” he said, “step forward.”

R-C

Arya did as she was told. She may have appeared indifferent as she left Missandei, Jorah and the stablemaster behind her, but actually she was busy wrestling with the demons of her past. This was all a little too familiar. There were obvious differences, the whole court was in attendance this time, and she was called on first and not last, but those minor details weren’t enough to keep the memories at bay. The King’s empty eyes observed her from his chair of melted swords. She felt like the same little girl she’d been the last time. 

No, she wasn’t that girl anymore and thinking about her wouldn’t help Arya stay alive. She needed to focus on the here and now, if she wanted to save herself. She could contend with her past later, if she wasn’t dead. 

If there was a blessing, it was that neither Daenerys nor Missandei seemed to be included in whatever crime she was being accused of. Had he discovered she wasn’t a Dornish bastard but actually a traitorous Wolf? Ashara Musgood hadn’t arrived yet, but he could have heard it from another source, maybe one of the Spider’s little birds sang. 

As she stood before the Mad King of the Seven Kingdoms, she felt she was at the crossroads of many diverging paths. Why he wanted to see her was almost irrelevant. Did he know who she was? Did he have another reason, or was she just the next unlucky soul he decided to burn? She didn’t care, there were more important things to decide with her remaining moments. 

She sized up her opposition. Many of the best swordsmen in the Realm stood around the throne, including Jaime Lannister and Arthur Dayne. Between them, the Hound, and the Mountain, she didn’t think she could get to the King before she was cut down. Also, Daenerys was in the room. How would she feel if Arya killed her father and then was executed for it? That was not how she wanted the Princess to remember her. 

Rhaegar was an easier target. Slowed by his injury, and less protected, she had a decent chance of getting to him. If she struck quick, and with the element of surprise, she could be on him before Selmy or any others could stop her. She could avenge her Aunt Lyanna and right one of the many wrongs the Crown Prince had done. It was tempting but her conscience picked at the flaws in her scheme. For one, Aemon was there. Would he oppose her to save his father? Would she have to kill him to achieve her goal? Even if he stayed in his chair, her plan required her to murder a father in front of his son. Was she capable of that? Just wondering about her limitations brought a fresh wave of horrid recollections. For a second time, Daenerys was unknowingly the deciding factor that kept a member of her family alive. Arya may think Rhaegar wasn’t worthy to breathe but Daenerys loved him. He cared about her too, and the number of people who could say that were in dangerously short supply. Was it worth stealing her brother from her and causing her pain just to take revenge? 

She was still searching for a suitable option when the King spoke. “Arya Sand,” he began, “you stand accused of abandoning your post. Do you admit it?”

There was a gasp behind her from Missandei, but Arya kept her attention on the royal. The pieces were coming together. That was what this was about? With that little bit of information Arya knew exactly how she’d proceed. She’d face the King directly, tell the truth in a way befitting her father’s daughter and then if he ruled against her, she’d choose a trial by combat and die with a sword in her hand. 

She wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d win against the Mountain but refused to make it easy for them. Maybe if the Gods felt she was owed a final gift, Aerys would name Jorah his champion and she could kill Mormont. 

Her wet clothes and general pitiful appearance didn’t matter anymore. She addressed the King with all the dignity she had left. “I deny it!”

A sickening smirk spread across his face, and she knew then that he was hoping she’d say that. “So, you guarded the Princess this morning as you were sworn to do? You did not leave her defenseless and vulnerable to those who would harm her?”

She chose her next words carefully aware they could be her last. “I did not guard the Princess this morning,” she admitted, “but I did not abandon my post, and I certainly did not leave her vulnerable.”

“Explain that,” Tywin demanded. “You were either with the Princess or you were not.”

She turned to meet the Hand’s steady gaze. “I had business in the city,” she said, hoping to keep her reason hidden. She wanted it to be a surprise. “I went to the knight Jorah Mormont and asked him to keep the Princess safe in my absence.”

“So, you did abandon your post,” Aerys accused, “you woke up this morning, ignored your obligations to my daughter and your King and slithered away like a snake.”

She didn’t think anything she said would convince him, but there were others listening who might be swayed. For Daenerys in particular, Arya kept trying. No matter the outcome, she wanted Daenerys to know exactly what happened. “No, your Grace,” she corrected gently, nearly choking on his title, “before I left, I went to Lord Tyrion’s office to see if he had any business that required the Princess, he did not. Then I met with Prince Rhaegar and asked if Daenerys could accompany me, but he advised she was needed at the castle so I went alone, but only after making sure Jorah was willing and able to act as guard in my place.” 

“Is this true?” Rhaegar asked. 

At first Arya thought he was speaking to her, but behind her Jorah replied, “Yes Prince.”

“And you?” Tywin asked his son. “She met with you as she claims?” 

When she looked in Tyrion’s direction, the Master of the Coin was waiting to give her a smile. “Arya visits me daily,” he explained, “she comes on behalf of the Princess. Daenerys has been making sure those getting charitable gifts from the Crown receive them in short order, it’s been a great help.”

“Very well,” Tywin said, sounding satisfied. “I’ve heard…”

“Are you lying!?” Aerys shouted suddenly. “Traitors lie,” he said to himself, his voice dropping to a near whisper. Next Arya thought she heard him mumble, “Betrayers lie.” 

“No,” she said simply. She hadn’t lied. The only thing that wasn’t the absolute truth was that she considered taking Daenerys with her. Since the purpose of her trip was to buy something for her in secret, she chose to go when she knew the Princess couldn’t join her. Other than that, every word was accurate. 

“What was more important than protecting my daughter from the assassins plotting to kill her!?” He was back to yelling again, growing increasing agitated. 

“Nothing is more important than keeping the Princess safe.” She wasn’t as loud as the King, but she was just as passionate, on this point at least. “She had a knight with her when I wasn’t.” 

“Then why did you go?”

Since Ilyn Payne showed up at the stables and collected them Arya had made an effort not to look at Daenerys too frequently. She was afraid of what she’d see on her face and in her eyes. She needed to stay focused on the King and the immediate threat, she couldn’t do that if she was worrying about Daenerys. She broke her own rule anyway. As she feared, Daenerys was a mess. She was leaning forward in her seat with her hands on her knees. She looked poised to leap to the guard’s defense at the first available opportunity. The rain made it impossible to tell if she’d been crying, but in those violet eyes Arya saw the pain she was feeling. 

What was she to do? If she told the truth and admitted her reason, it would ruin the surprise of presenting Daenerys with a gift on her nameday, but if she didn’t, she might not live to see Daenerys open any gifts. There were no guarantees. She was no expert, but it appeared Aerys was losing his grip on reality. The longer this went on, the more volatile he became. He was talking to himself as often as he did his audience. Would it make any difference at all if she told him where she was, or would he just continue under another pretense?

R-C

Most of Daenerys’s thoughts were so chaotic that she didn’t have a chance to really take hold and think about them before they were gone. The only one that remained consistent, the only one that mattered was that she needed to get Arya out of this. She had to do something, to make sure Arya was safe. 

It had looked as if Arya was going to be granted another reprieve but then her father started shouting and Daenerys knew this wasn’t over. She wanted to defend Arya, but she didn’t know how. She hadn’t known where Arya was until they met at the stables. It was difficult to argue for someone’s innocence when you had little knowledge of the events. 

When her father called Arya forward and formally accused her, Daenerys felt as though her heart was breaking. She’d spent so much time, so much energy working to prepare herself for the possibility that she might one day become her father’s victim, but she’d been guarding against the wrong thing. Daenerys would take Arya’s place before the King in a second, if she could. The real concern she should have been obsessing over was not what the King might do to her, but what he might do to someone she cared about. First Missandei, now Arya, it was as if she couldn’t keep those who mattered to her safe. What was the point of being a Princess, a Dragon if she couldn’t protect them? 

Arya was as fearless as the day they met. She spoke to the King confidently with not even a tremor in her clear voice. Daenerys envied and admired her. Taking a chance and bringing Arya into her life was the single best decision she ever made. She couldn’t let this be how it ended. She needed to do something. 

As Arya’s ‘trial’ continued Daenerys couldn’t take her eyes of the criminal. She didn’t look away when her father posed a question, when Tywin added his own, or when Jorah, Rhaegar, and Tyrion spoke. To her Arya was all there was. 

When her father called Arya a liar, Daenerys knew she couldn’t let things continue. Liars died, liars burned, she had seen it too many times to think today would be different. With no time for manners she leaned across Viserys’s empty chair and touched her brother on the arm. Before his head could turn, she was hissing a message at him. “Stop this,” she implored. 

“I can’t,” he whispered back. 

She didn’t believe that. It was common knowledge that Aerys listened to exactly three people. He heeded some of Tywin’s advice, but was just as likely to do the exact opposite of what the Hand suggested. Rossart the pyromancer was the King’s single favorite person, but only because he didn’t involve himself in politics and never tried to reign in the deadly impulses. Rhaegar was the third, and the only one Aerys listened to consistently. As a second born son, Viserys was marginalized, and as a daughter Daenerys was rarely considered at all, but Rhaegar was the heir, he was the child their father was proud of and so, it made him the most influential. “You can!” she said, a little louder than before. She was being rude, and people were sure to take note of it, but she didn’t care. She was tired of sitting quietly and letting bad things happen. Did it occur to her brother that this was exactly what she tried to warn him about? This was entirely preventable. If he’d listened when she went to him, if he was willing to replace their father then Arya wouldn’t be in danger now. He wasn’t as guilty as Aerys but there was plenty of blame to go around. Since her pleas didn’t seem to be working, she moved on to threats. “Do something or I will.”

He had turned his head when she touched his arm, but quickly reoriented his eyes toward the action. Even as they went back and forth, he never faced her again, until she threatened to act. That had his attention. “Don’t,” he commanded. 

She was sitting upright by then, just a proper little Princess listening to her father lead. “I won’t let his happen,” she told him bluntly. 

Her conversation with her brother was temporarily put on hold when she heard Arya’s voice harden. Her ears blocked out everything else and she was struck by how serious Arya sounded. More shocking was to realize she was the topic. When Arya said that nothing was more important than her safety, Daenerys dared anyone in the room to deny her sincerity. Nothing she’d ever done made her deserving of having Arya in her life. 

Arya seeking her out was unexpected. Since the King separated them, Arya hadn’t so much as glanced at the Princess, but now she was staring openly. Daenerys’s worries multiplied. Was she trying to tell her something? If so, she couldn’t read the message, but just because she couldn’t understand didn’t mean she couldn’t send one back. “I’m sorry,” she said, mouthing the words. It bothered her how insignificant and weak the apology was. 

Arya responded with a sad smile that was gone as soon as it appeared. Daenerys glanced at Rhaegar and hoped to find him watching her. She wanted to know if he intended to intervene. He was once again focused solely on the King and of no use. Fine, if he wouldn’t help Arya, then it was up to Daenerys to do it. She took a deep breath and did her best to calm her nerves. Hoping to gain strength from Arya she looked to the guard and found her staring even more intently than last time. Now it was Arya’s lips moving. There was no sound, but she clearly mouthed the word, ‘don’t.’ Did she know what Daenerys was about to do? How could she? If she didn’t, why would she say that? Don’t what? 

Before she could comprehend any of it, Arya stopped staring, stopped passing secret and confusing messages and spoke to her father. “I went into the city to purchase a nameday gift for Princess Daenerys.”

The murmurs started in the back and grew, until it was all she could hear. It was a struggle for the Princess to even breathe. She hoped Arya might turn again, but she didn’t. Arya had gone out in the middle of a rainstorm to purchase her a present? Why would she? Sure, her nameday was near, but that was insignificant. Daenerys didn’t need anything, and Arya did. She should be spending her gold on things she wanted, or things she needed, not wasting it on Daenerys.

One of the most critical pairs of eyes matched her own. Rhaegar who only moments before acted powerless now wanted his sister’s time. She didn’t give it, choosing instead to look behind him to Aemon. Her nephew nodded in a show of support. 

“Quiet!” Tywin insisted. “Quiet now.”

The court settled and Daenerys went back to studying Arya. “You were purchasing Daenerys a gift?” To an outsider it might appear to be a perfectly innocent question from the King, but the Princess knew her father well. She learned to recognize the slight shifts in his tone and used them to predict his mood. The way he was feigning understanding, it was telling. He did the same thing when he asked her if she denied the claims against her, he wanted her to deny them, just as he wanted her to confirm she went shopping. There was a trap coming, she could feel it, even if its nature was unknown. 

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Aerys said, still sounding too sweet to be trusted. “This should be easy enough to resolve, present the gift to us, and prove you are not a liar and a deserter.” 

Daenerys’s mind raced. Did Arya have a gift to offer? She didn’t see anything, but then again, she wasn’t looking either. Did she leave it in the stables, in her saddlebag perhaps? Seconds passed one at a time and began to pile up. Daenerys was going to be sick. If Arya had something to present to the court, she would’ve done it. She couldn’t. 

“I placed an order and paid to have the gift commissioned today,” she said slowly, taking what felt like an extra long pause between each word. “I will receive a notice when it is ready to be picked up.”

Daenerys had been stunned to learn Arya had bought her something, but with every revelation it got worse. Arya didn’t just purchase an item, she had it made, especially for her. Her thoughts were interrupted by her father’s hard voice. “So, we are just supposed to believe you? You want me to trust that you were out buying a gift, and not plotting with my enemies, yet you can’t prove it.”

Daenerys was panicking. She didn’t know how to stop this. Rhaegar had already decided against helping her, so she searched the room for a friendly face, anybody who might be able to provide her guidance. She stopped when she landed on Missandei. The handmaiden was standing next to Jorah, a step-in front of the stablemaster. She looked how Daenerys felt. She cared about Arya too and she knew where this was headed. 

She wanted to scream! She was a fucking Princess and she was unable to help. She couldn’t even tell her own father he was wrong and now an innocent woman was going to suffer for it. All the tears she managed to hold back since leaving the stables broke free and rushed out. 

“I…” Arya started to say, but before she could truly begin Missandei of Naath stepped forward to stand at her side. 

She cleared her throat and then bowed her head in reverence to the King. “Apologies your Grace, but I believe I have valuable information to contribute.” 

“About the girl’s lies?”

Missandei’s false smile didn’t falter, not at all. Daenerys imagined it was an expression she perfected while dealing with the Masters of Astapor. “Actually, your Grace that is why I wanted to speak, because I can confirm Arya went into the city to buy the Princess a gift.”

Daenerys’s tears didn’t slow when she listened to Missandei defend Arya. She cried harder because Missandei had managed to accomplish what Daenerys had been trying to do since they entered. Where she failed the slave succeeded.

“You can?” Tywin inquired. 

“Yes m’lord,” Missandei said, “several days ago I informed Arya about the Princess’s upcoming nameday, she hasn’t been with us long, so I wanted to make certain she knew of it.” 

“Go on,” the Hand encouraged. 

“She thanked me for telling her, confirming that she wasn’t aware of the day’s significance.” Missandei paused and angled her head to look at Daenerys as she continued. “Arya asked if it was appropriate for a guard to buy the Princess a gift. I explained gifts were not required, but recommended she congratulate the Princess on the appropriate day.”

Daenerys couldn’t keep up. It all felt meaningful. Missandei was speaking directly to her, trying to tell her something important, Daenerys tried to listen, but her heaving chest and audible sobs were making it challenging. 

Her father had no such hardship. “So, you say you advised her not buy anything, as I thought.”

“I told her it wasn’t required,” Missandei corrected with steel in her spine. “She insisted she would get the Princess a gift, and we discussed several possible items Daenerys might enjoy.” 

“Do you have knowledge of the day’s events?” Tywin wondered. 

“M’lord, I knew Arya was going to go shopping. We’ve been so busy of late, that she hadn’t had a chance before now.” 

Was this true? Did Missandei know all along? She hadn’t been as bothered by Arya’s absence as Daenerys was, but she did seem concerned. If she knew where Arya was, why did Missandei accompany her to the stables?

“Thank you,” Tywin said, “you may return to your place with the Princess.” 

“At once, m’lord.” 

“Your Grace, while it is true the guard Arya Sand did leave the castle this morning, I believe the evidence shows that she did so without malice. She ensured the Princess would be protected by recruiting Mormont to replace her, and her motive was a good one.”

“Yes,” Rhaegar concurred, “The handmaiden’s statement confirms where she was and Ser Payne found her in the stables, returning her horse, which also supports her account.” 

That Tywin and Rhaegar believed Arya didn’t provide an ounce of relief. Daenerys knew only one opinion truly mattered. She held her breath. 

“Very well then. Master of the Coin, you will dock the pay of guard Arya Sand, and this matter is closed.” 

She had to grit her teeth to keep from screaming. Even when he arrived at the right conclusion her father couldn’t help but take a parting shot. 

“I’ll make the required adjustments,” Tyrion confirmed. 

That was the end. Aerys got up and left. He didn’t apologize for the misunderstanding or make a formal decree about Arya’s innocence, he just walked out with Tywin, Jaime, and the Mountain in tow.

It took a moment for Daenerys’s brain to accept that it was over. In that time the court began to move freely. Some were leaving, but most were gathering together, talking about what they just saw. When she stood up, her legs were unsteady. She lowered herself back down into the seat and closed her eyes. Crowds had arranged themselves in such a way that they effectively blocked her path to Arya. She wanted to go to her, to check on her, to apologize and beg for forgiveness, but first she needed to pull herself together. 

“Are you okay?” Missandei asked gently. She was squatted down next to Daenerys’s chair. 

“Are you? I’m sorry you had to do that. I wanted to say something I just…” The words trailed off because she didn’t have a valid excuse. How could she explain that she was too frightened of her father to do the right thing? 

“It’s okay, I understand.” She wasn’t worthy of the relief those words gave her, but they eased the hurt some. 

“Come on,” Daenerys said, standing up successfully this time. “Let’s go find Arya and get out of here.” 

Before they could begin the hunt, Rhaegar and Aemon were there. “Daenerys, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, “now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Wait, Dany wait, please. I’m sorry, I know that was difficult. I just want to talk.” 

Difficult didn’t even scratch the surface of what that was. That was torture, and now he wanted to talk? Why did everything have to happen when and how he wanted it? He might be the Crown Prince, but she was his sister and when she asked him for help, he denied her. When she wanted him to speak, when she begged, he had nothing for her. She felt spiteful as she recalled his refusals. It wasn’t the same thing, not even close, but she could deny him his request, just as he had hers. “I can’t,” she told him, using his own words against him. Bitterly, she hoped he found as little comfort in them as she had while she waited to see if Arya would die. 

“What? Why not? Look I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just…”

She didn’t want to hear it. She walked quickly, confident Rhaegar was in no condition to chase after her. She passed through the people easily, bypassing all attempts to slow her with conversations, trivial or otherwise. She took Missandei’s hand and moved faster. “I’m sick of this fucking place.” 

“You’ll feel better once we talk to Arya.”

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: After focusing on their relationship and its progress, I felt like they were overdue for a reminder about how deadly most of the people around them are. 
> 
> Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about this chapter, I wanted it to be slightly chaotic, especially the parts inside Daenerys’s head, but as I was editing it, I started to worry that maybe it would be too difficult to read or follow. 
> 
> Next up we’ll have the aftermath of Arya’s trial. I think a lot of people will enjoy Daenerys’s response to nearly losing her. Ashara Dayne will make an appearance too. . 
> 
> Until then – Take Care
> 
> RC


	20. Chapter 20

Four people tried to stop her as she crossed the room. The first two she managed to escape from painlessly, promising they’d talk later. The third, couldn’t take the hint and seemed oblivious to Daenerys’s need to be elsewhere. Finally, she ended it by interrupting something the man was saying. “That’s good,” she said, unsure if it really was. She hadn’t heard a word. “If you’ll excuse me, I have urgent business.” 

Manners dictated that she should wait to be dismissed before moving on, but she spun away so quickly her hair might have struck him in the process. 

A middle-aged woman was the fourth and final obstacle Daenerys had to face. She stopped listening as soon as the compliments started. Putting the time to better use, she looked around the woman, hoping for a glimpse of Arya. She never would’ve known it was her turn to speak had it not been for Missandei’s elbow against her side. How could she provide the response when she didn’t know the question? The answer of course was Missandei. She chose that moment to ‘drop’ a handful of loose coins. “Apologies Princess, m’lady.”

Daenerys squatted down next to her friend and they began speaking in High Valyrian as they rounded up the money. “Say thank you,” Missandei instructed, “and then compliment her generosity.” Missandei smiled almost slyly, a rare look for her. “Trust me. Now stand up and reprimand me for speaking High Valyrian in front a woman who doesn’t understand it.” 

She didn’t want to do it, to let Missandei take the blame, but as they straightened up, the slave nodded in encouragement. “There you go Missandei,” she said as convincingly as she could. She passed over the coins she gathered and continued, “Please remember this is Westeros, in front of others, refrain from using Valyrian, it’s rude.” 

“Of course, Princess,” Missandei said, looking down and bowing her head in submission. “Apologies m’lady,” she said to their guest. 

“Oh, that’s quite alright. I didn’t understand a word, but it sounded quite lovely.” 

Daenerys couldn’t help but marvel at the way Missandei managed to charm yet another unsuspecting stranger. “Now, where were we?” she asked rhetorically. “Oh yes, thank you for your kind words, and may I say, your generosity is inspiring.” 

Not surprisingly, following Missandei’s advice proved wise. The older woman blushed, then said, “It was nothing Princess, I was just following your example. I am sure you have many people to see, so I won’t keep you, but I do hope we see one another again soon.” 

“I’m sure we will,” Daenerys said as she and Missandei slipped away. Once there was a suitable distance between them, she wondered, “What did she do that was generous?”

“Her house gave food to the needy in the Riverlands.” 

“That is a good cause,” she acknowledged. 

“It is.”

“I’m sorry I had to yell at you. I should have been paying attention and then…”

With a light laugh Missandei shook her head. “It was my idea.” 

“Still,” Daenerys protested. She wasn’t ready to let this go. She didn’t like being upset with Missandei, even if it was pretend. The large number of people around to see and hear only made it worse. Daenerys and Missandei may have known it was fake but none of the others did and they were building assumptions about Missandei on that faulty information. 

“I knew why you weren’t listening to her, and it’s okay. Arya’s needs are more important.” 

They were in agreement there. It happened off to her left, a couple walked away, opening a clear line of sight between where Daenerys was and where Arya and Tyrion were talking. 

She grabbed the bottom of her dress to allow her legs to move quicker and hurried over. Missandei was a step behind but Daenerys had faith that she’d catch up. When she got close enough to listen in, any relief she felt disappeared. 

“You heard the King,” Tyrion said, “I’ll need to deduct half your pay.”

He didn’t mean that did he? Tyrion wouldn’t do that to her, he liked Arya. 

Arya replied without feeling, “Get on with it then.”

“Well then,” Tyrion began, before stopping to clear his throat. “Half of…”

“Don’t you dare!” she snapped, coming to stand between them. 

The dwarf and the guard wore matching expressions Daenerys couldn’t comprehend. They looked amused, as if they were in the midst of a joke that was nearing completion. Her eyes went from Arya’s face to Tyrion’s and then back to Arya’s. She checked twice, because it didn’t seem possible, but she was smiling. 

“It’s okay Princess, the Master of Coin is just doing his job.” As she spoke Arya turned her head away from Tyrion, giving Daenerys the full force of that smile. It stole the air from her lungs. 

“Distasteful business,” Tyrion noted. 

“Then don’t do it,” Daenerys interjected. She hadn’t been able to help before but this, with Tyrion, maybe she stood a chance. “You’re a busy man, it would be understandable if in all the excitement of the day, you forgot to make one entry in your many ledgers.”

Already smiling, Tyrion’s happy expression grew wider and more pronounced. While she tried to understand, she was distracted by Arya’s hand grazing her lower back. It was the same way the guard touched her to steer her in a crowd, but this time there was no one to avoid, she was just directing Daenerys to stand closer. She definitely didn’t mind anything that brought her and Arya together. After the adjustment, they were standing close enough for their shoulders to touch, making it easy for Arya to lean down and whisper, “Trust me.” 

All the Princess could do was nod dumbly, too caught up in the hand still resting on the small of her back, too mesmerised by the smooth words spoken directly into her ear. 

“Forgive the intrusion m’lord,” Arya said formally to the Lannister. “You were saying?”

Tyrion looked between the Princess and the solider for a moment. He was enjoying something about all this and seemed eager to prolong it. “Yes, well about that, I agree it is unfortunate, but I am sworn to obey the King’s commands, and so I must deduct a value of half from your wage.” 

Daenerys expected Arya’s smile to falter, but it didn’t. She wanted to try again to convince Tyrion not to proceed but Arya asked for her trust, so she’d give it. 

“How much will that be?” 

“Well,” Tyrion said, “your current salary is zero, so half of that would be… zero, I suspect.”

If she hadn’t been so focused on finding Arya, maybe she would have realized her pleas were unnecessary. She never stopped to consider that Arya wasn’t being paid. She had little to have taken by the King’s decree. 

She so rarely had to deal with money that it didn’t occur to her, as a result, she caught onto the joke too late. She expected Arya to be distraught, furious or some combination of the two, but instead she finds her tucked away in a corner of the room with Tyrion, joking over her misfortune. 

“Think you can remember to put that in your books?” Arya teased. 

“It’s a lot of zeros, but I’ll somehow manage to keep it straight.” 

“You’re joking about this?” Daenerys asked hotly, her frayed nerves finally unravelling. 

“Not much else to do,” she remarked offhandedly. As she spoke, she applied a bit more pressure to Daenerys’s back, almost as if she wanted to remind the Princess she was there. “Tyrion here snared me after your father left and we hid ourselves here.”

“I was looking for you,” Daenerys admitted quietly. 

“That’s my fault Princess,” Tyrion jumped in, taking the blame. “You know how these jackals can be.” He held out his short arm and waved it over the room of nobles. “Everyone wanted a word with the famed deserter. I thought Arya might appreciate being spared all of that, so I got to her first.” 

She didn’t like Tyrion calling Arya a deserter, even if it was a jest, but apart from that she could see his words had merit. Many in her father’s court had grown just as bloodthirsty as their leader. She could only imagine how some would react, coming to witness an execution only to have both sides leave unscathed. Not only that, rumors would begin soon, if they hadn’t already. Twice now Arya Sand was called before Aerys Targaryen and twice, she lived. People were going to love to talk about why. 

“I do appreciate it Tyrion, truly. My day was harrowing enough without being tossed to the court like meat thrown at a lion.” 

The Lannister smiled at the reference to his house. “Vivid imagery, but not inaccurate. Some would want to be your friend, others would want to hate you and I think a handful intended to proposition you.” 

And just like that the air she was breathing was incompatible with her body. She coughed and covered her mouth as she choked. 

Arya had been laughing at Tyrion’s depiction of the court but stopped abruptly when Daenerys began coughing. “Are you alright?” Her hands went to Daenerys’s waist to help support her weight. From behind Missandei provided a cloth while rubbing her back. 

“Are you well Princess?” Tyrion asked. He sounded genuinely concerned, but in his eyes, she saw understanding. She felt exposed. 

“Yes,” she said, glad her face was still red from her coughing fit. It would make it easier to hide the blush. “I’ll be fine.” 

Satisfied, Arya stepped back, removing her hands from Daenerys completely for the first time since they were reunited. Mercifully, she didn’t go far. “Missandei of Naath.” 

“Arya Sand,” she countered. 

The friends wore matching smiles. “Thank you for what you did. I know it wasn’t easy…”

“It was the right thing to do,” Missandei justified.

“Not that I’m not grateful,” Arya continued, “but I don’t remember the conversation happening quite like that.”

Watching Missandei shrug and offer up nothing else was the only proof Daenerys needed. “You lied?” she hissed. She hadn’t meant it to come out as harshly or as accusatory as it did. 

Before either woman could make the next move, Tyrion reminded them where they were. “Not here,” he warned. 

The group had things to discuss, but whatever hung between them, Tyrion was right, this was not the proper place for it. “Drinks upstairs?” Daenerys suggested. 

“We should change our clothes first,” Missandei added. 

“That’s a good idea." Daenerys wouldn’t be sad if she never saw this particular dress again, which was probably a good thing, since it was likely too damaged to salvage. Her time in the throne room gave her something else to focus on, but she remained cold and damp, chilled to the bone. She assumed Arya felt much the same way, though the solder would never admit it. She’d been outside much longer than the Princess. “Okay, everyone can meet in the sitting room near my chambers when they’re ready.” 

Tyrion seized the opportunity to ease some of the tension. “Spend my afternoon with three beautiful women instead of alone in my office with only numbers? I’ll drink to that.”

R-C

They sat in a private sitting room with the doors closed. Tyrion found and poured the wine, and everyone waited. Arya could see they all had questions on the tips of their tongues, but they were holding them at bay until someone broke the silence. 

She wasn’t sure how to feel. She managed to keep her identity hidden from the Mad King and half of King’s Landing without losing her life, but she was disappointed that Daenerys now knew where she’d been. When she presented Daenerys with her nameday gift it would hardly be a surprise. 

In addition, other things didn’t make sense, like how Aerys knew she was gone in the first place? It wasn’t uncommon for Arya and the King to only see one another at dinner, and yet within hours of her leaving the keep, he prepared her welcome and arranged a trial. Did he have someone following her? She’d like to think she would’ve been able to spot the offender if she had a shadow, but it wasn’t a guarantee. Another possibility was that the stablemaster reported to the Hand or the Spider, but that too seemed unlikely since the man had been terrified too. If he knew it was going to happen, she would have expected him act more composed. Someone had to tell the King, but who and why? 

“You lied,” Daenerys asked Missandei directly. It was softer this time, and more controlled with none of the hostility they heard in the throne room. Apparently, everybody was ready for the answers to their questions. Arya set the mystery of how she’d been found out to the back of her mind and gave the room and her friends her undivided attention. 

“I didn’t lie exactly, I just exaggerated a bit,” Missandei explained. 

“What does that mean?” Daenerys fired back, clearly not appreciating the vague non-answer. 

The slave’s dark eyes found Arya and asked for permission to share the details of their conversations. Arya didn’t mind. The surprise was ruined, and that particular secret was out. It wouldn’t harm anyone if Tyrion and Daenerys learned the truth. She nodded. 

“Arya and I did speak about your nameday and the conversation was, as I said. I told her she wasn’t required to buy a gift, and she said she wanted to.” 

When attention shifted to her, Arya reached for the wine in front of her. She drank slowly, hoping the delay would prompt someone else to speak, so she wouldn’t have to. 

Missandei had more. “Arya did tell me she intended to get you something and I suspected that’s where she’d gone this morning.”

Tyrion put the pieces together first, likely because he wasn’t bogged down by all the conflicting emotions Daenerys was battling. “Suspected, but didn’t know?”

Missandei unfolded her hands in her lap and set one on Daenerys’s forearm. “I didn’t want you to worry, but I also didn’t want to spoil the surprise.” 

“The King did that,” Arya said under her breath as she set her cup down. 

“No, he didn’t,” Daenerys disagreed. “I still have no idea what you got me, or why you’d go to so much trouble.”

If she was going to explain why she chose to buy Daenerys a present, it wouldn’t be when Missandei and Tyrion were there. “I appreciate your understanding, Princess.”

It was clear Daenerys had more she wanted to get off her chest, but she broke eye contact with Arya and found Missandei instead. “Thank you,” she said, “I wish I were half as brave as you.” 

Missandei shrugged again, trying to minimize her contributions. “He wasn’t going to stop, until he had proof, so I gave him some.”

She made it sound so easy. Arya knew from experience it wasn’t. Facing the Mad King took courage and Missandei had more than most. “You saved my life. I’m in your debt.”

“This was certainly not how I thought the day was going to go,” Tyrion commented casually as he refilled his wine. He went around from seat to seat, pouring as the ladies apologized to one another. By the time he was done, so were they. Everybody had shared their side of the story and was up to date on things from everyone else’s perspective. At least for the time being, the questions had been laid to rest. She couldn’t speak for anyone else, but Arya was glad that none of this mess was going to damage their friendships. In the throne room when Daenerys accused Missandei of lying, Arya thought she was the weapon that caused irrevocable harm to the bond between the women. It was a comfort to know they’d be okay. 

Arya and Missandei hugged first, then Missandei and Daenerys and then finally Arya and Daenerys. When Daenerys had her arms securely around the guard, she tried to apologize. For what, Arya didn’t know, she didn’t let it get that far. “I’m sorr…”

“Later,” she whispered back, “we’ll talk later.” 

Postponing difficult conversations hadn’t been a habit of hers, not until she met Daenerys. Now the list of topics that awaited them kept growing longer. She knew she couldn’t outrun things forever, and she wasn’t opposed to talking about it, but they weren’t alone now. 

“So, is that the end of it then?” Tyrion asked the room. Somehow, he’d fallen into the role of mediator and between sips of his drink, he appeared suited to it. 

Missandei looked at Arya first and then Daenerys before nodding that she was content with things as they were. Daenerys said so verbally and then it was Arya’s turn. She wanted to agree, to talk about something else, but that nagging question from earlier came back. “I’m good, there is just one thing I don’t understand.”

“What?” Daenerys inquired. 

“The King and I do not cross paths often,” she said as a preface to her point. “The days I see him before dinner are rare, and yet somehow today, on the first and only day I’ve ever left your side, he knew quick enough to have men ready to take me at the stable?” She took a deep breath and considered emptying her wine before she thought better of it. A clouded mind wouldn’t make this puzzle easier to solve. “It might be nothing, but it just seems unlucky that today is the day he decides to check on me.” 

Their faces told Arya everything she needed to know. Daenerys was surprised. She clearly hadn’t given any thought to how they’d been discovered. Now that she was, she was finding the problem just as vexing as Arya. 

Missandei was more logical and composed but with equal determination. With a furrowed brow, she was chewing her bottom lip, lost in thought as she sought the answer that escaped them. 

Tyrion was methodical, approaching the problem from a different angle. “Did you tell anyone where you were going or why?” he asked her. 

“No, I didn’t expect it to take as long as it did, so I thought I’d be back before anyone noticed I was gone.” 

“Why? What are you thinking Tyrion?” Daenerys pressed. 

“Very few people can get to the King on such short notice,” he stated. “He had meetings this morning I’m sure, so who could interrupt his meeting and inform him about Arya? Who would want to?”

That was a fair point and it clarified things for Arya. She knew exactly who had told Aerys she was away from her post and she knew why. Angry as she was, she didn’t want to expose him and cause Daenerys pain. She did her best to remain composed when she said, “It’s not important and I’d really like to talk about something else.” 

“Of course,” Daenerys agreed. 

“Tell me about Dorne,” Tyrion chimed in. 

Something about the way he said it had her uneasy. It was like he had been waiting all day for the opportunity. She took an immediate liking to Tyrion, but his father was one of the handful of men there on the day her family went before Aerys. It wasn’t unthinkable to assume he and by extension his son knew what became of the survivors. Had he put it together? Was he gathering evidence, trying to prove a theory or did he already know? “What would you like to know?” she asked carefully. She reached for her wine and pushed it away. If she was going to be subtly interrogated by the Imp, she needed a clear head. 

“Everything, I’ve never been. Is it as foreign as books make it sound?” 

“To us it’s places like King’s Landing that are foreign,” she told him. She held her breath and watched his face for any signs he knew. She’d given him an opening, a big one, she labelled herself as Dornish and now she just had to wait and see if he’d correct her. If he knew she was Arya Stark, then he knew she grew up in Winterfell and that Sunspear was just as strange to her as it would be to him. 

Tyrion laughed without a care. “That’s fair. I’ve always wanted to go, but it’s so far away, and I don’t really like sand, so I always put it off.” 

Arya relaxed, if only slightly. Tyrion appeared sincere, suggesting that maybe his interest was truly academic. She’d need to tread carefully, but if he wanted to reveal her secrets, he wasn’t going to get many better chances than the one he just let pass. 

R-C

Three hours later, Tyrion was quizzing Arya about the Sand Snakes. Since learning she not only knew Oberyn but trained with him, that became the center of his focus. Slowly, she let herself relax and enjoy the peaceful afternoon after a brutal morning. With each story, they laughed and joked, and slowly Arya forgot about her concerns that Tyrion knew more than she wanted him to. She doubted anyone, even a Lannister could be so skilled a liar as to not give a single hint.

“You’ve met all of them, all eight? I assumed at least one of them was a rumor he didn’t correct.” 

“There are plenty of rumors about them,” she confirmed, “but they do exist.”

“And they have their father’s talent for weapons?” 

“The eldest definitely do, and I imagine some if not all of the others will as well.” 

“We can attest to that,” Daenerys added. “We saw the older three girls spar while we were there.” 

“Really? What was it like?”

“Obara is her father’s daughter to the bone, she uses a spear, just like him,” Arya held up one finger as she began her list. “Nymeria favors her mother’s whip.”

“A whip?” Tyrion verified skeptically. He was studying her closely for any clue she was exaggerating. 

“I’d never seen anything like it,” Daenerys shared, “Ellaria told me she got her ability from her mother.” 

“I never met her, but Oberyn told me she was beautiful and deadly. Like mother, like daughter apparently.” 

Arya hadn’t meant to call Nym beautiful, though she was. She was only repeating what Oberyn told her, and any time they discussed Nymeria’s mother, those were always used to explain the attraction – deadly and beautiful. 

Not wanting Daenerys to misunderstand she tried to get the Princess’s attention, but she refused to look Arya’s way. 

Sensing an opportunity to unsettle the Lannister she gave more detail for the third daughter. “Tyene has her father’s taste for blades and poisons. He tutors her in what to coat her daggers in.” 

“I’ll never forget the first time I heard a man he dueled died within hours of the match, despite having only a minor wound,” Tyrion remembered. “Naturally I thought it was shit. People die, it wasn’t the Prince’s fault if the prick he cut had a weak heart,” Tyrion paused for effect and then finished his thought, “but then it kept happening. Time and time again anyone who fought him and managed to survive would fall ill soon after.” 

“That’s why you took the venom from the snakes right?” Daenerys guessed. 

She didn’t get to confirm her motives, because there was a knock at the door. It shattered the easy peace they were enjoying and reminded all four of them that there was a real world beyond the sitting room beckoning. 

Missandei looked poised to answer it, but Arya was quicker. She jumped up before the handmaiden could inconvenience herself. A young boy of about eight with brown hair and green eyes was waiting in the hall. “Apologies,” he said in a well-practiced manner, “is Lord Tyrion inside?”

She gave the boy a smile and opened the door wider. “Lord Tyrion is in here,” she told him, speaking loud enough for the Master of Coin to hear. “Come on in.” The boy looked uncertain, so she stepped back and waved him in. 

“Aidan, what are you doing here?” Tyrion asked when he saw who had come looking. 

“Apologies m’lord,” he said, studying the floor, “but you wished to be informed when the guests from the Stormlands arrived.” 

Tyrion’s posture softened some. “How did you find me?”

“I checked your office, then your chambers, then the throne room, then …”

He put a hand on the boy’s head, messing his already unkept hair. “That’s a lot of checking, you must be tired. Go get yourself something to eat and then you can rest.” From a pocket he produced two gold dragons and handed them to Aidan. 

He took them carefully, afraid they’d break or vanish before he could make contact. “Thank you m’lord,” he said, unable to look away from the coins. “Can I be of any more service?”

Tyrion shook his head. “Not today, come to my office tomorrow and I may have work for you then.” 

“Okay, I will m’lord, thank you.”

Tyrion chuckled as his hireling hurried away. “What was that about?” Daenerys wondered, saving Arya the trouble of needing to ask. 

“That’s Aidan, his parents are dead, and he’s alone, so I pass him a few coins for his help around the office.” 

She knew Tyrion liked to act indifferent and cold, but there were times when it became clear he did have a heart in there somewhere. He didn’t have to help Aidan, but he did. Arya was living proof that the smallest things could make a big difference. Two coins meant nothing to the Lannister, but she doubted little Aidan felt the same way about his new windfall. 

“You asked him to let you know when the Musgoods arrived then?”

Tyrion chuckled and shook his head, looking at the open door Aidan fled through. “I thought I’d be in my office. I didn’t mean for him to go door to door around the Red Keep searching.” 

She felt badly for the boy. There were a lot of doors between Tyrion’s office and where they were drinking. His expression made it known Tyrion was thinking the same thing. It couldn’t be helped. Tyrion had tried to do a good thing, and he didn’t know when he gave Aidan his ‘job’ that the King was going to accuse Arya of treason. He couldn’t know he wouldn’t go back to his office. The child was equally blameless. He probably wanted to impress Tyrion by doing exactly what he was told. Other servants would have given up after a few minutes or a few rooms, while Aidan remained determined to prove deserving of the money Tyrion offered. 

Arya hoped humor would alleviate some of his guilt. “You can’t teach that kind of commitment,” she remarked, “I’d keep him around, if I were you.” 

His only reply was a short laugh and a nod, but she got the impression he appreciated her attempt regardless. 

“The Musgoods have arrived?” Missandei posed it like a question, but it wasn’t. They all heard what Aidan said. 

“It seems so.” 

Ashara Dayne’s visit and the potential dangers involved had been a worry that consumed her earlier in the day. Since then, there had been a lot of other things to grab and hold her attention. She’d allowed herself to forget about the Dornishwoman’s visit and relish a few hours of much needed peace. That was over now. So soon after surviving one life threatening situation, the Gods tossed her into another. 

“I need to go by the barracks and get my armor,” she said to no one in particular, “hopefully it’ll be dry by now.” If she was going to do this, she’d be needing her helmet. 

R-C

Arya stayed back when Jon Musgood and his family made their introductions. There were ten visible guards, probably twice as many outside, a collection of servants and the nobles themselves, Jon, Ashara and their children. 

They retired to a sitting room to rest from their travels and Arya breathed a sigh of relief. Just when she was beginning to think she’d worried for nothing, Ashara looked up, picked hers out of all the faces in the room and smiled. Arya responded with a stiff nod. Her instincts warned of danger, but Arya tried to temper that with restraint. It was unrealistic to think she wouldn’t notice Arya at some point. Likewise, the Martell armor she wore did stick out amongst all the three-headed dragons. 

It was just before dinner that Ashara stood, kissed her husband’s cheek and went to speak to someone. Arya paid her little mind, falling into her role as Daenerys’s protector. With so many strangers about, she had to be extra vigilant. 

She didn’t think about Ashara again until the Lady of Storm’s End was standing right in front of her. “A fellow Dornish,” she said in greeting. Arya needed a moment to gather her wits. Ashara was nothing if not beautiful. Arya didn’t know her in her youth, but she doubted she looked better than she did now. No, it was more likely that Ashara was just one of those rare people who somehow got more attractive with time.

“Indeed m’lady. I am Arya S…”

“I know who you are,” she said at her normal volume, before she took pains to quiet her voice. “I remember you.”

Well then, at least she wouldn’t have to worry for days if the former Dayne knew her. She appeared to prefer getting right to it. “You’d be forgiven for forgetting m’lady, it was a long time ago and …”

“Lady Musgood, I didn’t know you knew Arya, though I should have suspected. Did you meet at the Water Gardens?” Daenerys inquired. She must’ve seen them talking and come to save her guard from an uncomfortable conversation. Arya didn’t think she realized just how badly that rescue might be needed. 

“As I said, it was a brief meeting, long ago, I didn’t expect the Lady to remember,” Arya minimized. 

“How is she doing as guard Princess?” Ashara asked. “Many in Sunspear are waiting to hear.” 

Daenerys smiled warmly, first at the guest and then at Arya. “She’s great,” she declared, “the best guard I’ve ever had.” 

She bowed her head slightly. “You are too kind Princess.” 

Ashara reminded them she was there by saying, “I admit, I had a motive for coming over to say hello.” 

Daenerys tried to catch her eye, but Arya looked at the woman who could expose her and no where else. “Oh?”

“You’ve seen Dorne much more recently than I, I was hoping you’d be willing to spend a few minutes sharing news from home.”

“Home?” Daenerys repeated. 

Ashara justified her request with a guilty looking smile for the Princess. “I like Storm’s End well enough. I love my family and our people, but I don’t know if it’ll ever be home.” She shifted her gaze to Arya. “The place we’re born will always have a hold on us, no matter how old we get or how far we travel, don’t you think?”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she couldn’t take back. By directing that comment to her and not Daenerys, it was clear she was testing the guard. She’d gone out of her way so far, to keep Daenerys from learning Arya’s origin, but could she count on that to continue? She could have told the room already, or sent word privately to the King, but she hadn’t, she’d come to Arya directly and begun playing games. 

“You are probably right,” she started, ignoring the taste of blood on her tongue, “where we come from does matter, but it isn’t everything. Sometimes, where we end up is more significant.” 

She waited anxiously to see what Ashara’s response would be. Her posture softened and she grinned. “You may be on to something,” she acknowledged. “Could you spare a few minutes to indulge an old woman anyway?” 

“Of course, m’lady. Ask and I will try to answer what I can.” 

“I appreciate that.” To Daenerys she said, “You’ve got yourself a good one here.” 

Daenerys agreed, unaware of the tension. “Yes, I do.”

“Would you mind accompanying me outside?” Ashara asked, pushing her luck. “I’m in need of some air.” 

She wasn’t sure. It wasn’t coincidence that Ashara wanted to speak to her in private, but abandoning Daenerys didn’t seem like a winning strategy either. She’d already been accused of desertion once today. 

“It’s okay,” Daenerys assured her, “I’ll be right over there with Aemon and Missandei.” 

Arya sought them out, so she’d know where to look to find Daenerys upon her return. “We can do this later,” she proposed, not wanting to leave Daenerys alone if it made her uncomfortable.

“I don’t mind,” she said without much feeling, a complete reversal from the next words that were brimming with emotion. “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t,” she promised. She watched Daenerys walk away, hoping those weren’t the last words they’d get to exchange. She tried to make sense of Ashara’s behavior but couldn’t. As far as Arya knew she hadn’t told anyone what she knew. She had ample opportunities to inform Daenerys but didn’t. She could have avoided Arya all together, said nothing and gone back to Storm’s End after her visit with no one the wiser, but she hadn’t done that either. She walked up to Arya on the first day and made enough veiled comments for Arya to assume she knew everything. Why do that, if not to tell? 

The rain had stopped at some point, but Arya couldn’t appreciate it. “You have the look of your father.” 

She wasn’t going to bite. She said nothing, she didn’t move or even blink, she just stared. If Ashara wanted a reaction it would take more than mentioning her father. 

With a weak little huff, she folded her hands together in front of her. “Nothing?” She paused just long enough to confirm Arya wasn’t willing to contribute and then carried on. “Very well, let’s get the big things out of the way, I know who you are, I know why you’re here and I have no interest in telling either of those things to anyone.” 

“Why not?” she felt obligated to ask. The Daynes prospered after Robert was dead. She imagined revealing a traitor in his castle would lead to more rewards from the King, so why wasn’t she eager to claim them? 

“I have no desire to see you killed,” she admitted. “Whatever crimes your father committed, he more than paid for them. It would benefit no one to compound the tragedy.” 

That was twice she mentioned her father, so Arya made an educated guess. “You knew my father?”

“I did,” she verified with a sincere smile, “he was a sweet boy who grew into a kind, fair man.” 

She wrestled to regain control of the emotions talking about her father brought to the forefront. There would be time to miss him later, for now she had more urgent problems. “How did you know?” She asked because if Ashara solved it, others could too. Was it just a matter of time before someone else with a more sinister purpose realized her identity? 

“I received a raven for Oberyn Martell several weeks ago. He learned of my intention to come here and requested that I check on you.” 

Hearing her reasons all the aggression left Arya’s body. Oberyn sent her. She’d come as a friend not an enemy. “I’m sorry,” she said hoping it would make up for her attitude. It wasn’t enough, so she kept going. “Thank you for assisting Oberyn and I, and for keeping my secrets.” 

Ashara remained just as genuine as she seemed discussing Ned. “Royalty or not, they don’t need to know everything.”

“I’m grateful for your discretion m’lady.” 

“I’ll send word to Oberyn as soon as I can, letting him know you’re well, and I can pass along any other messages you have, if you wish.” She got to the end of her proposal and then circled back to the beginning. “You are well, aren’t you? You and the Princess seem to be getting along.” 

The fact that she was almost executed that day not withstanding, she really was okay. Oberyn needn’t worry. If Ashara only knew because he told her, then it was likely that she would get through the remainder of her time in King’s Landing without too much difficulty. “The Princess is great. If I have to guard someone, I’m glad it’s her.”

With motherly understanding that had her missing Catelyn Stark, Ashara replied, “She is a remarkable young woman.” 

They stood together on the balcony overlooking a garden below. She thought they were done until Ashara made another point. “Before we go back inside, you should know I have room for one more on my return to Storm’s End. If you choose to accompany us, I’ll provide safe haven for you until Oberyn arrives. Once he joins us, he’ll escort you to Essos or wherever else you want to go.” 

Knowing who Arya was and saying nothing about it was a crime, but one that could be explained away. If pressed on the subject Ashara could insist she wasn’t certain Arya was Ned Stark’s child. What they were discussing now was different. There was no way to talk yourself out of helping a traitor’s daughter flee the King. If Ashara did this and was caught, it would have ramifications for her entire family, deadly ones. 

“Why would you do that?” Unlike the last time, this was devoid of accusation or skepticism, in its place was curiosity. She knew why Oberyn was risking his neck for her, but why would Ashara do it?

She tried to make light of the very serious topic. “Apart from wanting Oberyn in my debt?”

“Yeah, apart from that.” 

“I’m doing it for your father, because I know if he were here, it’s what he’d want me to do,” she confessed. 

“Were you close?”

“Not especially, we could have been, maybe, but our lives took us in different directions. When your grandfather and uncle were killed, he married your mother and we ended up on different sides of the war, but he was a good man. He did not deserve what happened to him, none of you did.”

She still had questions, but the major ones had been resolved. She knew what Ashara knew, how she learned it, and her intentions. Most importantly Arya knew she came with Oberyn’s blessing. Her friend wouldn’t involve Ashara unless she could be trusted. If Oberyn had faith in her, that was good enough for Arya too. 

They waited another minute before opening the heavy doors and stepping back inside. They said nothing on the short walk to the sitting room, at least until they were about to go their separate ways. “Thank you,” Arya whispered. 

“There she is!” a strong voice called from near the Musgood family. Arya traced the sound to its source and recognized the man. 

Ashara marched to him and throw her arms around him. Once she was done hugging her brother Ashara moved on to Ser Barristan and then Rhaegar. She took more care with the Prince, not wanting to cause him pain, but her enthusiasm was evident. “If it isn’t three of my favorite people,” she gushed. “Don’t think I didn’t notice none of you were here to greet us when we arrived.” 

“Apologies sister,” Arthur said, “we had hoped to be back…”

She was pulled from the Dayne family reunion by Daenerys’s hand snaring hers. She looked down at it, and then the woman attached. “Are you coming to join us?”

Arya didn’t know what she was agreeing to, nor did she care. If Daenerys was asking, she’d go. “Of course.”

“I thought you might have forgotten where we’d be, so I decided to come and get you.” 

Her pale cheeks turned pink as she explained her reasons and Arya was struck by how much more attractive it made her. “I appreciate that,” she said squeezing their joined hands, “lead the way.” 

R-C

Twice Arya tried to excuse herself, to return to the barracks, but each time Daenerys was there, asking her to stay. Dinner had gone well. The King was lucid enough to welcome his guests and carry on coherent conversations. Ashara’s past with many in the keep gave her plenty of people to talk to, and much to say beyond the typical trivialities discussed at meals. She reminisced with her brother, teased Selmy and joked with Rhaegar. She brought her children into the conversation often, steering things so her daughters and son would be able to talk about the things they enjoyed. 

As soon as she was able, Daenerys excused herself, claiming it had been a long day. The Musgoods didn’t take offense and no one who knew of the events dared disagree. Usually once the Princess was in for the night, Arya was free to go, but not this time. 

Missandei left to go see Grey Worm, taking Daenerys’s empty teacup away with her. This left them alone, for the first time all day. “Is something wrong?” she inquired softly, hoping to begin the dialogue. 

Daenerys had her back to Arya’s chair, looking out the window at the dark sky. “So many things,” she admitted, “I don’t know where to start.”

The pain in her voice was obvious, and it broke Arya. She got up and went to her friend. Without thinking about the consequences she hugged her from behind, closing her hands together in the center of Daenerys’s stomach. “It’s okay,” she whispered as soothingly as she could, “everything is okay.”

When she turned in Arya’s arms, she had tears shining in her gorgeous eyes. “It’s not. Nothing about this is okay. My father, he…”

She used a thumb to wipe away the first tear that fell. “Your father is sick,” Arya finished for her. “What he does, why he does it and the pain he leaves in his wake, none of that is your responsibility.” 

“How can you say that? I’m his daughter! It’s my fault you’re here. I am a Princess, I should have said something, Missandei did, she lied to the King and I didn’t say a word.” 

As she gave in to her emotions and began to sob, Arya held her tighter, letting her get it out. She could only imagine how hard it was for Daenerys to go through the rest of the day, playing the part of the perfect Princess when she felt as she did. They were alone now, and Arya required exactly nothing of her. If she wanted to cry, scream, or rage Arya would let her. “Just breathe,” she instructed, kissing the top of Daenerys’s head. 

“I wanted to, so bad,” she explained, in between body-rattling sobs. “I did, you have to believe me, but I couldn’t.” Any progress she made in calming down evaporated. 

“I do believe you Daenerys, I promise. I do.” She leaned back just enough to see her face. “I know you wanted to, I never doubted that.”

“You didn’t even look scared,” Daenerys noted after she’d regained a measure of control. 

“I wasn’t scared,” Arya confirmed seriously, “I was angry.”

“About what?”

“Angry that man wanted to kill me again!” She cursed herself for saying the word ‘again’. She hadn’t meant to but there was something about being this close to Daenerys, about listening to her honest, heartfelt confessions that prompted Arya to give her own. For that reason, being with Daenerys might be the most dangerous place in the world for her.

“That man is the King,” she pointed out. There was no anger or annoyance in the message, just a statement of fact. 

“So what?” Arya retorted. “Kings are supposed to be better than us. They are supposed to lead by example, not fear. Just because he sits on the Iron Throne doesn’t make him flawless, just as it won’t mend your brother when it’s his turn.”

Daenerys had stopped crying and although her cheeks were red and streaked with tears, she looked breathtaking. “You don’t approve of Kings?”

With a shrug she told her opinion on the subject. “I’d kneel before a good King. I’d fight for a just King any day, I’d die for him, but a bad one, I think having no King is better than having a bad one. Giving any one man that much power is dangerous, we shouldn’t do it unless we believe he is what’s best for all people.” 

“Westeros has always had a King, Arya.”

“Yes,” she acknowledged, “and look where that got us. Would today have happened if the King of the Seven Kingdoms was a fair man?”

She meant it to be rhetorical, a thought for Daenerys to consider later when thinking about the Realm. Her intentions didn’t matter however, because Daenerys was brave enough to address it head on, and then speak the truth. “No, it wouldn’t have.” She settled back into Arya’s chest before she added, “Arya I’m s…”

“Don’t,” she said forcefully. Kissing Daenerys’s silver hair again in an effort to take any sting out of her rebuke. “We’ve been through this, you don’t need to apologize for him, not to me, ever.” 

“I don’t deserve you.” It took a moment to understand. Daenerys was pressed so close to her breastplate that it came out as little more than a confusing mumble. 

If she could choose her legacy, the one thing left behind after her time in King’s Landing was done, she’d want it to be that Daenerys finally learned she wasn’t to blame for the acts of others. She worried that after she left there would be no one in Daenerys’s life to remind her that her father’s sins weren’t hers to carry. 

If she could have a second wish, it would be rid Daenerys of thoughts like her last one. Arya was hardly a prize, and even if she were, Daenerys should aim higher. “You’re wrong,” she said gently prying Daenerys off her armor so they could see one another. “You deserve the best of things and all the happiness life can offer. If there was any justice in this world, you’d have the freedom to chase your dreams, that is what you deserve Daenerys, but I was all they had available on short notice.” 

Her self-deprecating joke missed its mark. Daenerys didn’t hear it. She just stared into Arya’s eyes with a peaceful smile on her face. “You really mean it, you aren’t just saying it, you really think that.”

“I do mean it.” 

“I know.” As soon as her reply was out, Daenerys was moving. She leaned in, filling the gap between them and connecting their lips. Arya knew she should have pulled away, or at least not kissed back but she was only human. The sensation of Daenerys’s mouth on hers was better than the many times she imagined it, awake or asleep. She wasn’t surprised, she knew herself, and knew her brain wasn’t creative enough to accurately predict such a moment. 

Not even the feeling of Daenerys kissing her cheek prepared her for this. That, she could have explained away as a friendly gesture, despite knowing it was more. This, there was no mistaking, this was romantic. Since the consequences for kissing the Princess would be the same if it was a short kiss, or a prolonged one Arya allowed herself to savor it, doing her best to match Daenerys’s passion. It would never happen again, but the memory would always be hers. 

Like her, Daenerys seemed determined to make their kiss last. The first few times she tried to back up, Daenerys refused to let her. When it couldn’t be avoided their kiss ended and they were both left gasping for much-needed air. Daenerys’s hands, which had been in Arya’s hair were now balled into fists and pressed against her stomach. “Fuck,” she muttered, “I’m sorry Arya…”

She hadn’t looked up, in fact she appeared to be trying hard not to, so Arya adjusted her height to realign their eyes. “Didn’t we talk about apologies?” she teased. 

Like it was connected to a string that had been sharply yanked Daenerys’s head whipped in Arya’s direction. “You said not to apologize for what other people do wrong, but what about when it really is my fault?”

She knew she couldn’t be with Daenerys, but she felt a sharp stab of pain when she heard Daenerys’s regret. She knew the Princess belonged with someone more appropriate, and not just because she was a foster or a Stark. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t allow things with Daenerys to go beyond friendship until she was honest about who she was. Now they had, and it left Arya stumbling around in the dark for a foothold. Was it too late to stop what was happening between them? Did she want to stop it? Could she reveal her identity now or had they passed the point of no return? If Daenerys felt betrayed, would she go to her father or brother and tell them what she knew? “Did that feel wrong?” she asked, hoping to buy herself the necessary seconds to organize her thoughts. 

Daenerys’s serious expression broke into a smile. “It was wonderful,” she said, before she caught herself, “but it isn’t just about what I want. I kissed your cheek the other day and it scared you. I can only guess what you must think of me now.”

If she only knew what Arya thought of her. Maybe it would make what was coming next easier. “I know we haven’t talked about it, I said we would, and we didn’t.”

“I understand,” Daenerys assured her, “you probably didn’t know what to say.” Her bright smile long gone, she sounded dejected. Arya didn’t like the change one bit. 

“I didn’t know what to say,” she agreed, “and it did scare me, but not for the reasons you think.” She took Daenerys’s hand in hers, although she couldn’t say who it was meant to benefit. She hoped Daenerys would take comfort in her touch, but Arya also needed to feel a connection to the woman who was fast becoming the most important person in her life. “I like you Daenerys, I think I did right from the start.”

A humorless chuckle escaped her barely parted lips and she gave Arya’s hand a squeeze before she laced their fingers. “You hated me in the beginning,” she corrected. 

She couldn’t deny that, not yet at least. To tell Daenerys her true feelings, she’d need to go back long before they met in the Water Gardens. “I wanted to hate you,” Arya clarified, “but I never managed it.”

“Why?” the Princess wondered. She inched closer to her guard and hung on every word spoken. 

This was her moment of truth. She could tell Daenerys or not, but she would likely never get another opening as clear as this one. Part of her wanted to share her past, all of it with someone she cared about. That that someone was a Targaryen was almost irrelevant. On the other hand, she’d learned to protect herself. Long before Oberyn taught her the spear or she gained the respect of her fellow recruits, Arya was well versed in self preservation. Could she put herself out there for Daenerys, or anyone? Could she undo years of hard learned lessons and be vulnerable with a woman who had the power to heal or destroy her? She honestly didn’t know. One thing she was certain of, was that tonight, like this, was not the right time to make the decision one way or the other. She’d nearly been executed, she and Daenerys were both emotional and she had that kiss swimming around in her mind, tainting everything. Potentially life altering decisions would need to be postponed. 

Since Daenerys was looking for a reply, she sidestepped the question all together and continued her larger point. “Even when I didn’t know you, when I wanted to dislike you, I still thought you were beautiful.” She could see Daenerys preparing to ask again, to question what about her had inspired Arya’s visceral hate, so she hurried to move them to safer ground. “I thought if you were just a pretty face, I could ignore it, but then I got to know you. The day we spent at the orphanage in Sunspear, that’s when I knew I could never hate you.”

Daenerys kept her questions to herself and just smiled at Arya’s admission. “I thought you were stunning,” she recalled, “the moment you took off your helmet.”

“I was covered in blood,” Arya noted with a smirk. 

“You were, and somehow you were still gorgeous.”

Her face heated up, hearing the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen compliment her. “I wanted to talk to you after Harvest Time, I tried, but I didn’t know what to say.” Again, she saw Daenerys preparing a response, her lips were opening, and she was raising her empty hand as if to physically knock down Arya’s argument. “I was just trying to find the right words, and I guess I ran out of time.”

“To tell me what, that you don’t want to kiss me?” She said it in a humorous way, like she was fishing for another compliment, but Arya knew there was some genuine curiosity there too, hidden underneath. She felt bad, she never meant for her conflicted emotions to cause Daenerys so much grief. 

“To tell you that even though I want to, we probably shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” she whined, reverting back to the little Dragon Princess she must have been in her younger years. “The only way I’ve been able to keep from kissing you is because I thought you weren’t interested.”

There were other things she wasn’t ready to share, but on this, she could be completely honest. “Of course I’m interested, I’m not the smartest woman, but even I’m not that stupid. You’re practically the perfect woman.” It was true too, while Daenerys probably thought it was her stubbornness or her temper that kept her from being utterly perfect, the only fault Arya could find was that she had the misfortune of being born Targaryen. Outside of that, Daenerys was everything in a partner the younger woman could want or dream of. 

It happened exactly like before, and yet Arya was no more ready for it the second time. Daenerys surged forward, while pulling on Arya’s hand to bring them even closer. Her free hand landed on Arya’s cheek and before she could think, their lips were moving as one. The kiss was shorter, but more intense than their last. When they separated it was Arya who tried to speak first. “Daenerys.” 

“Oh right,” she interrupted with a wicked smirk, “you were just about to tell me why that was a bad idea. Go on then, I’m sorry, you have my full attention.” 

Fuck. Who knew Daenerys could be so playful and sexy? It made Arya want to disregard everything she planned to say in favor of putting her mouth to better use. She couldn’t. Even without being Arya Stark, there were real reasons the guard and the Princess shouldn’t act on their feelings. “I’m your guard,” she said feebly. 

“I noticed,” Daenerys countered, visibly enjoying Arya’s discomfort, “that’ll only ensure we have lots of time together. Maybe you can begin staying in my chambers at night,” she proposed, “you know to make sure no one can get me.” 

She took a deep breath and tried to banish all the thoughts Daenerys’s suggestions were planting in her head. “This is serious. My job is to protect you, it’s important to me, you’re important to me.”

Her plea reached Daenerys and she changed at once. All traces of humor and teasing vanished and she matched Arya’s expression. “I know, and that’s why it’s going to be okay. Who better to keep me safe than someone who cares about me? For any other guard I’m just a job, an object they need to watch over, but to you I’m more than that.”

Daenerys’s assertion applied to Jorah as much as it did Arya, but she didn’t say so, confident it wouldn’t help. “You will always be more than an object to me, I never saw you that way.”

“I know, which is probably a large part of why I feel the way that I do.”

“I can’t protect you if I’m distracted by you,” Arya contended. “I need to be watching everyone else, not you.” 

Instead of more flirting Daenerys pondered the question a moment. “Well what if I didn’t distract you when we were outside this room?” She brought their hands up and kissed across one of Arya’s scarred knuckles. “Nothing has to change out there,” she said pointing to the door, “but in here, we can be who we want.”

She was more than a little tempted. Although she was stubborn, Arya hadn’t expected Daenerys to try so hard to convince her. Arya didn’t think she was worthy of such an effort. Daenerys apparently disagreed. “You don’t need to try to be distracting, you just are. Just being close to you…” She stopped talking, not wanting to confess the depths of her infatuation. 

“You do it now,” Daenerys declared, “your feelings didn’t start today, did they? I can’t imagine you found much time to be attracted to me between nearly catching your death in the rain, being accused of a crime and then put on display for the Musgoods.” 

“You’d be surprised,” she said under her breath. She could tell Daenerys heard when she watched an eyebrow raise in question. With a sigh she told the truth, “No, it didn’t begin today.”

“Exactly!” She jumped into the air in a show of excitement taking the hand she was still holding along with her. When she was back on solid ground she elaborated. “You’ve been attracted to me for a while, and you’ve still managed to keep me safe. It’ll be no different now.”

She searched for a rebuttal but came away empty handed. Daenerys did have a point. Arya had managed to serve as guard and while desiring Daenerys. Mormont had done it too, for a lot longer than Arya, so she knew it was possible. She’d need to commit to it, to ensuring their relationship didn’t affect her work, but if Daenerys was willing to assist her then the goal didn’t seem as insurmountable as it might’ve otherwise. 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing standing in their way. “You’re a Princess and I’m a guard, I’m your guard.”

“You are.”

“If people found out, if your father…”

“It’s no one’s business but ours!” she insisted. “Out there, we can be guard and Princess but in here, alone, we don’t have to be, I don’t want to be.” 

What as being described was plenty appealing. For so long she’d been burdened by the labels of ‘foster’ and ‘traitor’s daughter.’ She’d gotten used to them but couldn’t deny that she yearned to step out from under those titles and just be Arya again. Daenerys was offering her that chance. “If they did find out, your reputation…”

“If that’s what you’re worried about, we can move on, because I couldn’t care less about what the court thinks of me.” 

She didn’t doubt that. It fit with the Daenerys she’d grown to know and care about. That Daenerys really didn’t give a shit what some prissy noble thought. The real Daenerys cared more about the opinions of her friends, than some random Lord or Lady from an insignificant house. They only cared about her because she was a Princess, Daenerys preferred to focus her energy on the people who valued her as a person and not a royal. 

“I’m leaving for Sunspear in a little while,” she reminded the eager Targaryen. 

“I know.”

When that was all she got, Arya forged ahead. “Are you sure this is what you want? To spend a few weeks with someone knowing they’ll leave?”

Daenerys fired back with a question of her own. “Do you not want to be with me? It seemed like you did before, but now you’re looking for a reason not to. If that’s true, just say so.”

How had she let Daenerys think that? She felt horrible. “Of course I want to. You’re amazing and anyone would be lucky to be with you, including me, but I just want you to be sure. I don’t want to hurt you and I’d hate for you to regret anything.”

“I won’t regret it,” she predicted with confidence, “and yes, you will be leaving soon and going back to your life in Dorne and I’ll miss you, but I don’t think that is reason enough to deny ourselves what we both want.” 

The more resistance Daenerys put up, the harder it became for Arya to try again to dissuade her. She hadn’t lied, she did want Daenerys and if Daenerys wanted her then what was holding her back? She knew precisely what it was, though she tried to pretend otherwise. 

“You’re sure?” 

Sensing an approaching victory Daenerys moved closer. “I am. You make me happier than I’ve ever been Arya, you listen to me, you treat me like a woman and not just a Princess, you make me smile and give me the strength to get through the long days here. I know we can’t have forever, but we have now, and I don’t want to waste it. I know you’ll move on, and I’ll probably marry one day, but I doubt anyone will ever be able to make me feel what you do. If this is the happiest I’m going to be, I want to make the most of it, with you.” 

If she had any other concerns, she forgot them. How had the Gods seen fit to bring Daenerys into her dark world? The truth was still looming over them like a cloud, but it seemed manageable now. After Daenerys’s proclamation Arya didn’t fear exposure quite as much. If her feelings ran as deep as they seemed to, she wouldn’t be eager to tell anyone where Arya Sand truly came from. She may not be happy to learn the whole truth, and things between them might never recover but she wouldn’t tell. The woman who claimed she was happier than she’d ever been because of Arya, the one who fought for the mere chance that they could have a moment together, she was someone Arya could trust. 

Aware she didn’t have words anywhere near as articulate or heartfelt as Daenerys’s, she chose to express herself differently. She released Daenerys’s hand and did her best to ignore the look of hurt on her face. With care she took hold of Daenerys and guided their mouths together. She moved slow, not only to build the anticipation but also to give Daenerys the chance to stop it, if she wanted. 

The kiss was soft, but meaningful. Emboldened Arya drew her tongue across Daenerys’s lips. She could feel the grin on her lover’s face as her mouth opened and their tongues met. Arya took her time, knowing they didn’t need to rush. This wouldn’t be their only kiss, there would be more, and she was looking forward to every one of them. The knowledge that Daenerys wanted this as badly as she did, despite all the reasons they shouldn’t gave her the courage to go after what she wanted. It was a perilous road, but one she wouldn’t walk alone. For the first time in a very long while, she’d have someone with her every step of the way. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I sincerely hope that lived up to people’s expectations. I know some wanted Arya to wait until Daenerys knew her story before they got romantic, and I did too, but the truth is still a few chapters away and I didn’t think Daenerys would be willing to wait after Arya nearly died. For those who like Arya’s honorable side, don’t worry, she hasn’t completely abandoned her principles -- they won’t go beyond kissing until Daenerys knows everything. That moment is coming, I promise. 
> 
> On a completely unrelated note, I am currently writing the trip to Highgarden and I could use some input from the readers. Would I be right to assume the majority of people would prefer for Sansa and Margaery to be in a relationship when Arya finds them? Truthfully, I could write it either way, so I decided I’d let you all decide, a small ‘thank you’ for coming along with me on this crazy ride. 
> 
> If you have an opinion one way or the other, let me know. Should be just one more chapter before Daenerys’s long awaited nameday. 
> 
> See you then
> 
> RC


	21. Chapter 21

It wasn’t that she couldn’t sleep, it’s that she didn’t want to. She feared what she’d see. It hadn’t been long, only hours since Arya was accused of desertion and brought before her father for punishment. A few hundred minutes wasn’t nearly enough time to erase the horrors from her mind and make sleeping safe again. 

Anyone with even a basic understanding of life under the rule of Aerys Targaryen II knew that to be accused was to be guilty more often than not. It was rare when the King sided with the alleged criminal and even rarer when all parties walked away. Her father wasn’t the sort of man or King to let something as trivial as the truth interfere with a good time. How many innocent people had been put to the torch to quench his thirst for blood? Too many. While his version of justice never sat right with her, Daenerys wasn’t brave or bold enough to object. If she couldn’t convince her father to let her venture into the city on occasion, what hope did she have of changing his mind when he was certain the person before him committed treason? 

Today felt different from all the other trials she’d been required to sit in on, and not only because it was Arya who almost lost her life. After leaving the throne room, Daenerys waited for the sick feeling in her gut to dull, she anxiously anticipated the moment she could look at Arya and not see her standing before the Iron Throne, staring defiantly at the tyrant sitting there. It hadn’t happened yet. She spent the afternoon with Arya, Tyrion and Missandei and the evening with the Musgoods but a large part of her was still in her chair next to the throne, trying to find her voice so she could defend her friend. It was Missandei who saved Arya’s life, not her, but that didn’t mean Daenerys was powerless. She may not be as loud and insistent as Aerys, as confident and commanding as Rhaegar or as vindictive and demanding as Viserys, but she was a Targaryen. If acting calm and making polite requests wasn’t going to get her the things she wanted, perhaps she needed a new approach. 

Today ended with everyone she loved alive, but what about tomorrow? She knew as well as anyone how volatile the King could be. His opinion was the only one that mattered, and he was easily swayed. It would only take an instant to convert Arya from a loyal guard to a scheming betrayer in her father’s eyes. She worried that next time, no defense of Arya would be enough to placate the King. She had to do something, to ensure Arya never had to face Aerys’s wrath again. 

Lying alone in her bed she was supposed to be resting after a long day. She should’ve been trying to relax, to drift to sleep and find a much needed peace but instead she was rigid, grinding her teeth as she relived Arya’s near-death experience over and over again. Every breath, every memory made it worse. Eventually her anger boiled over and that got her moving. 

She got up and dressed quickly, before slipping out into the darkened hall. Torches were lining the walls on both sides, providing plenty of light for her to find her way. Even in absolute blackness she knew where to go. 

She knocked hard, hoping he wasn’t already asleep. The door opened before she could return her hand to her side. Ser Barristan was as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Had she caught him on his way out, or was he standing guard at the door? She couldn’t think of any other reason he’d be so close, Rhaegar hadn’t known to expect her, Daenerys herself hadn’t known she would be coming until moments ago. “Good evening Princess.”

“Hello, Ser. I’m sorry to bother you so late, I was hoping my brother wasn’t busy.”

“He isn’t,” Selmy assured her, stepping aside and gesturing for her to enter. “I was just leaving, so I’m sure he’d appreciate the company.” 

Rhaegar was sitting next to the fire in his chair, with both of his battered legs up on a padded stool. Within arms reach, on a table was a crystal glass full of a dark liquid and a plate of food. She spotted a stuffed pastry from the kitchen and several pieces of fruit before her brother spoke. “Daenerys, come in, sit, make yourself comfortable.”

She didn’t want to sit, she had too much nervous energy for that, but she obliged him anyway. This conversation was going to be hard regardless, they didn’t need to begin fighting about the seating arrangement. 

“Listen Dany, I know today was difficult and I’m sorry it happened, but you have to know Father was only doing what he thought was best.” 

Mentioning the ordeal caused the memories to come faster and more intently. She closed her eyes tight to try and hold them back. “Something has to change,” she said, knowing in her bones it was true, “this can’t happen again.” 

“It won’t,” Rhaegar promised, missing her larger point. “It was a misunderstanding. When Father ordered her brought before him, he thought she left you unprotected and alone.” 

“Even if she had,” Daenerys allowed, her anger building, “would that have warranted a death sentence?”

Rhaegar had been preparing to take a drink and his hand froze between the table and his mouth. “Nothing is more important than your safety Daenerys. We thought she left you vulnerable. Father was right to question her.” 

She disagreed, not only about the right and wrong of it all, but also about her value. Arya was more important than her, even if she was a Princess and Daenerys nearly lost her today because of this nonsense. “It can’t happen again,” she repeated, “he wasn’t interested in discovering the truth, it didn’t matter to him if Arya’s reasons were valid, he wasn’t going to listen.”

“He did listen,” Rhaegar reminded her. She bristled at his justification. As if the end result somehow undid all the trauma inflicted along the way. “I know you’re upset, but…”

She didn’t want to hear it. “She didn’t do anything wrong. I asked you to help her and you refused.”

Rhaegar’s features hardened a bit. “I couldn’t simply take you at your word Dany, the whole court was watching.”

“So what?!” 

“So how would it look if Arya was allowed to break the law just because she is your guard? What kind of example would that set? How long would it be before everybody thought they could bend the rules and get away with it?”

Daenerys loved her brother, but his arguments were unpersuasive, hypocritical, and they applied direct pressure to her freshest wounds. With every feeble excuse she got angrier. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it? You want your friend to get special treatment, you wanted me to ignore the fact that she went into the city when she was supposed to be guarding you.” 

“I wasn’t asking you to cover up for someone who was actually guilty. Arya didn’t do anything wrong. All I wanted was for you to step in and safe her the humiliation of the trial, but you refused. It’s not special treatment to declare an innocent woman innocent and release her.”

“Just admit it, you wanted special treatment for your friend.”

“She was innocent. Forgive me for not wanting my friend to be endure the indignity of a trial in front of half of King’s Landing?”

Rhaegar smiled as his younger sister. “You’re a good person and a good friend, but no one is above the law.” 

“You don’t mean that,” she said before Rhaegar had finished speaking. 

“I do. If we want to have order, no one can be allowed to break the law,” the Prince preached. Nearby Daenerys seethed in silent rage as she waited for her turn. 

When he was done, she needed twelve additional seconds to calm herself before she dared open her mouth. “Unless their name is Targaryen, right?” she specified. “I’m a Targaryen, just like you, so why am I the only one who has to follow the rules?” 

The question made Rhaegar uncomfortable and for once she felt no sympathy for him. Any uncertainty she had about her methods evaporated when he replied. “Don’t be absurd Dany, we don’t break laws.” 

There was a time when anything her eldest brother told her she accepted as fact, without exception, but that was long ago. She noticed his unsteady delivery and was struck by how pathetic his claim was. Did it bother him to lie like that or was it second nature? “Really,” she fired back, making no effort to hide her contempt, “we don’t break the law?” She paused to see if he’d backtrack, but he didn’t so she went ahead with proving him wrong. In her mind she saw Arya standing before the King, in her ears she heard Rhaegar refusing to intervene, it was all too much. “Our father took more lives last month than he did baths!” It might have been a slight exaggeration, but if it helped Rhaegar see the truth it’d be worth it. “No one says anything about that because he just happens to be the son of the last King, but they’re still crimes! Viserys picks servants at random to beat or bed depending on his mood and he’s never been held accountable, are abuse and rape no longer crimes in the Realm?” she asked rhetorically. “And then there is you,” she said, moving on to Rhaegar. 

“Me? Tell me sister, what have I done to offend you?” 

“It didn’t offend me, but I doubt Johan Keath feels the same way.”

“Some man I never heard of is your evidence that I’ve broken the law?” he barked impatiently, visibly unhappy with their conversation thus far.

“Johan Keath is the man Father intended to hire to repair that patch of the city wall last year,” Daenerys explained, “until you went to him and requested he give the job to a friend of yours instead.” 

With his face red from embarrassment and no small amount of anger he tried to defend his actions. “I didn’t break the law. Rennick is a good man who had fallen on hard times. He needed that job to feed his children.” 

“I’m sure,” Daenerys replied dismissively. 

“I don’t know who told you about that, or what point you’re trying to make but what Father has done wrong, what I’ve done, none of that will change what happened today.”

She knew that. If there was a way to change what had happened, she would have found it and made use of it already. “My point, is that we’re all guilty, and I’m tired of pretending that we’re not.” 

“We?” he repeated almost playfully, trying to lighten the mood. “What crimes have you committed?”

Daenerys wasn’t laughing. “I’m just as guilty as the rest of you for letting Father act as he does, and no one told me anything, I was in the room when you convinced Father to give your friend the job. I may not say much, but that doesn’t make me blind, deaf or stupid. I hear a lot of interesting things.” It was a thinly veiled threat and Rhaegar tensed when he heard it.

Instead of asking what other information she’d acquired when everyone else forgot she was there, he tried to remind her of the reason she’d come. “I already told you that I’m sorry about today.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it!” 

“It ended well,” he said, falling back on what he felt was the strongest fact. 

“It might not have,” she noted, “it could have turned bad.” She shuddered at the thought. She loved Arya’s voice, but it was too easy to imagine that voice screaming as wildfire razed her to ash. “It didn’t have to happen.” 

“I couldn’t just wave my hand and declare her innocent. Father had questions and the court needed to hear her answer them.”

“That’s why you didn’t help her, help me, because the court was watching?” She didn’t let him respond. “Why is what the they think more important than what I think?” 

He smiled indulgently, and it infuriated her. “Dany, you’re not the most objective person when it comes to her. You spend all day together. You care about her and that clouds your judgement.” 

She would acknowledge that he was at least partially right. She did know Arya better than anyone else in the capital and that was precisely why she should have been consulted. Who else could hope to speak to her character? Who else could weigh the good and the bad and decide her true worth? 

“My judgment is fine,” she countered. “You’re right, I do care about her and I do spend time with her, a lot more than you, and a lot more than Father, so maybe you should have asked what I thought, before you dragged her in there.” 

“Why are you still so upset?” he wondered. “The girl is fine, Father made the right decision, he spared her.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh yes, because our father has never gotten it wrong,” she spat with venom coating every word, “I was a fool to worry at all, he wouldn’t let irrational fear and paranoia condemn an innocent woman to a horrible death.” 

Rhaegar who had seemed willing to tolerate her outbursts was suddenly a lot less accommodating. “Be careful,” he warned coldly, “I know you’re unhappy, but he is our father and our King.” 

At any other time in her life that stark reminder would have served its purpose and caused her to retreat but not tonight. It may not be befitting of a Lady or a Princess to say so, but sometimes proper and polite didn’t amount to shit. Her whole life she’d tried to earn her father’s approval and respect by behaving as people expected her to. She held her tongue, minded her manners and stayed out of the way. She tried to live up to the Targaryen name and do her small part to help her father rule, but what had she really accomplished? 

When she turned her focus onto her brother, Daenerys’s fury didn’t fade. As far back as she could remember she’d made a conscious effort to make things easier for Rhaegar. She felt empathy for him, seeing him pulled in so many different directions. He was the Crown Prince with many obligations to Westeros, but he was also the one people turned to when they needed to calm Aerys or subdue Viserys. He did all of this while raising Aemon alone and somehow found time to serve as a confidante for Daenerys. Her brother was a good man and she loved him, but not enough to ignore the obvious anymore. “Maybe he shouldn’t be.”

That got Rhaegar’s attention. “What? Daenerys, you can’t be serious. What you’re suggesting is tre…”

She didn’t let him get the word out. “What I’m suggesting is, it’s time for things to change.” 

“Because of this Arya girl? You’re willing to betray your own family for her?” 

“I… “

All at once he made a unilateral decision and proclaimed it with all the authority of a firstborn son, as if her reasons were no longer worth discussing. “No,” he said shaking his head, “I won’t let you do this, not for one woman.” 

“It’s not about Arya.”

“Isn’t it?” he challenged, disbelief coloring his tone. “You’re only here because you think your friend is in danger?” 

“I’m here, because there will always be another Arya.” She looked him directly in the eye hoping he could see how serious she was. “Not too long ago I came to you because it was Missandei Father was endangering,” she reminded him. “Yes,” she acknowledged, “today I’m upset because Arya was nearly executed, but can you blame me? Would you have sat by silent if it were Barristan up there?”

“Barristan would never abandon me to go…”

“Horseshit!” she declared bluntly. “Your guard leaves you alone all the time, I know it and you know it.” 

“That’s different.” 

“Why, because you’re a man? If assassins came for both of us, I’d wager I’d have a better chance of staying alive.” To emphasize her point she looked to his scarred legs. She wanted the words back immediately. Aware she’d gone too far she offered a pre-emptive apology. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for, but you know that if it was your friend, you would feel exactly as I do.”

The tension hung between them while Daenerys waited to see if Rhaegar would accept her apology and move on, or if they would be bogged down by her insensitive comment. “I wouldn’t consider replacing the King.” 

“He’s sick. How many people has he burned this year? How many was it last year? How many will it be next year?” 

“You can be upset with him,” the elder allowed, “but he is your father.” 

“And when was the last time he acted like it?” She actively tried to think back, to remember the last time she and Aerys had a conversation that wasn’t tainted by his illness. It had been a while. 

“It was different when you were younger,” he recalled. “I know you don’t remember it, but he was different, and he loved you very much.” 

Rhaegar was stuck in the middle between Aerys and everybody else, so she tried to contain her frustrations. “I don’t blame him anymore,” she confessed, “it’s not his fault, he can’t help it.”

“He would if he could, you have to know that.”

“I do,” she assured him, “but it’s beyond him now and we’re the ones left cleaning up the mess.” 

“It won’t be forever.”

Four words brought her anger back to the surface. That was his big strategy, to wait and do nothing? That wasn’t a plan, it was cowardice. “No, it won’t but he could still rule for another five years, or ten. How many people will die needlessly before he steps down?”

“So, your solution is to overthrow your own father? What you’re suggesting is treason!”

She avoided the word for fear of the feelings it might invoke but she wasn’t struck by guilt or shame when Rhaegar hurled the label at her like a hatchet. She didn’t view replacing her father with Rhaegar as treasonous. It was the right thing to do and long overdue. “It’s not treason to replace a father with his son.” 

“No,” he resisted, “Dany, I don’t want to be King, not like this. I’ll rule when Father can’t, not before.”

“He can’t rule,” she stated simply, “not properly.”

“No!” he said in continued defiance. 

“You remember him the way he used to be, so think about that man, what would he want you to do, for the Realm, for our family, for our people?” She gave him a moment to ponder that before she went on. “Would that father, that King want millions to suffer under one man’s delusions, one man’s illness?”

“I can’t usurp my own father.” She got the sense he was talking to himself more than her, so she didn’t interrupt. “I won’t. When he steps down, I’ll take his place, that’s how it’ll be, how it’s always been.” 

The resolve she saw in his eyes bothered her. Why was he fighting this? He better than anyone knew how lost to madness their father was. Why wouldn’t he just do it, get it over with and take control? Why wait and allow things to get worse? “What about Aemon?”

“What about him?” her brother inquired. She detected a tremor in his voice that hadn’t been there before. 

“Father gave Dragonstone to Viserys. Aemon will have nothing until you’re King. He tires of waiting. He wants to go to the Wall and join the Night’s Watch.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to permit him to go, because I don’t think you can convince him to stay unless you tell him things will change.” Although she knew he understood what that meant, she made it perfectly clear. “Nothing will change until you replace Father.” 

“I know,” he said again. 

“Our people don’t love their King, they don’t respect him, or admire him, they fear him. They dread the day they cross paths with him and they end up kneeling before the Iron Throne while his pyromancer carts in a barrel of wildfire.” 

“I know,” he said for a third time, sounding tired. “I know. Everything you said is true, but it doesn’t matter. He is the King and that’s the way it is.” 

She could only imagine how conflicted Rhaegar felt. He loved their father, or at least who he used to be, and yet he wasn’t blind, he had to see what the King had become. Making matters worse was the knowledge that it would be him and no one else who would need to replace Aerys and restore faith in the Crown. 

“Think about it,” she encouraged, “is it really better to wait another ten years to begin fixing things? Will there even be anything left to salvage by the time he’s done?”

“Not even Father can destroy the Realm.”

“Are you sure? He’s killing a lot of people of late, small folk and nobles alike. How long before they band together and revolt?”

“That won’t happen.”

“It happened before,” she reminded him. “Robert Baratheon rallied support from all across Westeros and he nearly won.” 

“You don’t need to tell me about Robert Baratheon,” he responded bitterly. “I was there, you were a child, you know nothing about Robert or his rebellion.” 

She knew the war was a sore subject for her brother, and she didn’t bring it up lightly. She was only trying to make him see that they were balancing on the edge of a knife. How long before it happened again? Maybe next time they wouldn’t be quite so lucky. “You’re right,” she agreed, “I know little about the war, but what I do know terrifies me.”

His hard exterior cracked. “You have nothing to fear.” 

“We all do. Our father rules by keeping his boot on the throats of men. Whether it’s a commoner or a noble from an influential house, sooner or later someone will rise up.”

“You want us to rise first?” he guessed. 

“No, what I want is to be able to say the Targaryen name proudly. I want to be able to show the people that things are getting better, that we won’t profit off their misery any longer.” 

“I don’t know, Daenerys, what you’re talking about is a massive undertaking.” 

“I know that,” she promised, “and I know it’s a lot to ask, but the people of the Seven Kingdoms deserve better than this.” Arya’s opinion echoed in her mind. No King is better than a bad one. “I don’t think the people are going to patiently wait until father is too old to lead.”

“Perhaps not,” Rhaegar allowed, “but that doesn’t mean now is the right time either.” 

“Now is the only time. It won’t happen overnight, you’ll need to prepare, to gather support and discuss strategy. If we don’t begin now, we may not have the opportunity later.” 

She hadn’t realized she included herself in the plot until Rhaegar drew her attention to it. “We?”

Her cheeks heated and she looked down into her lap. “I’ll help in any way I can. You can’t do this alone, and you shouldn’t have to. I’m your sister and you’ll have my support.” 

Rhaegar appeared touched by the sentiment. “I’ll speak to some people tomorrow,” he proposed, “and I’ll see what they think.” He paused and then finished, “If I don’t have the support of the majority of the small council, I won’t do it.”

“That’s fair.”

He emptied his drink in a single long gulp and then set it down. “Are you sure you want to do this? If he finds out…”

“It’s the right thing to do,” she told him. Things would get better. It wasn’t an immediate solution and it wouldn’t come easy, but they were on the path now. She wished there was a way that didn’t place an incredible burden on the brother who already carried so much, but there wasn’t. It wouldn’t work without a replacement King, and Rhaegar was the logical choice. He had the respect of the nobles and the love of the people. He had been groomed to be King since the day he was born, it’d just happen a little sooner is all. “You can do this. It’s what’s best, for our family and everyone else’s.” Though it wasn’t important to him, their plot had the added benefit of decreasing the likelihood that Arya would die and that definitely mattered to Daenerys. 

R-C

The three days immediately following her trial were a challenge. She couldn’t go anywhere without hearing the whispers. Everyone had heard the story of how she defied the Mad King in Dorne and survived, though some chose not to believe it. Now even the most skeptical were awed. She’d gone before the King and his pyromancer and lived. Even after confessing that she did leave her post, Aerys spared her. That was better than gold for the smug gossips who had nothing else to do or talk about. 

It was unsettling, being stared at by everyone in every room, but she was persevering as best she could. The day she defied death, was also the day she and Daenerys began their relationship. So far, things remained tentative. They kissed only when they were alone, behind a locked door, not wanting to risk getting caught. Ashara’s visit kept everyone busy, including Daenerys and when the Princess was busy, so was Arya. It left them little time for their personal activities. 

That would have been plenty, but the Gods felt she needed more, so she was stricken with a cold as well. Her trip out in the rain may have ensured Daenerys would have a nameday present to open but the price was more than just a majority of her accumulated gold coins. She had a body-rattling cough, nostrils so clogged she couldn’t smell anything, a weight on her chest, near constant pain in her head and a heaviness in each of her limbs that seemed to grow every hour. Each day was harder to endure than the one that preceded it. Daenerys tried to insist she remain in bed and recover, but Arya refused. She’d survived far worse than a cold, she didn’t need to hide away in the barracks, she was a trained soldier of Dorne, she could defeat a little cough and the occasional sneeze. 

Stubborn as she was, she took help where she could. When Daenerys asked Missandei for tea, the handmaiden came back with two cups instead of one. She passed the second to the guard and ordered her to drink it, claiming she brewed it with special ingredients meant to speed healing. Arya didn’t know what magic Missandei mixed in nor did she care, if it worked, she’d be grateful. 

During their visit Daenerys had lunch with Ashara and her children, discussing a wide range of topics from life in Storm’s End to the children’s favorite hobbies. It was unusual for Daenerys to be so involved, but in this situation she was. While Jon was off discussing matters of the upmost importance with the other men, someone had to entertain Ashara and the kids. Normally Daenerys’s interactions with noble women were brief and rehearsed but Daenerys seemed to like Ashara and all of the children took to her as well, especially the eldest girl who clearly looked up to the Dragon Princess. 

The mutual interest gave Daenerys the courage to spend additional time with the Musgoods. She spoke with each child individually and left them feeling appreciated and important. It was nice to see Daenerys happy and engaged, even if it limited their chances to sneak away. 

On their fifth day in the capital, Daenerys, Arya and Missandei took the Musgood children on a ride through the city. They were shadowed by Musgood guards, but Arya fell into her role as protector all the same. She stayed behind Daenerys and Missandei which was ideal for intercepting threats but had the drawback of making it impossible to keep up with or contribute to the ongoing conversation. 

When they returned, they were just feet outside the stable when Daenerys said, “Missandei will you escort everyone to the kitchen for a snack, I’m sure Little Davin there is hungry.”

The young boy grinned at the Targaryen, basking in Daenerys’s attention. “Always Princess.”

“Go on then,” she instructed, “I bet you’ve worked up quite the appetite.”

That was all the boy needed to hear, he took off running but his sisters weren’t as easy. “Aren’t you coming Daenerys?” the youngest girl asked. 

“I’ll be right behind you,” she promised, “I just need to make a quick stop first.”

Satisfied the girl nodded, “Oh, of course. Don’t delay on our account.” 

“I’ll be right back,” she said to the girls, before she turned to Arya. “We’re going to be late, if we don’t hurry.”

Daenerys didn’t have any appointments, but Arya played along anyway. Maybe she’d been wrong to assume she was enjoying her guests, maybe she’d reached her limit and needed a break. If so, Arya could provide assistance. “You’re right, we best get going.” 

After a quick goodbye Arya and Daenerys took their leave. “Finally,” Daenerys sighed as she ducked through an unlocked door, trusting Arya to follow. 

“Where are we going?” she inquired idly. 

She wasn’t running exactly, but she was walking faster than normal, like she was truly late for another engagement. “As I told the girls, there is something I need to do.” 

Rather than ask again, she chose to just wait. They were on the stairs now, going up and were probably close to their destination, wherever it was. 

When they arrived at her chambers, Daenerys all but pushed Arya in and then stepped in after her. While Arya worked to keep from falling, Daenerys closed the door. When she regained her balance Daenerys was there, looking proud of herself, just a step inside the door. “Care to tell me what I did to deserve that?”

In a blink Daenerys was the picture of remorse. “I’m sorry,” she said, claiming Arya’s hand to hold, “are you hurt? Do you want me to make you feel better?”

She didn’t wait for a reply, she just threw herself at Arya with purpose. Their lips collided and once the initial shock wore off, Arya was incapable of thinking of anything else. Daenerys’s kiss was desperate and frantic, as if she feared she’d never get another chance. 

When they stopped for air, she felt obligated to try and catch up. “That is what we came up here for?”

“Uh-huh,” Daenerys confirmed with a nod, before stealing another kiss. 

“And this is what you needed me for?”

The devious smile she wore became more pronounced as she nodded a second time. “It’d be no fun without you here,” she justified. 

She bit her lip to keep from smiling, not wanting Daenerys to see how amused she was by her antics. “And this couldn’t wait?”

“I think we waited long enough.”

“It wasn’t that long,” Arya contended, not because she believed that, but because she was enjoying this game of theirs and she didn’t want it to end quite yet. 

“Arya,” she whined, “it has been hours since you kissed me good morning!”

“This could have waited until after dinner.”

“Speak for yourself,” Daenerys quipped, before sticking out her bottom lip in the most kissable pout Arya had ever seen. Her resolve to resist wavered. 

“It’s only a few more hours and then you can retire early and bring me with you.” 

“Way too long,” she disagreed. “You wouldn’t even ride next to me. The girls were telling me about a visit they took to Starfall, and I had little to add since I’d only ever been to Sunspear. I could have used your help.”

The game suddenly over, Arya hugged her lover fiercely. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to keep you all safe.”

“I know, and I know we said nothing would change out there, it’s just harder than I thought.”. 

She was dropping a kiss onto the crown of Daenerys’s head when those words froze her in place. “Do you want to stop?” she heard herself ask. What would she do if Daenerys said yes? Could they go back to just being friends now? Did she have a choice?

The speed with which Daenerys moved out of her embrace was alarming, but she didn’t wander far. She only took a step back before stopping. “What? No, no, of course not, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I love this,” she said, punctuating her point with a kiss to Arya’s lips. 

“What did you mean then?”

Daenerys’s smirk gave advanced warning that Arya was going to like the answer. “I meant that we are going to need to schedule more meetings like this one.”

With relief coursing through her she leaned in and gave Daenerys a passionate kiss. “I’ll make sure they’re added to your calendar,” she vowed. “Anything else?”

“Stay with me tonight,” she said without preamble. “We don’t get enough time together and we don’t know how much we’ll have, so I don’t want to waste a minute more.”

It would have been easy to agree. Not only because Daenerys was right, but also because it was exactly what Arya wanted, unfortunately she couldn’t. It was bad enough that she allowed them to get this far without revealing her identity. She couldn’t take Daenerys to bed until she knew the whole truth. “I’d love to, but I can’t.”

“Why not?” Daenerys questioned hotly, clearly not expecting a refusal. 

“There are still some things you don’t know about me, important things, things I want you to know before we do,” she looked suggestively toward the Princess’s bed, “that.” 

In Daenerys’s mind it was an easy fix. “Okay, so tell me.”

If only it were that simple. “I want to,” she began, leading with the good news, “and I’m going to, but now is not the time. Your guests are waiting and it’s a long story.”

Daenerys took her hand. “Then come back tonight and tell me. Whatever it is, it won’t matter. Nothing could change how I feel about you.”

Arya had wished and prayed for a lot of things in her life, but she couldn’t recall wanting something to be true as badly as she did Daenerys’s last statement. She took a deep breath and considered her options. She could do what Daenerys was requesting, but then what? Her nameday was nearly there and the truth might upset her relationships, with Arya, with her father and her brother. Arya may hate Rhaegar and Aerys, but she didn’t want to do that to Daenerys on her day. “It’s going to take some time to tell you everything,” she explained, “and it might change things.”

“It won’t,” she insisted vehemently. 

“It might,” Arya supplied sadly. “I hope it doesn’t, but it might. Who my father is, where I come from, it might matter to you and I don’t want you to regret sleeping with me if it does.”

“This is about your father?” she asked, perking up at the new piece of information. 

“Yes, about him, and me, and the rest of my family.” And yours, she added privately in her head. 

“You told me they’re gone,” Daenerys noted. 

“They are.” 

She came forward and hugged Arya, not unlike how the guard had hugged her earlier. “It’s going to be okay. You can tell me when you’re ready.” 

“After your nameday,” she decided rashly. “After the celebration, we’ll have plenty of time and I’ll tell you everything, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

They stood there for a few moments, and Arya did her best to memorize every detail. She was going to tell Daenerys the whole sordid history between their families and when she did, it was possible if not probable that she’d never get to be with Daenerys like this again. “We should probably go find Missandei.”

“Yeah,” Daenerys agreed. 

Arya broke the hug but was halted abruptly by Daenerys grabbing her arm and pulling her back. She went willingly and was met with a hungry kiss. The sensation of Daenerys’s teeth gnawing on her bottom lip remained after they unlocked the door and descended the stairs. “You were right,” Arya confirmed in a whisper before they rejoined the rest of the castle, “it definitely would have been a shame to miss that meeting.” 

R-C

Arya found Missandei preparing Daenerys’s bath. She had been trying to find her alone for days but there was always someone there to keep Arya from voicing her thoughts. “Do you have a moment?”

Missandei pulled her fingers from the water, satisfied with the temperature and turned to face her friend. “For you, always.” Arya picked up a small hand towel off the pile and passed it to Missandei. “Thank you.”

“An offer was shared with me, that I don’t intend to accept, but it’s one I would gladly give to you, if you wanted it.” 

Missandei’s open smile dimmed a bit and she proceeded cautiously. “Okay, what sort of offer was it?”

“Lady Dayne,” she caught her misstep and fixed it, “Lady Musgood from Storm’s End, she’s acquainted with my friend Prince Oberyn. He knew I worried about coming here and she agreed to help me leave, if I didn’t want to stay until Viserys’s return.” 

She corrected her features quickly, but for an instant she saw the shock on the slave’s face. “And you don’t wish to leave?”

“No,” she said, aware she was probably smiling like a fool. “I didn’t want to come here, but I’m glad I did. I’ll be sad to go when the time comes, but the offer remains. If you wanted to leave, I could arrange for Lady Musgood to take you to the Stormlands. Oberyn would collect you there and escort you anywhere you wanted to go.” 

“It was kind of you to think of me,” she said, “but for the same reason you stay, I will too.”

She didn’t think Missandei would accept, she just knew she would feel horrible if she didn’t inform her of the option. “Daenerys appreciates your loyalty Missandei, but she doesn’t want you to spend your whole life here.” 

“Daenerys isn’t the only reason I stay,” she admitted with a smile. 

She was confused. Hadn’t Missandei said their reasons were the same? If not Daenerys, what was it?

“You won’t go because the person you care about, the person you love more than any other is here. It is the same for me.”

She felt stupid for not seeing it sooner, Grey Worm. If Missandei escaped, Grey Worm would be left behind, and they’d never see each other again. “Perhaps Lady Musgood could take you both.”

With a shake of her head Missandei shared her lover’s opinion. “He won’t go, he won’t even consider it. He’s too proud. Being a slave is all he knows, being Unsullied is all he knows. The Masters took everything else from him. They taught him that failure is worse than death and he believed them, so he won’t leave his men and he won’t abandon his mission until the day he is granted his freedom.” 

“And if the King never releases you?”

Missandei smiled sadly through unshed tears. “We shall remain here.”

“I understand, I think I’d do the same thing in your place.” The admission surprised Arya more than Missandei.

“Thank you for asking. It means much more to me than you think.”

“I’ll leave you to finish,” 

“She’ll be here soon,” Missandei remarked before Arya could get to the door. “If you wanted to see her. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a visit.”

The way Missandei spoke cleared up any doubts about whether Daenerys told her handmaiden about the change in their relationship. She assumed she had but wasn’t certain until right then. The wink that accompanied the word ‘visit’ was overt and teasing. 

“I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about, I’d hate to deprive either of you of that.” 

Missandei caught on and played along without hesitation. “We do have a lot to talk about, but even if you’re there, we can speak in High Valyrian and you’d never know we were talking about you.”

She chuckled, amused by both Missandei’s calm, composed speech and the actual words. 

“Missandei who are you talking to?” Daenerys asked on her way into the room. Her curiosity bloomed into happiness when she saw the answer to her question. “Arya there you are! You should have told me you’d be here, it would have saved me the trouble of looking for you.” 

“Did you need something?” She spoke without thinking, an instinctive response to Daenerys seeking her out. 

“Yes,” Daenerys confirmed, “this.” Before she could wonder what she meant they were kissing, soft and innocent when compared to some of their others but no less intense. “Did you come to join me for my bath?”

Her mind was suddenly flooded with images of Daenerys and her in the same tub. If Daenerys’s nameday wasn’t the next day, Arya probably would have given in to temptation and broken the rule she set for herself. “Not this time,” she replied, hating how the words tasted going out. 

Daenerys was undeterred. “Next time then?” she proposed. 

Missandei giggled, and Arya took a long step away from the bath. If she didn’t get some distance it would be much harder to maintain her resolve. “If you’re lucky,” she quipped on her way out the door. 

R-C

She was walking past Varys’s office when he called to her through the partially opened door. She’d done a good job of avoiding him, but it couldn’t last forever. She entered and obliged when he asked her to shut the door behind her. 

“Did the former Lady Dayne remember you?”

The question stopped her in her tracks and froze the blood in her veins. Had she heard him wrong? She desperately hoped so. 

When their eyes met Varys was filled with regret. “Oh, forgive me,” he said kindly, “I didn’t mean to startle you, I imagine you haven’t gotten much sleep in recent days obsessing over that very question.”

She has the lie on the tip of her tongue before she pulled it back. Varys had spies everywhere. If he was asking, it was likely because he already knew. She amended her strategy accordingly. “She did remember me,” she admitted. “I served her when I was working in the Water Gardens.” 

Varys rewarded her attempt to sidestep the real question with a sincere smile. “Since I haven’t been summoned to the throne room, I suspect she’s agreed to keep your secret.”

Was he testing her, checking to see what she’d reveal about herself? Was he just pretending that he already knew, or did he know she was Arya Stark once? She decided she wasn’t going to admit it. If Varys wanted to discuss her past, he was going to need to go first. “I’m just a simple soldier, I don’t have secrets.”

He laughed, fully and deeply. “Oh, my dear, everyone has secrets and in my experience soldiers keep more than most.” 

“So, you’ve come to learn my secrets then?” As she presented a composed front, inside she was reeling. She’d been found out, soon everyone would know, if they didn’t already. She was going to die, and all she could think was -- she wished she could be the one to tell Daenerys. She wanted to explain to the Princess why she hadn’t told her and ask for forgiveness before she met her fate. It didn’t look like she was going to get that chance. 

“If you want to tell me, I’ll gladly listen,” he offered, “but I already know the biggest secret you’re keeping.”

Again, he led her right to the edge without actually saying it. It was like he wanted her to do it, but she remained determined not to. Her past wasn’t his, it wasn’t gossip or currency, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of confessing to him. “Of course you do, what’s my biggest secret, then?”

His smile didn’t falter in the slightest as he shook Arya’s entire world. “That you’re Arya Stark.”

He said it so simply, so naturally, that it made her wonder what his game was. He was too smart to not comprehend the importance of the information, so why was he coming to her with this and not Aerys or Rhaegar? Was he giving her an opportunity to run or did he just want to see her squirm?

“You knew, all along?”

“I suspected,” he corrected, “I didn’t know, not at first.” 

How he discovered her identity was almost secondary now. She couldn’t waste time on that when so many urgent issues needed to be addressed. “The Prince?” she asked. She needed to know if Rhaegar was aware. Had he figured it out like Varys? 

“Prince Rhaegar doesn’t know,” the Spider explained. “When he brought me to the throne room to meet you, he believed you were a spy sent by Oberyn Martell to punish him. He thought you meant the Princess harm.” 

“I know. That day when I spoke to him, he said as much,” she remembered. 

“He also believed Oberyn selected you because of your resemblance to your Aunt Lyanna.” 

“I know.”

For the first time she was able to knock Varys off balance with her words. “He told you that?”

“Not exactly. He was talking to himself more than me, and he stopped, but I heard enough to understand what he was thinking.”

Satisfied the Spymaster moved on. “The Prince asked me my opinion and I told him I didn’t think you intended to hurt his sister.” He paused and then asked, “Was I correct in that?”

She nodded. “You are, whatever I feel for her brother or father, it has nothing to do with Daenerys.” 

Varys smiled, as if the answer pleased him somehow. She guessed he liked confirming he was right. “Once he was confident Oberyn didn’t send you here, he thought you were a form of punishment from the Gods, sent to torment him.”

While she wasn’t opposed to Rhaegar Targaryen suffering, she had to clear a few things up. Why would he assume it was the Gods when a more plausible explanation was that she was a surviving Stark? “He was willing to believe the Gods were punishing him, but refused to consider that I might actually be a Stark?”

As they changed direction, Varys looked visibly pained. “I’m not sure how much you remember of that day,” he began, “but…”

“I remember every fucking thing,” Arya insisted. “I remember you and many like you standing by and watching, saying nothing when the King started punishing members of my family, my mother, my brothers…”

“I regret my inaction deeply,” he told her, though she didn’t care to hear it. So what if he regretted it now? That didn’t bring the dead back to life and it didn’t undo all the wrong that was done. “For many of us, what happened to your family was when we realized how far gone the King truly was.” 

“Great,” she retorted sarcastically, “you’ve done nothing in all the years since to change things, he’s still King and he’s worse now than before.”

“Yes,” Varys acknowledged, “but now a small group of us work to temper his impulses, to limit the executions, especially those that are unjust.”

She rolled her eyes. “None of this matters, and none of it explains why Rhaegar thinks it more likely that I’m a ghost.” 

“Yes, well if you do remember everything, then you will recall that the Prince was not there the day your family was summoned.” 

Arya knew there was some meaningful realization she was supposed to come to, but she just couldn’t be bothered. “So?”

“So, the King ordered those of us who were there silent. When the Prince returned Aerys told him that he summoned Ned Stark and his family, and that none survived.” 

Arya had been staring off to the side, but her head whipped around to check Varys face for lies. “He didn’t know?” 

“He believed his father had you all killed in a fit of rage and madness.”

“Not all of us,” Arya responded bitterly. 

That did make a certain amount of sense. She wasn’t convinced that the glorious Prince Rhaegar would have opposed his father if he had been present, but him being told they were all dead explained why he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. 

“How long do I have?” Her mind had been racing since Varys summoned her and requested the door be closed. She accepted that death was unavoidable, but if the Master of Whispers was generous enough to give her a brief reprieve then she could confess to Daenerys before they were all summoned to the throne room. 

“Until?”

She scoffed, unimpressed. “Until you tell the King and the Prince who I am.”

“I’ve known who you are for weeks, ever since I received word that my little birds in Dorne were unable to locate the Northern foster meant to be serving Prince Doran. I haven’t shared this with anyone yet, and I may not in the future.” 

Arya didn’t understand, why tell her he knew, if he wasn’t going to expose her? Why not run to the King and claim the reward? “What are you saying?”

“I watched you,” Varys noted, ignoring her question all together, “for the past several weeks I’ve observed you, with the Princess, with the young Missandei, with the Unsullied and even with Prince Aemon.” 

The longer this went on the more annoyed Arya became. Was he taunting her? It was her life and possibly her death they were talking about, yet he took his time and danced around whatever point he planned to make. “Yeah and what did you and your little birds see?”

Unoffended by her sarcasm, Varys replied. “You care for them, all of them. You spend hours training with Aemon after a long day protecting Daenerys. It’s similar with the Unsullied, although you seemed to have taken a liking to the young Prince, you and he spend as much time talking as you do swinging your swords.” 

Her life was in Varys’s pale hands, there was nothing she could do or say to change that. What he would or wouldn’t do after she left was out of her control. It was freeing in a way, once she worked through the accompanying terror. She could be honest with Varys, that was something she couldn’t say about anyone else in the capital. “Whatever else he is, he’s my family and I have very little of that left.” 

“Yes,” Varys conceded sombrely. “You care for Missandei as well. I heard how you risked your life in the city to protect her, offering yourself up to the armed man, for a slave.”

There was an accusation in there that Arya didn’t appreciate. As if Missandei was unworthy of rescue because she was stolen from her home and forced into slavery. “Slave or not, I wasn’t going to let that prick hurt her.”

“Exactly, because you care for her, and the feeling is mutual from what I hear. Missandei spoke in your defense when you were accused of desertion.”

“What’s your point?”

“Just that in a very short time you’ve managed to ingratiate yourself to all of them, the stoic, battle-hardened Unsullied, the cautious Aemon, the loyal Missandei, and of course Princess Daenerys. It’s quite an accomplishment and it speaks to your character.” He must have seen the next question she intended to ask, so he provided the answer. “If you weren’t a remarkable woman, you wouldn’t be able to amass such a varied group of supporters.”

“Why does it matter who my friends are?” she spat, running low on patience for his riddles and half-truths. 

“It may matter a great deal, but first I must ask, reports suggest you and the Princess have grown quite close, are they accurate or is it wishful thinking?”

“Daenerys and I are friends,” she said as she worked to keep her temper reigned in. “If that’s what your spies say, then they’re right.”

“They speculate that the bond is strong enough that you would kill or die for her,” he clarified. 

“I am her guard,” she reminded him pointedly, “that is literally my job.”

“Yes, but even if it weren’t, would you still be willing to risk your life for Daenerys, to kill those intent on doing her harm?”

She knew the answer, but she didn’t feel like she owed it to Varys. She’d defend Daenerys, she’d protect her, fight for her, kill for her, even if it wasn’t her duty. Yes, she’d die for Daenerys if necessary but that was none of the Spider’s business. 

“Is there anything else?”

“No, I’ve taken enough of your time, please accept my apology for bringing up so many unpleasant memories.”

“And my secret?” she prompted, hoping to gain some insight into what Varys intended to do next. 

“You’re loyal to Daenerys, and while you wouldn’t admit it, I believe you would kill or die for her even if you weren’t her guard. That’s good, she needs someone committed to her, as you are, someone who will put her first. As long as you continue to do that, my suspicions will remain mine. I see no reason to spread unsubstantiated rumors at this time.” 

She hated the cryptic way Varys spoke, but was able to read between the lines. He called what he knew ‘his suspicions’ because that gave him cover in case he was ever caught. If asked, he could simply say he hadn’t yet confirmed the validity of the rumor he heard and was waiting until he had to pass along what he learned. He was protecting himself. It was the same with the final three words, ‘at this time.’ Varys was leaving open the possibility of exposing her at a later time. It didn’t benefit him to tell the truth now, but if that changed, Arya knew he wouldn’t hesitate to betray her.

Getting mercy from the Spider, no matter how fragile or temporary, seemed like the best she could hope for. She’d need to think about everything Varys said, but this wasn’t the time or place for that, not when Daenerys was waiting for her upstairs. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: The next few chapters will be devoted to Daenerys’s nameday. Thank you for sticking with me this far. 
> 
> A little clearer picture is starting to form about what happened that day, and who knows about it. Rhaegar thinks she’s dead and Varys knows. I didn’t initially plan to have Varys figure it out, but he’s just too smart not to, so I had to adjust. 
> 
> Writing Rhaegar has been the most challenging part of this because he really is so many different things to different people. Figuring out who I wanted him to really be was harder than I should probably admit. Hopefully, it comes across when you read, but I interpreted Rhaegar to be conflicted. He wants to do right but is bound by the loyalty he has to his father. He does care about Daenerys and Aemon but is unprepared for his sister’s newfound strength. I apologize if people found their conversation repetitive after the one they had when Missandei was threatened, I just felt like Rhaegar wouldn’t agree to take the throne the first time Daenerys suggested it, so it had to happen twice. 
> 
> Enough rambling from me,
> 
> Thanks for reading
> 
> RC


	22. Chapter 22

“Are you sure I can’t just go back to bed?” Daenerys asked, and not for the first time. 

“You could,” Missandei allowed, “but I doubt the people who travelled to see you will leave until you make an appearance.”

“They aren’t here to see me,” she whined. It wasn’t Missandei’s fault, she knew that, but who else could she be honest with? This was supposed to be a celebration of her, so why did nobody care what she wanted? 

“I’m here to see you.”

Daenerys smiled for the first time since waking up and nodded in agreement with Missandei’s point. “I know, which is why I’d much rather spend the day in here with you.”

“What about Arya?”

Daenerys recognized the question for what it was, a bribe. Missandei thought that if she reminded her of Arya’s existence, she’d be more inclined to venture out of her room. It was a valiant effort, but she underestimated Daenerys’s hatred for this day, and everything that came with it. “She could join us up here, there is plenty of room.” 

Sensing she had a losing argument Missandei changed direction. “The sooner we get started, the sooner it’ll be over. Then you can spend the rest of the night with Arya.”

In spite of everything, mentioning Arya did bring her some happiness. “Do you know what it is she has to tell me?” Since Arya declined to share her bed, she’d been wondering obsessively about what could have her so anxious. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to come up with anything that made sense. 

“She hasn’t told me. I’m sure whatever it is, it isn’t as bad as she fears.”

“I don’t think so either, but she really is concerned.” With a mumbled curse Daenerys forced herself up off the bed. She shrugged out of her robe and walked to the closet to find an appropriate dress. “Any suggestions?” She began flipping through the options quickly, without really considering any of them. 

“Wear something Arya will enjoy seeing you in,” Missandei suggested. 

That didn’t sound like the worst way to choose. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to go into the day knowing Arya liked what she saw. Her nameday was typically exhausting but maybe having Arya there would make it marginally more tolerable. While her guests and gifts bored her, she could distract herself with Arya. She went back to the beginning of the line and checked each dress in accordance with her new, higher standards. 

She was still searching when there was a knock at the door. “Can you get that Missandei?” she yelled from the depths of her closet. “It’s probably Arya.” She didn’t think she was imagining the hope she heard in her voice. 

“Keep looking, I’ll let her in and come help.” 

Daenerys wasn’t too proud to admit that Missandei’s promise to assist improved her opinion of things. Although capable of getting dressed on her own, she always looked better when she followed Missandei’s subtle guidance. It could be as simple as how to wear her hair, or which accessory to pair with a specific dress, but each and every time the end results left Daenerys slightly more confident than she’d otherwise be. 

Through the wall she heard Missandei and Arya speaking. She couldn’t understand the words, but she didn’t need to. Just knowing Arya was close was enough to send a thrill through her body. Arya’s presence affected her in a way nothing waiting downstairs ever could. 

R-C

“Good morning Missandei,” Arya said as the door was swung open for her. She lowered her voice and stepped inside. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s not looking forward to it, but at least she’s out of bed.”

In all the time she’d been serving as Daenerys’s guard, she’d never once arrived to find Daenerys still in bed. It unsettled her to think her nameday was almost the occasion to break that streak. “That bad?”

Missandei didn’t answer, at least not directly. She posed a question of her own, that was obviously related. “How was it downstairs?”

“Crowded,” she admitted. “It’s busier than I’ve ever seen it.”

She nodded sadly in understanding. “Last year I heard Tywin telling Rhaegar that every room in the capital was occupied by visitors to the keep.” 

Her namedays in Winterfell were a time to cherish and anticipate eagerly. It was hard to reconcile how vehemently opposed to the celebration Daenerys was when Arya clung to her memories of the Stark version so tightly. Without understanding fully, she still felt empathy for Daenerys, whatever her reasons, she didn’t want any of it, but no one was giving her a choice. “What can I do?” She was not above asking for Missandei’s advice. 

The handmaiden smiled, confirming that her question was the right one. “You being here will make a big difference. She needs as many friendly faces as she can get today.”

“I won’t leave her side,” she swore. 

“Did the gift arrive in time?” 

Arya pictured the finished product in her mind and smiled. “A courier sent word yesterday afternoon. I picked it up after Daenerys dismissed me last night.” 

“Good.” Without explanation Missandei crossed the room. Midway down the wall with the window was a wooden cabinet that held a vase of beautiful, colorful flowers. Arya had no clue what was happening, so she just watched as Missandei pressed on the front of the cabinet, and slid the covering aside, exposing a secreted shelf. All the time she spent in this room and Arya never knew there was a shelf there or that the panel moved. “Did you bring it with you?” By the time she finished speaking, the compartment was once again hidden away. Missandei had a decorative wooden box in her hands. 

Any pride that came from having something for Daenerys was fleeting. “I didn’t bring it, I thought we’d give them to her later.”

“We may not get the chance later,” she warned, “it’s going to be a very long day.” 

Could it really be that long? They had many tiring, busy days in the castle, and Missandei rarely complained. Her reaction now was giving Arya pause. She imagined that the friends would celebrate together privately after Daenerys fulfilled her obligations. She wanted Daenerys to have a couple of hours to enjoy her nameday in the way she might enjoy, but Missandei was hinting that that may be impossible. 

She knew what Missandei bought for Daenerys, she’d been there when she made the purchase, but she couldn’t take her eyes off it. Not the book, more the box it was in. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She was so out of practice giving gifts, she’d forgotten the intricacies of the custom. She intended to give Daenerys her present directly, without a box, decorations or a ribbon. How could she have forgotten that?

“I can go get it,” she said in a bit of a rush. 

“You don’t have to…”

“Don’t give her yours until I get back, I have an idea.”

“What idea?”

“Stay with her, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

She was running as soon as she was in the hall. The idea she told Missandei about was still forming in her mind, but it was already a dramatic improvement over the nameday Daenerys’s family had planned for her. 

R-C

“Nice choice,” Missandei commented as she stood behind her. 

She adjusted the single shoulder strap slightly before turning to show her friend. “Think so?”

“No one will be able to take their eyes off you, least of all her.” 

Daenerys didn’t have to wonder who she meant. “How is she?”

“She’s worried for you.”

“What? Why?” Suddenly, the frown she wore had nothing to do with her own discomfort. She didn’t want Arya fretting over her. 

“She’s okay, she just knows you don’t like your nameday, and she hopes to make it better for you.” 

Aww that was really sweet. “That’s easy enough to accomplish, send her in to give me a kiss.”

Missandei smiled. “I would, but I believe she went to retrieve your gift.” 

Thinking about the gift Arya got for her only reminded her of the trouble it caused. Arya had nearly died and for what? So Daenerys could have another present on a day when she would already have too many? “I still can’t believe she got me something. I can’t believe you told her it was okay to get me something.” She hadn’t meant for the last part to include an accusatory tone but it slipped out. 

“Actually,” Missandei clarified, “I told her it was unnecessary, but she’s as stubborn as you and she didn’t listen to me either.” 

With a bark of a laugh Daenerys marvelled at how Missandei could bring light to the darkest of situations. She would never approve of the way the young woman came to be in her life, but she’d forever be grateful for the friendship she brought. “I’ll listen to you today,” she promised, “what jewelry will go well with this dress?”

“Go sit at the mirror,” the handmaiden directed. “I’ll pick out some pieces and bring them over, then we can work on your hair.” Daenerys stayed where she was and quietly observed as Missandei busied herself by picking through the Princess’s extensive collection of accessories. “She won’t be back for a few minutes, if we hurry, we can get everything done and have you looking stunning before she returns.” 

She knew just how to persuade the Princess. “I’ll meet you at the mirror,” she said, already on her way over.

R-C

The knock came when Daenerys had her jewelry in place, but her before her hair was finished. Her eyes met Missandei’s in the mirror and the handmaiden was surprised and then repentant. “That was quick,” she said setting down the comb she’d been using. “I’ll get it.”

Full of energy and eager to see her lover, Daenerys didn’t remain seated for long. By the time Missandei reached the door she was ready and waiting to see Arya for the first time in far too long. 

“Ser Jorah,” Missandei said loudly, in an obvious attempt to warn Daenerys of who was there. “She is, please come in.”

Jorah was coming to see her? She thought about retreating back to the mirror, to make herself seem busy, but she refused to flee, this was her room, she wouldn’t cower. She stood her ground, quite proud of herself. He smiled when he saw her. She tried to match the expression but doubted hers was as big or sincere as his. He looked older than she remembered him to be, his hair was shorter than the last time she’d seen him, and his armor shined, freshly polished. “Happy nameday Princess,” he said warmly as he came to stand in front of her with his hands behind his back. 

“Thank you Ser,” she responded stiffly. He was the first of what would surely be many who would wish her a happy nameday before the festivities were through, she would need to get used to it, and she would but in that moment Daenerys was annoyed. Jorah had spent years at her side, he knew Daenerys’s feelings on the subject and he still chose to arrive at her door in the early morning to commemorate the event? “What brings you here so early?” 

“You look radiant,” he added, not even pretending to answer the question. 

With few options she used her fakest smile and began practicing for the trials of the day. “Thank you,” she said, “I’m a work in progress I’m afraid, Missandei was braiding my hair when you knocked.”

“You look lovely.”

Daenerys’s shoulders sagged a bit as he missed or ignored the hint. “What brings you?” she asked bluntly. 

Until right then, she thought nothing of his hands being hidden behind his back. Many soldiers stood that way, including Arya and Jorah, so she was unprepared for when he adjusted his pose and revealed that his right hand held a golden chain. At the end of what was obviously a necklace waited a clear, blue stone. Daenerys’s heart sunk. This was why he’d come? “Happy nameday Daenerys,” he said. The necklace was resting on a pillow of sorts, the kind used in shops to prop up and display the various items. 

That… I… That is very generous Ser.” She stumbled through a reply, unsure of what to say or do. She thought back and tried to recall what Jorah had given the year before, but she couldn’t remember. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t a necklace and it wasn’t anything as expensive as this year’s offering. 

Oblivious to her turmoil Jorah removed the necklace from the pillow and placed the unnecessary packaging on the edge of the table. Hanging off his finger, the stone was beautiful, but she couldn’t accept it. “It’ll look wonderful on you,” he noted casually, making her feel worse. 

When it became clear he intended to place the chain around her neck Daenerys stepped back. “As I said,” she tried, “that is very generous of you Jorah, but I can’t accept such a gift.”

His smile fell, but he took a step forward to put him in her space again. “Of course, you can. I want you to have it.”

“It’s too much,” she said, glancing to Missandei for help. “It’s beautiful but…”

She didn’t get to finish. “Then it’s perfect for you.” 

She didn’t know what to do. Should she take the necklace and thank him or resist? It was gorgeous and if it were a gift between friends, she’d take it and be honored, but because it was Jorah, it was considerably more complicated. Whatever else they were, Jorah had feelings for her that she didn’t return. IF she accepted such a romantic gift, it’d no doubt embolden him and encourage him to continue pursuing her. She didn’t want that, but she didn’t want to hurt him either. Just because she didn’t desire an intimate relationship with him didn’t mean Daenerys wished to cause him pain. 

“I’m flattered Jorah, truly,” she said, starting with the good news, “I am, but such a gift, it’s too much.”

“Do you like it?” he pressed, wiggling his finger and sending the sparkling, blue jewel swinging back and forth. 

“It’s beautiful,” she acknowledged, “but it’s far too expensive and you shouldn’t waste it…”

“It would be a waste to give it anyone else,” he insisted. 

She was at a loss. She expected lavish, unnecessary presents downstairs, from strangers and acquaintances she’d rarely see, but this was different. Jorah was her friend, even if they argued sometimes and upsetting him might affect their relationship going forward. She was unsure of the best course. She needed help, luckily, Missandei had come to stand beside her. She remained silent during the exchange with Jorah, but she was there, and she’d know what to do. Daenerys looked to her for aid and tried to convey her conflicting emotions without words. With a sad smile the dark-haired woman nodded her head ever so slightly. Daenerys took a moment to make sure she understood the message and then another while she resigned herself to it. Missandei was telling her to accept the gift and as usual she was right. IF Daenerys wanted to keep the peace with Jorah, she couldn’t refuse his kindness. She didn’t like that he spent so much money on her or that it would likely leave him with the wrong impression but accepting what he offered as graciously as she could was the most favorable in a long list of uncomfortable, awkward and downright horrible outcomes. 

She wanted desperately to change his mind and hoped he could see that. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t you rather keep the necklace for someone else?” she suggested. 

“I bought it for you,” he told her simply.

With that, she reached and touched it for the first time. “Very well. Thank you, Jorah. It is beyond generous and completely unnecessary, but it’s incredible.” 

“Let me help you put it on,” he instructed. 

Although she was willing to take the gift and swallow her objections, now he was pushing his luck. “I already have a necklace on Ser,” she reminded him. She looked down at the silver dragon in flight hanging from a thick chain. Jorah looked as well, though his eyes dropped lower than hers, and lingered longer too. 

“Wouldn’t you rather wear mine?” he asked hopefully. 

She swallowed the sigh that threatened. This was exactly the type of misunderstanding she’d wanted to avoid. Daenerys accepted the necklace as a gift of friendship and Jorah meant it as something else. “It wouldn’t match,” she said in justification. 

“You could…”

She could, she was sure, do whatever Jorah was about to recommend but she wouldn’t. She took the necklace he’d given her off his extended finger and laid it carefully into her palm. She took a moment to admire the unique color and then carried it to where all her jewelry was stored. She hung it from one of the many hooks and then pivoted to face the old knight. “There, now it’ll be one of the first things I see the next time I need to choose something.”

Satisfied, Jorah smiled at her. “I’m glad you like it Princess.”

“I do,” she confirmed, “and I’d love to keep talking, but as I’m sure you noticed the castle is quite busy and I’m already late.” That was a slight exaggeration, not that she was late, or that the keep was filled to capacity, but that she would have preferred to extend the conversation. The tension she felt in jorah’s company made a relaxed discussion between friends challenging. 

“I understand,” Jorah said, surprisingly compliant. “I just wanted to see you before…” he trailed off. “I wanted to give you your gift before all the others.”

She nodded and was relieved when Missandei took it upon herself to walk him to the door. Daenerys was already out of patience and the day hadn’t really begun yet. 

R-C

She found Rhaegar eating his breakfast in only the third place she looked for him. She rarely needed to stand guard at breakfast since Daenerys typically didn’t partake, but even without much experience she was confident most of the faces around the table weren’t from the area. She lost count of the number of different sigils she saw as she approached the Prince. 

She gave the knight guarding Rhaegar a nod on her way to him. They didn’t speak often, but she got the sense that Barristan had a measure of respect for her, or at least her dedication to Daenerys. He didn’t try to stop her anymore, letting her have a minute of the Crown Prince’s time each day to ask her questions. It was a guess, but she thought the reason he didn’t try to intervene was because she didn’t cause trouble, even when Rhaegar denied her requests. 

She stood off to the side, slightly behind his chair, waiting until he finished speaking to the man on his right. It was an easy-going conversation, though about what Arya couldn’t say. 

When both men stopped talking long enough to take a bite, Arya stepped forward. She cleared her throat to draw Rhaegar’s attention. “Excuse me, Prince, could I have a moment.”

She thought he’d gotten used to her visits, but he seemed truly unprepared to see her there. “Not today,” he said after a sigh. When she didn’t immediately go, he elaborated. “You can’t be serious, people have been travelling for weeks from all over the world to be here. She needs to greet and thank them.” She still said nothing, so he continued, “The cooks have been working day and night to prepare a feast in her honor, tell her sorry, but there is nothing I can do, not today.”

Arya let him finish his rant without interruption. “I’m not asking for today,” she said when it was finally her turn. 

He looked ready to respond before he remembered where he was. He closed his mouth, reached for his cane and then stood up. “If you’ll excuse me Lord Frey.” To Arya he hissed, “Come with me!”

She followed Rhaegar, very aware of Selmy trailing behind. They stopped in a small alcove, next to a potted plant. “What is it my sister wants?” 

“She isn’t the one asking,” Arya clarified, “I am.”

“Then what do you want?” he asked, seeming to care little about the distinction. 

“You know Daenerys, you know she hates this, the feast, the guests, the presents, all of it.” 

“So you came here to tell me things I already know?” he snapped. 

“I came to see if I could negotiate a bargain. She knows she has to endure every second of today, exactly as it was designed. She’s upstairs getting ready right now, so she can do that.” 

“Then why are you here?”

“To see if tomorrow we can give Daenerys the day she couldn’t get today.” She paused and gave him a moment. “We both know that none of this is for her anyway. The gifts are tokens of respect for the King, the guests don’t come to see her, they come for you, your father and his Hand, and at that feast, you mentioned there will be more negotiations about trade, harvests and marriages than there will be people actually interested in what Daenerys has to say.” 

“She has to be there,” he stated again. 

“I know, but tomorrow after everyone goes home, when all her obligations have been met, can we agree that she deserves a day to celebrate how she wants to?”

Rhaegar took in the request and looked over her head to his guard. Seconds passed slowly. The quiet extended so long that Arya glanced at the knight herself. Something had Barristan smiling, but there was nothing remarkable about him otherwise. She shifted her focus back to Rhaegar. 

“My sister likes you,” he said plainly. “Only the Gods know why, but she does, and she’s been happier since you’ve been here, I can’t deny that.” 

“I’m just trying to support her,” Arya explained, “I think she deserves this, and I know you’re my best chance at making it happen.” 

Rhaegar continued on like she hadn’t said anything. “She cares about you, and I’m starting to understand that you must care about her too.”

“I do,” she confirmed simply, all too aware of the pitfalls that admitting that might bring. 

“You wouldn’t keep coming here like this, if you didn’t.”. 

“I gave her my word I’d do what I could to help her get out of the castle, just as I gave you my word I wouldn’t take her into the city without your consent.” 

“You’ve kept your word on both I’d say,” Rhaegar remarked. He shifted his weight slightly, adding more to the cane, before he finished, “If she gets through today, tomorrow is hers.”

“Thank you,” she said, reminding herself that the manners were for Daenerys’s benefit and not his. He was still a kidnapping raper, even if he was Daenerys’s brother, but it also stood to reason that he’d be more inclined to help Daenerys, if she could muster up a minimal amount of common courtesy. If she had any doubts how deeply she cared for the Dragon Princess, they were erased when she got the words she was thinking past her lips. “You should join us for lunch tomorrow.” She hurried ahead before she took back the invitation. It was Daenerys. For Daenerys! “I think Daenerys would enjoy having you and Aemon there, if you’re not too busy.” 

He had already begun to leave, so stopping and turning was a slow process on his weak legs, but he took the time and effort to do it anyway. “Really?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “She doesn’t know you’re doing any of this, does she?”

“Not yet, I didn’t want to get her hopes up until you agreed.” 

He looked uncomfortable and for once Arya didn’t think it had anything to do with the injury inflicted at the Trident, or Arya’s resemblance to Lyanna. “My sister and I haven’t been seeing eye to eye lately. She probably wouldn’t want me there.” 

“I think you’d be surprised,” she said, before she left. “I need to get back, but if you can let Aemon know about our plans for midday I’d appreciate it, and if there is a hole in your schedule and you care to join us, I’m sure Daenerys would be happy to see you.” 

R-C

The seconds moved slower without Arya there. To pass the time she asked questions she already knew the answers to. “She said she was coming back?”

“Yes,” Missandei replied indulgently. 

The Princess couldn’t help peeking at the door every few seconds. To give her mind something else to focus on she smoothed out a wrinkle in her dress. 

“You look great.”

She assessed herself closely. The pale blue silk hung off one shoulder and showed just enough of her creamy skin to be alluring without seeming scandalous. After Jorah had left, Daenerys expected they’d complete the second half of the braiding, but Missandei had a change of heart. At the handmaiden’s insistence she chose to leave her hair down. “You think so?” she verified, needing some reassurance before she went downstairs and braved the nameday crowds. Today more than any other, she’d be the center of attention and everyone would be looking for fault. Was her dress stained or ill-fitting, was a strand of silver hair out of place? She didn’t want to give the gossips any kindling for that particular fire. 

“Definitely, and I won’t be the only one who thinks so. I bet Arya will agree with me.”

The prediction made Daenerys smile. “I hope so.” Following Missandei’s instruction, she’d chosen her attire specifically because she thought Arya would approve. She had hundreds of guests waiting for her and the only opinion she cared about belonged to a bastard from a far away kingdom. 

“Missandei’s right about that,” Arya said offhandedly as she breezed into the room as though she was never gone. 

Unable or unwilling to delay for even an instant Daenerys went to her. Arya was waiting with a smile and a kiss. “You look breathtaking.”

Compliments wouldn’t be in short supply today, yet three words from Arya had her blushing so fiercely she worried it was permanent. “Thank you.” She pecked at Arya’s lips before making the point that had been on her mind since Missandei told her where Arya had gone. “You didn’t need to disappear, I don’t need presents.”

“We’ll do gifts later,” Arya decided with an exaggerated calm. Trinkets didn’t matter to her. She wouldn’t mind if neither Missandei nor Arya gave her a damn thing, but it did strike her as odd that Arya cared one way or the other. When she received her gifts seemed rather inconsequential, yet for some reason Arya had a preference. “There are a lot of people waiting, so we should probably get you down there.”

She knew Arya was right, but that knowledge didn’t hold back her disappointment. A sigh escaped her lips, likely the last honest sound she’d utter all day. Soon enough she’d need to smile and laugh and say ‘thank you’ but none of it would be real. It would be as fake as their compliments or their well-wishes. It was all so daunting, she began to pace as her anxiety climbed. 

While she tried to tame her emotions, Arya stepped in front of her and placed one firm hand on each shoulder. “Missandei,” she said without looking away from the Princess, “can you go let everyone know Daenerys will be right down?”

“Of course,” she agreed. 

When they were alone Arya’s features turned severe. “You can do this.”

The weight she was carrying felt a little less debilitating. It was nice, knowing that someone not only cared about her feelings but thought she was capable. “Thank you.”

Arya wasn’t convinced, her grip on Daenerys tightened a bit. “No, really, you can do this. You’re strong and I know it’ll take a lot more than a few arrogant pricks and their snobby wives to best you.”

“There will be more than a few,” she predicted, trying to lighten the mood. 

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” her lover promised. To emphasize her point, she moved her hands from Daenerys’s shoulders to her back and guided her in for a hug. “When you’re tired, annoyed or out of patience, look to me and know that you’re not alone.”

If Arya kept saying things like that, she was going to breakdown and cry. Without realizing it, Arya had just said the words Daenerys had been waiting her whole life to hear. For years when she was isolated, and ignored Daenerys wished that someone would come and rescue her. She thought Missandei was the answer to her prayers, but she was being granted more. Now she had Arya too. “Thank you,” she said passionately, before squeezing Arya’s armor encased body as tightly as she could. “I have a feeling I’m going to be looking to you a lot.”

It was said with a twinge of humor, but Daenerys suspected both women knew the underlying truth mixed in. “I’ll be there.” Daenerys didn’t know how she’d gotten so lucky. She leaned just enough to look into Arya’s stormy eyes and was taken aback by the sincerity there. “Every time you look at me today, I want you to remember this…” Before Daenerys could inquire, Arya lowered her head and claimed her mouth. It was intense, genuine and said more than any words they might’ve exchanged. It wasn’t their first kiss and yet this one felt special. It reached deep inside her and awakened something. All at once, she couldn’t get enough. Her toes curled in her shoes and her eyes closed in without permission. 

Even panting as though she’d just sprinted up ten staircases Daenerys couldn’t contain her grin. “I don’t think you’ll need to twist my arm to get me to remember that.”

“Good,” she retorted smugly, “and don’t forget every hand you shake, every gift you open, every boring conversation you suffer through brings you one step closer to being finished.”

“And then what?” she wondered playfully. She felt light and relaxed, a monumental achievement considering what her future held. She couldn’t say how or why, she just knew Arya made it better, made her better. 

“After you’ve done your part as Princess, we’ll come back here, and Daenerys can do anything she wants.”

“Anything?” she repeated, the implication clear. The list of things she was dying to do with Arya grew longer by the day. If Arya promised her ‘anything’ the guard might get more than she bargained for. 

With a chuckle Arya shook her head. “Sure beautiful, anything. Now are you ready to get out there?”

Everything about that statement had Daenerys’s heart racing in her chest. Arya called her beautiful, not in some grand pronouncement or elaborate compliment but casually as if it were a widely known and already established fact. They both knew people were waiting for her, that they’d postponed too long already and yet Arya was still asking instead of telling, still giving Daenerys the choice to stay or go. It meant more than she could put into words. 

With Arya’s promise still echoing in her ears, she was suddenly eager to get the day over with. “What are we waiting for?” The sooner it was done, the sooner she could be where she wanted, doing what she wanted, with who she wanted. If that wasn’t sufficient motivation, she didn’t think anything would be. 

R-C

It was the smile that gave her away. Without warning it was different from the false one she’d been wearing to greet nobles, thank them or accept their extravagant offerings. All the sudden Daenerys’s smile was real. It was a cheap imitation of the one Arya saw when they were alone, but it was a vast improvement over the empty, meaningless one she’d been watching for hours. Curious Arya moved a little closer and paid more attention to the conversation taking place. 

“You’re here from Highgarden?” Daenerys verified to the young man. 

She studied him carefully, there was nothing unusual about him. He was well-dressed and neatly groomed but was obviously not as wealthy as most of the others in the line. Arya understood why when he replied. “Yes, Princess. Lady Olenna sent me on behalf of House Tyrell to present you with this gift.” He didn’t look as wealthy because he wasn’t as wealthy, he was a mere emissary for the influential matriarch. 

Thinking of Highgarden immediately made Arya think of Sansa. She studied the area on the off chance her sister had been ordered along but saw no one remotely similar to the sister from her memories. Although she could think of dozens of reasons why Sansa wasn’t there and would never be, the disappointment cut deep. 

When she recovered, she picked up what the emissary was saying in the middle. “… I will not keep you, as you have many more guests waiting, but it was Lady Olenna’s request that I give you this at the completion of our meeting.” 

His hand slipped into his pocket and Arya stepped forward, reaching for her sword just in case. The Tyrells and Targaryens may be allies, but allies could become enemies overnight if the right scab was torn. She remembered Olenna and how the old woman interacted with Daenerys. She didn’t think she’d send her man to harm the Princess, but Arya wasn’t about to take any unnecessary risks with Daenerys’s safety. 

All he had to pass along was a sealed scroll. He bowed his head in respect as he waited for Daenerys to take it. “I’ll leave you now, if it pleases you Princess,” he offered politely. 

“Please rest here as long as you need, and make sure you eat a meal before you get back on the road,” Daenerys instructed, worrying about the young man’s health and well-being. 

“Most kind, I will Princess.”

“And please thank Lady Olenna for the gift, let her know I hope to see her soon.” 

“I will,” he confirmed, “she will be back in the capital before long.” 

Arya relaxed as she watched the man walk away. Daenerys whispered to Missandei, and the handmaiden went to the Unsullied at the front of the line and spoke to them. Unsure of what was happening, she watched carefully. She understood when Missandei came back alone and reclaimed her spot behind the Princess. Daenerys thanked her friend and then focused entirely on the scroll she hadn’t let go of yet. 

She enjoyed watching Daenerys’s facial expressions as she read, the way her eyes swept from side to side, taking in one line and then going back to begin the next. Whatever Olenna had written for her, it was obviously pleasant since Daenerys’s smile was honest. If a few words written for her, could improve Daenerys’s mood so drastically, Arya considered it a tragedy that Olenna couldn’t make the trip in person. 

The letter ended with a bark of a laugh from the Dragon. “What is it?” Missandei wondered. 

Rather than answer Daenerys held out the scroll for her to read. She did, with impressive speed. Arya saw Missandei smile in much the same way Daenerys had and then right on schedule she too laughed upon reaching the bottom. 

More than a little curious Arya stepped up to take her turn. Missandei happily handed over the scroll. 

Daenerys,

Please accept my sincerest apologizes. Both Margaery and I wanted to be there to celebrate with you today, but I’m afraid business in the Reach keeps us too busy to slip away. Know that we are thinking of you. 

Have you given any more thought to visiting us at Highgarden? You’d be welcome anytime and I for one would love the company. I know Margaery feels the same way. Please consider it dear, you’d be doing an old woman a kindness. I’m dreadfully bored and in dire need of excitement. 

I can only imagine what your day has been like. Any marriage proposals yet? The Red Keep may be big, but it’s truly astonishing how many smug nobles fit inside. Don’t worry about them, they aren’t important, find the things that are, and focus on them. If that fails, remember this – You are a Dragon! It’s okay to act like one. 

I wish I could be there, but since I’m not please accept this gift along with wishes for a wonderful year, from myself and all of House Tyrell. 

Lady Olenna Tyrell of Highgarden.

P.S – The present is crap, but I had to send something. Feel free to toss it into the fire the next time a chill passes through the Crownlands, it’s what I’d do.

Just like the two who read it before her, Arya had to laugh at Olenna’s sentiments. For the second time it occurred to her how unfortunate it was that Olenna couldn’t celebrate with them. She would have kept things interesting. 

R-C

She breathed a sigh of relief when Walder Frey and two of his sons took their leave. They weren’t the worst guests she’d had to meet with, but something about them made her uneasy. Thankfully, the Freys rarely ventured to the capital. Only two or three very short visits a year, always scheduled to coincide with special occasions, like Daenerys’s nameday. 

She glanced to see who was next, without any real enthusiasm and was surprised to see the Spider standing next to another man. She didn’t recognize him, but he was heavier than the spymaster with a beard, and fine clothes. As she assessed the clothing, checking for a sigil, she realized it wasn’t the sort of attire common to the Seven Kingdoms. Where had this man come from and why? 

“Princess Daenerys, you look stunning, as always. Happy nameday.”

“Thank you, Lord Varys. I appreciate the well wishes but you must have many important things that await you, there was no need to wait in line to see me.” 

“I told you she was smart,” Varys quipped to his companion. 

The big man nodded in agreement. “You did indeed old friend.” 

“Princess, this is Magister Illyrio Mopatis from Pentos. As he said, we are old friends and when he learned of your nameday, he asked if I could facilitate an introduction.” 

Daenerys wasn’t naive enough to believe a Magister crossed the Narrow Sea to meet her. Whatever had brought him went far beyond the celebration of her birth. She offered her hand to the man from Essos. “Magister, it is a pleasure to meet you, I am Daenerys Targaryen and welcome to the Red Keep.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he countered. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

“And why is that?” she asked as innocently as she could. While she waited for the answer, she reviewed what little she knew about Pentos and Magisters. If she recalled her lessons accurately Magisters were among the wealthiest and most influential men in the region. Which begged the question, why was he in Westeros?

“I’ve heard about the Dragon Princess for a long time,” he said calmly. “People speak of your generosity, your beauty, and your kindness just to name a few. I’m not the type of man to trust in the word of strangers, so I asked Varys and he confirmed you were every bit as remarkable as I’d heard. It intrigued me.” 

When Illyrio got to the part of his story where he sought Varys’s opinion, Daenerys’s eyes landed on the spymaster. Why did he think so highly of her? They weren’t close. If asked, she would have guessed that Varys didn’t care about her one way or the other, but if Illyrio was telling the truth, perhaps she misjudged him. 

“So rarely does a person actually live up to the rumors whispered about them. When my business brought me across the sea, I decided to take the opportunity to visit my friend and meet with you.” 

“That was very considerate of you,” Daenerys said after a slight delay. She wasn’t sure what else to say. 

“A few years ago, during a negotiation to settle a rather contentious business dispute, I became aware of the existence of a piece of ancient history,” he explained. He looked away from Daenerys and checked the faces of those she had with her. He stopped on Missandei and seemed to consider speaking to her, before eventually moving on to Arya. “You there, would you assist my lads in getting the Princess’s gift?”

She didn’t like the way he was ordering Arya about. Yes, he phrased it like a question, but it sounded more like a command than a request. Her instincts were supported when Illyrio’s men stepped forward. The first thing she noticed about them were the distinct slave collars around their necks. He brought slaves with him to the Red Keep?

“Will you ladies be okay here?” Arya asked, ignoring Illyrio and the Spider completely. 

“I’ll remain with the Princess and darling Missandei until you return,” Varys pledged, “they will not be left vulnerable.” 

“It’s okay Arya,” Daenerys ruled. “Missandei and I were going to take a break and have some tea anyway.” 

R-C

Arya followed the slaves outside, amazed by this Illyrio’s brazen disregard for the King’s laws. He and Varys must be very close if the Magister was confident in that bond to protect him. 

“How long have you worked for the Magister?” she wondered as they went to retrieve whatever item Illyrio was giving. 

“All our lives,” the elder of the two said. “He bought us young and trained us.” Next to his partner, the smaller, younger man nodded his agreement. 

“Is he nice?” She was hoping for some insight into the man who’d come to see Daenerys. 

The younger man said nothing, looking down as if the ground beneath his feet was suddenly the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. 

The other man responded with only, “He is not unkind.”

It was as she tried to make sense of strange reply that she realized she probably shouldn’t have asked in the first place. She didn’t have much experience with slaves and hadn’t considered how awkward it would be to have a stranger inquiring about their Master. 

“I think you’ll like it here in King’s Landing,” she said to change the subject. “Do you know how long you’ll be staying.”

“Only until tomorrow, then the Magister has other business.” 

When the slaves stopped, Arya did too. From a carriage they produced a large black case, nearly as long as a man. “Be very careful, they’re priceless,” he cautioned. 

“Do you know what inside?” 

“Oh yes, Magister Illyrio tasked me with delivering the payment and bringing them back to the estate.”

Them? She had questions but doubted the slaves would be forthcoming. She’d just have to wait until they got back inside to learn what the big surprise was. 

R-C

“As a Targaryen, I imagine you must know quite a bit about your family’s history with dragons.”

“I do,” she acknowledged, “when I was young, I would read anything I could on the subject.” That was true, she was just leaving out the reason why. She studied dragons so intently because she wanted them to return, so she could use one to escape her life. Nothing about Illyrio entitled him to such personal information, so she kept it to herself. “I still enjoy reading about them, even though there isn’t much new to learn anymore.” 

He smiled broadly. “A fellow scholar then, how fortuitous. I confess, dragons have always fascinated me as well. I remember the first time I saw the Iron Throne, a symbol of power forged by dragonfire, I was mesmerised.” 

“It is quite something,” Daenerys agreed flatly. She didn’t know what this was all about, but the longer it went on, the more confident she was it had little to do with her nameday. 

She smiled when she saw Arya coming back. The presence of the slaves unnerved her. Did Illyrio not realize he was breaking the law, or did he just not care? She thought of Missandei and how difficult it must be for her to have to stand by and watch Illyrio’s slaves. She no longer wore a collar, but she wasn’t free. With a jolt it came to her why the Magister felt emboldened enough to bring his slaves to Westeros where slavery was outlawed. It was probably no coincidence that Illyrio’s appearance came after the King had taken thousands of slaves into his service. Aerys couldn’t condemn the Magister without opening himself up to the same criticism. 

“These come from the Shadowlands Princess,” he said as he nodded to his slaves and they began working on the latches that kept the box closed. “I acquired them because they were unique and beautiful, I thought I’d keep them as an investment, but in time I came to see that they were being squandered in my collection. They belong somewhere else, with someone else, with you in fact.” 

“Me?” They hadn’t met before today. Why would he think of her at all, let alone choose to share something he bought?

With another nod, the slaves lifted the lid away from the box’s base, exposing the contents inside. There was a gasp, that definitely came from her, though it was hard to hear much of anything over the pounding of her heart. “Is that…” she stopped talking, 

“Three dragon eggs. They somehow managed to survive hundreds if not thousands of years.” 

Daenerys looked at the colorful eggs in wonder. She never thought she’d live to see such a thing, now here it was. “How is this possible?” 

“No one knows,” he admitted. “I’ve employed the most talented scholars money can buy and the best they can do is give me educated estimates. 

“Such as?” It was taking all of her resolve to keep from squealing and behaving like an excitable child, but that’s precisely how she felt. Her whole life she wondered about dragons. She envied her ancestors who not only had them but rode them in battle. She obsessed over their extinction, trying to solve the riddle of how and why dragons disappeared. When she was feeling particularly ambitious, Daenerys would set her sights higher, trying to come up with a viable strategy to bring dragons back. It was childish fantasy, born out of the idea that a dragon could take her anywhere she wanted to go, and moreover, a dragon would protect her. If she had a dragon, not only could she travel the world freely, but no one would be able to stop her, not her father, or her brothers, or anyone else, not unless they wanted to incur her dragon’s wrath. 

This was not wild speculation or unsubstantiated rumor. This wasn’t words without proof, or dreams. Illyrio had proof. How long had it been since someone saw the last dragon? Even the most dedicated scholars of Targaryen history had all but given up on the idea of seeing dragons again and now Illyrio showed up with not one, but three eggs. 

“As pretty as they are, I fear they are little more than decorative stones now,” he said. “Any dragons within are almost certainly long dead.” He sounded appropriately sombre as he said this, but It didn’t last. “These eggs are pieces of history, the history of the Seven Kingdoms and of your family. I felt it only fair that you take ownership.”

“Magister,” she started, not knowing what to say next. She was beside herself. She was used to generous, over the top gifts, but this one was on a whole other level. Could she accept it? They must’ve cost him a fortune and he just wanted to give them away? If she didn’t want to take a necklace from Jorah, how could she accept these eggs? “Thank you for showing them to me, this is a memory I will carry with me forever and cherish, but with all due respect, I can’t accept such an expensive gift, it just wouldn’t be right.”

Illyrio laughed, his thick belly shaking as he rested both his hands upon it. “Ask Varys, he’ll tell you gold is of no concern to me. I have more than I could ever spend. 

“He’s not wrong,” the Spider chimed in from the side. 

Illyrio was making perfect sense. Was it strange that he was willing to part with something so valuable for a woman he didn’t know? Yes. Was it unusual that he travelled thousands of miles and crossed the Narrow Sea to deliver her nameday present? Yes. He may be eccentric man with obscene amounts of gold, but nothing he’d said or done gave Daenerys the impression his intentions weren’t honorable. Add to that the fact that she really would love to own dragon eggs, even dead ones, and it was almost easy to overlook the Magister’s quirks. 

Before she could accept however, there was one more thing she needed to know. Actually, she just needed to see Illyrio’s face when she asked it, it would tell her plenty. “Why me?”

“Why not you?” he challenged. “Daenerys the Stormborn, the fabled Dragon Princess. We hear about you all the way in Pentos dear.” 

It sounded nice, but it didn’t escape her that he hadn’t actually answered the question. Growing up in the Red Keep taught her a lot of skills she doubted she would have learned elsewhere. One of them was knowing when something was just a little too perfect and spending untold hours and millions of gold coins to procure dragon eggs only to give them away to a stranger qualified. “That’s kind, but not an answer.” 

He smiled, seemingly impressed she called him out on his avoidance. “Very well, I hoped that by delivering the eggs in person I might make a favorable enough impression that you’d do me the honor of sharing a meal with me before I return to Pentos. The eggs are yours regardless, but I’d love the opportunity to get to know you better.”

That was it? All he wanted was her company at a meal? She felt guilty for assuming he had a sinister motive. Maybe nobles in Pentos were less conniving and more straightforward than their Westerosi counterparts. “That sounds lovely,” she exaggerated a little, “will you be staying in King’s Landing long?”

“Just tonight,” he explained. “I have business elsewhere in the Realm, but my ship is here, so I shall return when it’s concluded.” 

“Let me know when you will be available, and I will make certain we can meet. I’d love to hear the story of how you came to know about the eggs.”

He laughed again. “And I would love to tell it to you, Princess.” 

It occurred to her almost too late, that maybe Illyrio’s offer was just his way of being polite, to compensate for her initial rudeness. “Will you have the time? I don’t want to keep you from your friends and family back home, I’m sure you miss them, as they do you.” 

Unbothered he used a thick hand to wave away her argument. “Nonsense, it’d be my pleasure. Your father can’t meet with me for a few days anyway, so you’d really be doing me a favor.”

And there it was. He hid it better than most and was a convincing enough liar that she actually believed him, but in the end, it was always the same. Illyrio hadn’t come for her, and he didn’t bring dragon eggs out of the goodness of his heart, he did it to ingratiate himself with the King, just like all the others. 

“Oh, do you have business with my father?” 

Daenerys thought she concealed her annoyance, but suddenly there was tension in his previously relaxed features and a slight wrinkle in his brow. “Just some trade, nothing particularly exciting, not when compared to actual dragon eggs.”

He was good, she couldn’t deny that. He sensed she was angry, kept his answer vague and quickly redirected them. She ran her small hand over the rough eggs, walking the length of the box. “They are beautiful.” 

“And who better to have them than a true blooded Targaryen. These eggs belonged to your ancestors, I felt it only right they be returned to their rightful place.” 

Just like with Jorah, she had a choice to make. She could refuse to accept the dragon eggs and make it clear she knew Illyrio’s true motivations, but what would that accomplish? How much would change? She’d feel a momentary flash of pride exposing his scheme, but would it make any difference to Illyrio? He’d be embarrassed temporarily, but after that? How long before he forgot all about his failed attempt to woo the Dragon and moved on to his various meetings? He’d forget her quickly because this was never about her at all. He’d still conduct his business with her father, he’d still reap the rewards of his trip to King’s Landing and he’d get to keep the dragon eggs too. 

There wasn’t much of that Daenerys had a say in. She couldn’t make the Magister respect her or see her as his equal. She didn’t have the power or the allies to interfere with his business and that left only one thing within her control – the eggs. Why should he get to keep them? He was right about them, incredible and ancient as they were, they once belonged to a member of her family. They belonged in King’s Landing with a Targaryen, not collecting dust in some vault in Pentos. 

“Your generosity will not be forgotten Magister,” she told him through her fakest smile of the day. “I will find a suitable place to display this amazing gift. I want all to see dragons have returned to the Seven Kingdoms. I will always remember your part in making that happen.”

“You flatter me.”

“As much as I would like to continue our conversation, I have many more guests to see. Enjoy your travels, I wish I could join you.” That part, at the very least was true. 

“Until next time Princess.” 

“Send a raven when you are on your way, and I will arrange that dinner.”

Illyrio smiled sweetly, reaching for and taking Daenerys’s hand. “I am already looking forward to it.”

She stood there chewing on her bottom lip as she watched the Magister, his friend and two slaves exit, they were nothing more than the most recent bunch of men who tried to manipulate her. 

“Are you alright Princess?” Missandei inquired. 

“I’m …” she meant to say she was fine, but she couldn’t get the word out. She placed her palm down on the largest of the dragon eggs. “I need a minute.”

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There you have it. Daenerys’s nameday becomes a two-day event, Illyrio makes an appearance and brings dragon eggs, and then there is Jorah. A lot more nameday related fun is still to come. Arya’s confession is approaching too, I promise.


	23. Chapter 23

Of course, he gave her dragon eggs! What else does one get for the Targaryen who has everything? Daenerys seemed to like them and why not? They were one of a kind, or three of a kind in this instance, the last three known to be in existence. She was being handed a piece of history. She had cause to be thrilled. 

Even in Winterfell where her father encouraged a heavy dislike for all things Targaryen Arya loved stories of the ancient Kings and Queens who ruled with their dragons. Countless nights in her youth her final thought before falling asleep was imagining herself flying into battle on the back of a magnificent dragon, sword in hand. She was riveted whenever Nan told her of the Dance of Dragons, hanging on every word. She wasn’t supposed to like it, but she couldn’t help it, it was exciting. 

As she watched Daenerys and Missandei admire the dragon eggs Arya was overcome with dread. What was she thinking, buying Daenerys a gift? She’d never be able to compete with people who had near limitless amounts of gold at their disposal. She’d been so proud of what she’d done, so sure Daenerys would love it and now she was debating if she should give it to her at all. Surely no gift was better than a substandard one, right? 

Near where Daenerys was greeting her well-wishers was a long, rectangular table, similar to the kind used to eat off of. It had been empty when they walked down the stairs that morning, but now it was almost full. Full of boxes, and bags, of ribbons and bows, it’s where Daenerys stored all the presents she received, the ones that needed to be opened later. Arya learned only the most important visitors were worthy of having their gifts opened immediately, guests like the Magister or the emissary who came on Olenna’s behalf. If the examples she’d seen were a representation of the whole, Arya predicted her pathetic idea would be forgotten by morning. 

“These are amazing,” Missandei gushed. Her hand was on the smallest egg, touching it with care, as though it might hatch if she applied too much pressure. 

“They are,” Daenerys concurred, “I just wish they came from someone else.”

Well that was unexpected. Arya assumed the Magister would be high on the list of Daenerys’s favorite people right about now. She moved closer and paid more attention to the exchange. 

“Did you not like the Magister?”

It was a simple question, with an easy, yes or no answer, but the Princess erupted. She threw up her hands and huffed in frustration. “He brought slaves here, can you fucking believe that?! How dare he!” 

The small room where they were taking a break was suddenly smaller as Daenerys began pacing. Clearly upset Daenerys’s feet stomped on the floor as she tried to release her excess energy. Taken aback by the abrupt change Missandei and Arya looked at one another in silent question. Apparently Missandei was as surprised as the guard. 

“I thought that was in poor taste too,” Arya supplied, in support of Daenerys’s feelings. 

“The poorest,” Daenerys insisted, before stopping in front of the eggs, “and then there are these.” 

“I didn’t know such things existed,” Missandei remarked. 

“Me either. I want to be fascinated, I want to research them and study them and try to find out where they came from. I want to be excited but right now I’m only angry.”

Again the handmaiden and the guard locked eyes, deciding which of them would respond. Arya didn’t need encouragement, she hated seeing Daenerys like this and wanted to fix it. It didn’t matter that she didn’t understand what was wrong. “Angry about what?” she asked, going to her lover and placing her hand on Daenerys’s. She was touching the egg, so Arya’s hand pinned hers in place. 

“It’s my own fault,” Daenerys went on, “I knew better than to trust it, but he made me want to believe.”

She’d been there for the encounter, she’d seen and heard it for herself and she couldn’t recall anything that would shake Daenerys’s faith in Illyrio. Arya hadn’t liked him, but she blamed that on the fact that he was rubbing her nose in how different they were, as if she didn’t already know. Arya’s dislike was rooted in the fact that even if she excelled as a soldier, even if she rose to the rank of Commander one day, she’d still never be able to give Daenerys the kinds of things a man like Illyrio could. “It’s not your fault,” Arya disagreed, not caring that what Daenerys was taking the blame for remained a mystery. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t let the Princess shoulder it alone. 

“I knew better, he’s just like all the rest.”

Missandei picked up where Arya left off, trying in her gentle way to solve the riddle in front of them. “How is he like them?”

“Didn’t you hear, he has an upcoming meeting with my father, some sort of trade agreement or something.” She lifted her hand off the dragon egg but maintained contact with Arya. She turned her hand over and pressed their palms together, weaving their fingers. With her other hand she gestured to the dragon eggs, “None of this was for me,” she said with a heartbreaking certainty. “It was all so he could impress the King.” She laughed humorlessly. “It’ll work too. By the time they meet the castle will be buzzing with talk of the Magister who brought dragon eggs to the Princess’s nameday. Given his fascination with dragons, Father will agree to whatever Illyrio wants.” 

Not for the first time today, Arya wished she could do more than just be there for Daenerys. Someone Arya cared about was suffering and she was powerless to stop it. She hated it. “Fuck Illyrio, he doesn’t matter. He’ll be back in Pentos soon and you’ll never have to see him again.”

Daenerys rewarded her efforts with a smile, before she said, “I almost told him to keep the eggs.”

“Why didn’t you?” Missandei wondered. 

Daenerys’s happiness became more pronounced. “I was going to, but then I decided that he didn’t deserve them. He shouldn’t get to use me and keep the present too.”

Suddenly Arya saw the back and forth between Daenerys and Illyrio for what it was. Her friendly tone and accommodating demeanor wasn’t appreciation for the Magister’s gift, she was manipulating him, as he had her, letting him believe his plan worked. She played the part of naïve, unaware Princess to perfection. Arya couldn’t help but be proud. 

“I’m ready for this day to be over.”

Arya couldn’t disagree with that. She squeezed Daenerys’s hand and tried to find a bright spot in their situation. “We’re closer now than we were an hour ago.”

“That’s true,” she acknowledged. She took a deliberate breath and squared her shoulders. “Okay, let’s go back out there and finish this.” 

“I’ll be with you the entire time.”

“What do you want to do about these?” Missandei asked, standing next to the box containing the eggs. 

“I could take them up to your chambers, if you wanted,” the guard proposed, leaving it up to Daenerys to decide where her gift ended up. 

“Would you mind?” 

“Not at all, I’ll be right back.” Knowing full well the dangers, she bent down and placed a peck on Daenerys’s closest cheek anyway. 

As Arya debated the best way to carry the box alone, Missandei had more to say. “She won’t know where to put them. You should probably go with her and show her where you want them displayed.” 

It was pretense and they all knew it. Arya had a fondness for the handmaiden right from the start, but her value was increasing more with each second that passed. Missandei knew her friend was struggling, knew she needed a break and concocted a way for her to get it. She had to know that once the lovers got behind the closed door of Daenerys’s bedchamber where to put some dragon eggs would be the last thing on their minds. 

“I’ll tell everyone you are taking a break to tend to the eggs. I think it’ll take at least ten, maybe fifteen minutes, right Princess?”

Daenerys dropped Arya’s hand like it burned and flew straight into Missandei’s arms, hugging her fiercely. Words spoken were in High Valyrian, but she didn’t need to understand to get the message. Daenerys was thanking her and Missandei was minimizing her contributions. 

Unsure of how to admit she’d need help carrying the box, she kept trying to lift it by herself, long after she knew it would be impossible. Missandei wasn’t done saving everyone either. She opened the door, stepped out into the hall and flagged down two patrolling guards. They helped Arya carry the eggs up the stairs, to Daenerys’s room where they carefully set them on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

While Arya opened the lid to ensure none of the eggs were damaged in transit, Daenerys was busy thanking the guards, and sending them out. It was probably rude for the Princess to close the door in the faces of the helpful guards, but Arya wasn’t going to complain. She was still checking on the eggs when she heard the satisfying click of the lock. 

Daenerys was at the door, Arya by the bed, they opted to meet in the middle for the sake of expedience. “Gods, it feels like years and not hours since we’ve done that,” Daenerys confessed after their first heated kiss. 

She ran her hands down Daenerys’s back slowly. “I know it’s been a hard day, but you’re doing great. Just a few more hours and it’ll be dinner.”

“You mean the feast,” she corrected with a whine. 

“A feast with speeches,” Arya corrected, “long speeches that you only need to pretend to listen to.”

Smirking, Daenerys kissed her again. “Devious, I like it.” One kiss became two and then three. “When they are talking, I’ll be thinking about this.” 

Arya would need to remember to thank Missandei later. Daenerys wasn’t the only one who needed a reprieve. “Do you know what they’re serving?”

“Not really, probably a little bit of everything. You know my father, it’s not a true feast unless we waste enough food to feed Flea Bottom.” 

“Well what would you choose if you could have anything?”

Daenerys had been relaxing with her head on Arya’s shoulder, but she straightened up and gave her a quizzical look. “What?”

She needed to know what Daenerys’s favorite meal was, and since she wasn’t being particularly forthcoming, she’d need to share a little bit of her past. “When I was a girl, before my family…” she stopped and shook her head. “On my nameday my mother would let me decide what we’d have for dinner.”

Daenerys was mesmerized by the trivial recollection. “Really? That’s so sweet.”

“I guess it won’t seem like a real nameday to me unless I know what you’d choose.”

She got a kiss before the answer she needed. “I’d pick beef, I think. I like it best, with gravy. potatoes and carrots.” 

“Mmm that sounds good.”

“It does.” Daenerys agreed. 

“You have good taste.”

“Yes, I do,” she said eyeing her lover suggestively. If there was any doubt they weren’t talking about food anymore, she ended it with a searing kiss. 

“It’s really unfair,” Daenerys complained as they were getting themselves ready to go back downstairs. 

“What’s not?” she asked as she tried to tame her hair. Daenerys’s fingers had done damage and she was sure anyone who saw would know exactly how it happened. 

She was expecting a comment related to her dislike of namedays, but Daenerys had a whole other grievance to raise. “You’re always wearing your armor. I at least have the courtesy to wear a dress, one you can easily slide your hand underneath.” 

Arya blushed, because it was true. She was committed to telling Daenerys who she was before they did more than kiss, but sometimes her hands had a mind of their own, roaming her back, squeezing her ass or stroking her leg. 

“It’s inconsiderate when you think about it,” she noted, “wearing impregnable steel all the time, it’s quite rude.”

Somehow Daenerys managed to get through the whole of her complaint without cracking, not a smile, a chuckle or a smirk, even her eyes lacked the usual warmth they got when she was teasing someone. She was really committed to selling this. 

With her hair as presentable as it was going to get, Arya gave up on it and fell to her knees in front of the royal. “You’re absolutely right,” she said, looking at her lover from the floor. “I have been, what was it, oh yes, rude and inconsiderate. You’re right and I need to atone. What would you have me do Princess?”

That question sparked the fire in Daenerys’s eyes. It burned brighter than Arya had ever seen it. It was stunning. “Take it off,” she commanded. 

The many guests waiting for Daenerys, the feast, the King and his Prince, none of that mattered to Arya in that moment, only Daenerys existed. Consequences be damned, she reached for the first strap that held her armor in place. 

Daenerys’s face split into a grin. She put a hand on Arya’s wrist to stop her. “Not now,” she clarified, “but when we’re alone, you shouldn’t wear it.”

“Consider it done. Anything else?”

“Yes,” she said, sounding breathless, “stand up.”

Daenerys gave her a hand, and she took it, without rising off her knees. “Why?” 

With a fresh blush of her cheeks she justified her choice. “Because if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to forget all about my nameday. I’ll say, ‘fuck it’ and spend the rest of it right here with you instead.” 

She popped up onto her feet. “Oh.” What else could she say? She caught sight of her reflection in a mirror and noticed a cocky smirk curling her lips, one even Oberyn would be envious of. Normally she’d bury those feelings under a blank mask, but not this time. How could she be anything but smug after making Daenerys feel that way? 

A groan that was a mixture of pain and frustration left Daenerys’s mouth and she took her first step toward the door before turning back. “Kiss me one more time and then get out before I decide you’re worth upsetting my family and every other influential Lord downstairs.” 

She did as instructed. They shared one final kiss, in which Arya tried to convey all of her feelings. In those few seconds she worked to help Daenerys forget all the reasons she had to be unhappy, trying to replace her pain with a single, good memory. Following the orders to the letter Arya left the Princess speechless, heading for the stairs. 

R-C

Daenerys had finally reached the end of the receiving line. It had taken most of the day and involved much more pointless conversation than was healthy, but she’d done it. In fact the last hour was her favorite, because the men and women who waited to wish her well weren’t nobles, they weren’t born into prominent houses and they didn’t hold lands, they were citizens of King’s Landing, who spent all day waiting for the chance to meet their Princess. 

She had no idea where they got the idea from, or who permitted them entry, but she didn’t care. She savored every moment with them. She thanked them sincerely for coming to celebrate with her, and then when they went to leave, she invited them to stay. She asked about their lives, their jobs, their families. She learned who had children, what their names were as well as their ages. She sat in her chair and relaxed. There were no more nobles to greet, no more compliments to accept or insincere thanks to offer. The mountain of unopened gifts next to her was temporarily forgotten and not even the looming threat of the upcoming feast could dampen her mood. She was happy. 

When it couldn’t be avoided any longer Daenerys said goodbye to her new friends and excused herself. She expected Arya to move with her, but she didn’t. The guard said she would walk the group to the gate.

It was a kind gesture and one Daenerys wished she could take part in, but she’d already lingered too long. The feast would be starting soon, and she still needed to change. 

“That was nice,” Missandei stated as they went down the hall. 

“That was perfect,” Daenerys amended. “I have no idea how they came to be there, but I’m so glad they were. That was exactly what I needed.” 

The way Missandei avoided her eye was telling. She knew something. “Missandei did you arrange that?”

She shook her head, sending some of the dark curls bouncing. “No, I believe it was Lord Tyrion’s doing.” 

Tyrion? She hadn’t seen him yet, but that was hardly surprising, he was a busy man. He had pages and pages of numbers to contend with, and they didn’t stop just because it was the Princess’s nameday. It made a strange sort of sense for Tyrion to be behind it, he knew how much she enjoyed meeting the less fortunate. What began as an occasional meeting was now an almost daily occurrence. The more she was willing to do, the more opportunities he found for her. It was the basis for a strong friendship. 

“I’ll need to thank him.”

“He’ll be at the feast, I’m sure.”

Yes, he would be, but knowing Tyrion he was liable to hate it just as much as Daenerys. He had an even lower tolerance for long-winded speeches and self-important nobles than she did.

A soldier in armor came toward them from the opposite direction. Daenerys didn’t give him a second thought, worrying instead about what she’d wear to dinner. 

That proved to be a fateful decision, because it denied her the chance to recognize the man and prepare for what was coming. As it was, he was in front of her before she noticed, pulling her into his arms. “I knew you’d be here.” He tightened his hold on her. “Fuck I’ve missed you.”

Too stunned to speak or even move she just stood there, with her arms at her sides. He took her silence as compliance and lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss. Suddenly she wished for the crowds back. He wouldn’t try kissing her if anyone other than Missandei was there to see it. 

The feeling of his familiar lips jolted her into action. Everything about this was wrong. He wasn’t who she wanted to be kissing anymore. Pressing both palms flat into his chest she pushed as hard as she could. “Daario, what are you doing?!”

R-C

Arya was feeling pretty good as she left the commoners at the gate. In addition to escorting them out, she also wanted to make arrangements to see them tomorrow. Tomorrow would be what Arya was calling ‘Daenerys’s real nameday.’ Rhaegar promised her they could have the day and Arya was determined to pack in as much as she could, to give Daenerys an experience so memorable it might replace everything she had to endure today. 

Before heading upstairs, she stopped by the kitchen and made a request for lunch. Since everyone knew she served Daenerys, no one questioned her. Her words carried the authority of Daenerys’s title, even when the Princess wasn’t present. It was assumed that she wouldn’t be asking if Daenerys didn’t tell her to. It was a misconception Arya made no effort to correct. 

Tyrion was waiting when she exited the kitchen. It was as if he knew she’d be there, a considerable accomplishment considering Arya didn’t know until she pried Daenerys’s favorite meal out of her. “Did the Princess enjoy the surprise?”

It took a moment, but she put the pieces together. “Those people, you got them in.” 

“It’s the least I could do,” he assured her, “after all Daenerys has done for me recently. I’d be much busier if she wasn’t willing to take on some of my meetings.”

Normally she would have felt uneasy sharing Daenerys’s secrets, but in this case it seemed forgivable. “Trust me when I tell you those meetings are the high point of her day. If not for them, she’d have very little to do.” 

“Every time I see her, she asks if there is anyone else I can add to the schedule,” the Lannister realized. 

She smiled, amused by Daenerys’s eagerness. “Since today isn’t really the sort of thing she enjoys, we’re going to celebrate her nameday again tomorrow, with her friends, doing the things she wants to do. We’ll be having lunch around midday in the courtyard the Unsullied use for training. If you’re not too busy, come by and let her thank you directly.”

“I’ll be there,” he promised, like it was the easiest thing in the world to do. “There are only so many hours one can stare at ledgers before your vision starts to blur.” He flashed her the smirk he was famous for. “There will be wine, right?”

“Definitely, but feel free to bring more.”

His smirk grew into a full grin. “Good thinking Arya Sand, there is no such thing as too much wine.” 

“I’ll see you at the feast,” she said after a chuckle. 

“Yes, the Princess is probably wondering where you are. You mustn’t keep her waiting, not on her special day.” 

Sarcastic or not, Arya wouldn’t feel better until she was back with Daenerys again. She took the stairs two at a time to speed up the process. She’d been gone for a while, so she expected Missandei and Daenerys to already be inside, to be changing clothes, or hairstyles while talking. It was a shock to see them in the hall, wearing the same clothes they had been in all day. More concerning was the man with them. He wore armor and carried multiple weapons. From a distance Arya could see a scabbard on his back and some sort of curved blade hanging from his hip. He didn’t appear aggressive or angry, but Arya wasn’t going to take a risk, not with Daenerys. She hurried down the hall, preparing to intervene if necessary. 

When she was close enough to hear, it wasn’t especially illuminating. “… it’s your nameday, of course I’m here,” the stranger was saying. 

He offered what Arya could only assume was a charming expression that failed to sway the Princess. “I haven’t heard from you in months. You can’t just show up like this and expect…”

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he said moving closer to Daenerys. “I didn’t think it would take that long, but I’m back now.” When he reached to touch her Daenerys backed up, bumping into Missandei as she did. 

That was all the proof Arya needed. “Step back!” she demanded with her left hand resting on her sword, just in case. 

He didn’t move, he just looked at her, rolled his eyes and then made another attempt to touch Daenerys. “Do you have difficulty hearing?” she asked him rudely. 

That did it, he turned on her and abandoned his interest in Daenerys, a fair trade in Arya’s opinion. “Who are you?”

“The Princess’s guard, so do as you’re told and back up.” 

Amused he twisted to face Daenerys again. “What happened? Did Mormont finally drop dead?” 

He was joking, and when no one laughed, his expression changed to something more intense. “Seriously, did something happen?”

“Jorah is fine, he is just no longer my guard,” Daenerys explained, recovering her voice. “Arya is my guard now.”

“Really?” He looked from face to face, expecting someone to correct him. When it was clear no one would, he moved on. “Well I for one won’t miss him.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper before he asked, “Do we like this one?” 

It was obvious Arya could hear him, which meant he was probably trying to be funny. It was Daenerys’s words and not this annoying man that made her smile. “Arya is great, my favorite guard by far and one of my dearest friends.” 

She wasn’t bothered by being labeled a friend, their relationship was a secret, so she could hardly confess their romantic interest. That left Daenerys with admittedly few terms to classify Arya. ‘Friend,’ suited her just fine. 

After Daenerys’s approval, the man rounded on her again, appraising her with new dedication. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, if you’re serving as guard, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“And you are?”

It was Daenerys who answered. “Arya this is Daario, he’s an old friend of mine.”

She could tell that Daenerys was tense, but she blamed it on the nameday festivities more than anything else. 

She was proven wrong almost immediately. “You said she’s your friend, so we can tell her.” He looked at Daenerys, trying to convey something Arya didn’t understand. “Missandei knows,” he added, “and think about how much easier things would be if we had a guard looking out for us.” 

She tried to follow along but couldn’t. Arya looked between the Targaryen and the warrior. “Tell me what?”

Daenerys’s mouth opened but the man’s voice is the one she heard. “I am Daario Naharis,” he declared, extended his hand for Arya to take, “mercenary, pit-fighter, general scoundrel and of course the Princess’s consort.” He said the last too words in another of his fake exaggerated whispers. 

He continued speaking after that, but she didn’t hear any of it. It was as if she’d been kicked in the stomach, by a horse. Her vision blurred, the conversation happening around her sounded far away, breathing became a chore and then there was the pain, so much pain. Daenerys already had a lover. If she did, why pursue Arya? Was she bored, was it a game of some kind, a test? She tried to think back, to spot a sign she missed but there were none. Even knowing his name, she couldn’t recall Daenerys mentioning Daario in any context, let alone that he was her lover. Arya wasn’t sure of much right then, but she was confident she would have remembered that. Earlier she felt stupid for buying Daenerys an inferior gift, now that was the least of her mistakes. What was she thinking? It was too good to be true and now she knew why.

She rejoined the conversation while Daario was speaking. “Just let me go and clean myself up and I’ll meet you.”

“No, I need to speak with you first,” Daenerys insisted, “then you can go and do whatever you want.” She opened the door to her room and stepped inside. In the hall each person wore a different expression. Missandei was sad, Daario curious and Arya didn’t need a mirror to know her hurt was visible. 

Daario entered next, clearly comfortable there. He walked in as if it was his room as well, and maybe it was, what did Arya know? To her surprise the door didn’t close once the lovers were alone, Daario disappeared from view, but Daenerys remained next to the open door, waiting. Missandei clearly wanted Arya to go first. She’d pick drinking acid over going in there. “You should go Missandei,” she said in an unconvincing tone, “we both know she won’t be able to decide what to wear without your help.” 

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I think I’ll stay out here.” She managed to get the words out but wasn’t foolish enough to think either woman believed them. 

“Arya,” Daenerys pleaded from the doorway, “please just let me explain.” 

“No need.”

“You’re my guard,” Daenerys reminded her. 

If it was meant to sway her, it didn’t. “I’ll guard the door,” she countered, “I’ll make sure you and your friend are not disturbed.”

Missandei was the first to realize she wasn’t going to change her mind. She passed the guard and went to Daenerys. 

“Arya,” she tried again. 

“You should get ready Princess, the feast will be starting shortly.” 

It was difficult to watch Daenerys fight back tears. Her every instinct told her to help, to comfort her, but she couldn’t. That wasn’t her job, and it never would be. She had Daario for that. She turned her back on the door and began searching the hallway for potential dangers. 

“Come now,” Missandei urged, “you’ll see her later.”

When the door finally closed Arya’s shoulders slumped and she leaned back into the wall, not trusting her legs to keep her up. How had everything gone so wrong?! 

R-C 

Just when she’s beginning to think she’d gotten through the worst portion of her day the Gods prove her wrong. Daario! Why did he have to come back now or at all? She hadn’t thought about him in weeks, not since… Arya. A knot already tied in her stomach twisted violently as she thought of the woman she’s grown to care so deeply for. They were only separated by a wooden door and a few feet, but it felt as insurmountable as the Narrow Sea in the midst of a ferocious storm. 

She hadn’t told Arya anything about Daario, not that they were lovers or that he existed. She hadn’t meant to keep it from her, not really. Admitting to Arya that she invited Daario into her life and her bed because she was lonely would have been difficult, but she would have done it, eventually. When the time came, she would have explained that Daario was a distraction, a brief respite from the profound sadness her life had become. She would have found the words to show Arya that although she’d been with him first, he meant nothing, because she never felt for him a fraction of what Arya made her feel. She was with Daario because she tired of being alone, because she wanted to feel something, anything, even if it was fleeting. In contrast, nothing about Arya felt fleeting. Happiness wasn’t reserved for when Arya kissed her or when she was nestled in her strong arms, she felt it all the time, by just occupying the same space. Long after Arya returned to Dorne, Daenerys knew her feelings would remain.

Everything was fucked up, made worse by the way Arya found out. She should have heard about Daario from Daenerys, the Princess owed her that, and she failed. She shuddered to think what the guard thought of her now. Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. She’d cry when it was over, when she knew for certain her relationship with Arya couldn’t be salvaged. Until then, she had work to do. 

With one last look at the door, Daenerys turned and found Daario waiting. With an easy smile and open arms he tried to embrace her. She put her hands up to protect herself. “What are you doing here?”

He lowered his arms, but his smile stayed. “It’s your nameday, I knew the King would be having a celebration for you, where else would I be?”

His words grinded down on her last nerve, annoying her well past what was fair or reasonable. Most of the anger she felt was directed at herself and not him. It wasn’t his fault she hadn’t told Arya about them, just as he wasn’t to blame for the fact that she’d been too caught up in Arya to remember he might reappear someday. “I need to get ready for the feast.”

“I thought you wanted to talk.”

Right, she had said that. “I do, we need to talk, but I’m already late. Stay here,” she said, pointing to one of the chairs, “I’ll go change and then when I am done, we can talk.”

In addition to being a decent plan, it afforded Daenerys the chance to speak to Missandei alone. She had a favor to ask of her best friend. 

“Or,” Daario said closing the distance between them, “I could help you get ready.” 

His counterproposal made her skin crawl. Not only because she didn’t want it, but also because not too long ago she would have gladly taken him up on that offer. She didn’t need to wonder what changed, the answer was obvious, she had. Daenerys was no longer the person she’d been when Daario left. 

“Just sit down,” she said flatly. “Missandei, I was thinking the black dress would look nice for the feast.” She didn’t have an opinion on the black dress honestly, but it provided the necessary shift from Daario to Missandei. 

The handmaiden played along. “I know exactly where it is, follow me.” 

The closet was big enough for both of them to fit inside with plenty of room to spare. Missandei didn’t wait until the door was closed before inquiring, “Are you okay?”

“Not even close.” 

“It’s going to be okay,” she said softly. 

Daenerys trusted Missandei in most things, but this time she had her doubts. “She’s going to hate me,” she said in High Valyrian. “I never told her about Daario, and I was going to ask her to stay with me tonight. I think she would’ve said yes, and now I’ll be lucky if she looks at me.” 

“You didn’t know he would be here,” Missandei pointed out, as if that made her misdeeds more tolerable. “It took us all by surprise. Arya will forgive you once you tell her the truth.”

“What truth?” The truth was ugly, and it definitely wouldn’t help anything. The truth was she’d been so entranced by Arya that she forgot Daario was in her life. The truth was that although she planned to end things with him months ago, she never did, and then she met Arya and pursued her. It made her sick to think about it. She asked Arya to trust her, to have faith in her, faith in them. She asked her to risk her heart and take a chance and within days this is how she is repaid? She didn’t deserve the guard’s forgiveness. Every bit of scorn and hate Arya felt, Daenerys knew she earned. 

“That you don’t love Daario, that you never did,” Missandei supplied gently. She took one of the Princess’s sweaty hands and opened the tightly closed fists. Daenerys missed the painful sensation of her nails digging into her palms. She deserved the pain 

“She won’t believe me,” she predicted, knowing it was true. 

“How did you feel when you saw Daario again?” Missandei questioned. “Did you want to kiss him, were you glad he was back? Did it make you change your mind about wanting to end things with him?” 

“What!? No! No, of course not. I want to be with Arya, only Arya. I haven’t heard from Daario since he left. Right after he did, Father brought up the trip to Sunspear and we were busy, then…”

She trailed off, but Missandei wasn’t about to let anything go unsaid, “Then?” she prompted. 

“I met Arya,” she confessed with an accompanying sigh. “I met Arya and I never thought about Daario again.”

Missandei smiled in the dark confines of the closet. “Tell Arya that, and she’ll believe you.” 

“Will you go check on her for me?” Daenerys asked. It had been all she could do to leave the door closed between them. She couldn’t say so out loud but she worried Arya wouldn’t be there when she was needed at the feast. “Tell her I’m sorry, and that I’ll explain everything if she’d just give me the chance.” 

“I’ll go see her,” Missandei agreed, “the rest is up to you.” 

“Thank you.”

“Your dress?” Missandei asked, bringing them back to the pretense for their private conversation. 

“I’ll pick one and get ready.”

“Do you need help?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said as convincingly as she could. She didn’t feel fine but having Missandei’s help getting into a new dress wouldn’t change that. Until she talked to Arya, nothing would change that. 

“And Daario?” Missandei wondered with her hand on the doorknob. 

“It’s been over for a long time. I never should have let him leave without telling him so.” 

“Good luck. The door opened a crack, bathing Daenerys in light from the remainder of the room. “You can do this. Follow your heart and you’ll end up where you want to be.” 

R-C

When the door opened all of Arya’s emotions were buried deep, concealed behind a mask of indifference. She was a guard and nothing else. She was prepared to escort Daenerys to her feast and keep her alive regardless of who was on her arm. She could do this, it wasn’t all that different from how she imagined guarding the Princess would be when she was first given the job. Then the prospect of following Daenerys about, listening to her, didn’t seem so daunting. Before she got to know Daenerys, guarding her would have been annoying and a challenge, but one she was capable of. Now that her feelings were involved, along with all the memories of their time together, Arya felt as though a stiff breeze might take her legs out from under her. How had she let this happen? Why did she allow herself to care and why did it hurt to discover that Daenerys lied? She was a Targaryen, deceit was in her blood. 

Just a few more hours and then she could be alone. She’d find a quiet, empty place to sit while she fought to regain control of her emotions. She’d survived more harrowing events than a nameday at the Red Keep, she was a Wolf. 

She was prepared to face the Princess and her lover but neither one was there. She was both relieved and disappointed. The thick walls and heavy door made it impossible for Arya to hear anything happening inside, but that was probably a blessing, since she had no desire to hear Daenerys and Daario getting reacquainted. Had Missandei fled for the same reason? 

“Can I talk to you?”

She answered with a scowl until she reminded herself that Missandei had done nothing to earn her contempt. She adjusted her face slightly. “You never need to ask, but if this is about Daenerys, it’s unnecessary.”

“It’s not,” the handmaiden replied, surprising Arya more than a little, “I have a favor to ask of you.” 

It was oddly nice to be able to think of something other than Daenerys and her hurt, so she knew before she heard the request that whatever Missandei asked of her, she’d do it. “What do you need?”

“Just listen,” she implored, “I know you’re upset, anyone would be, but you care about Daenerys, and I know she cares about you, so I’m begging you, just hear her out.” 

This time when the scowl settled on her face she didn’t remove it. “I thought this wasn’t about her.”

She shrugged. “It isn’t only about her,” she justified. “You are my friend too, as she is. I want you both to be happy, that’s why I’m here, asking you to listen.”

She didn’t really want to talk about this, but it appeared she didn’t have a choice. They were in it now. “What does it matter? Whatever this was, whatever it could have been, it clearly meant something different for her.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. She already has a lover!” Arya spat hotly. “She didn’t even tell me, I had to find out from him.”

“Ask her why,” Missandei instructed. Arya was sure her skepticism was written in her eyes, but Missandei didn’t flinch. “When you talk to her, ask her why she never told you about him. Ask her all the things you want to know before you decide what you’re going to do.” 

“What difference would it make?” Missandei was a good friend, and Arya felt for her, she was stuck in the middle between Daenerys and Arya and that had to be uncomfortable, but she just couldn’t see the point. Even if her reason for hiding Daario was valid, it wouldn’t change much, she’d still have a lover and Arya would still be left on the outside looking in. 

“It might make all the difference.”

“It won’t,” she resisted. “Viserys will be back soon, and I’ll be gone.” It would be awkward spending all her time with Daenerys until then, especially with Daario around, but some things couldn’t be helped. 

Missandei’s tone hardened along with her posture. She moved into Arya’s space and pinned her with a stare. “When I spoke for you to the King you told me I was in your debt, did you mean that?” 

“Yes, but…”

“But nothing,” she interrupted, “I’m not asking you to forgive her, I’m not telling you how to feel, all I want is for you to let her explain. Then you can decide for yourself what’s next.” 

She didn’t like it, but a debt was a debt and Missandei was owed. She would have preferred that she ask for repayment in some other way, in any other way frankly, but she didn’t. “I’ll talk to Daenerys, but I can’t make any promises.”

Smiling brightly, she stepped back. “Thank you, Arya, you won’t regret this.” She wasn’t so sure about that. Uncertain as she was, she couldn’t bring herself to drag Missandei down with her. If the handmaiden wanted to believe that what Arya and Daenerys had could be saved, she wouldn’t correct her, yet. 

R-C

Daenerys made sure she was fully covered before she stepped out from the closet. She got dressed in the dark, choosing a dress at random. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than changing in front of Daario and giving him the wrong impression. 

She found her reflection in the mirror and checked herself before she turned her focus to him. The dress was fashioned from a bright red length of silk. Unlike her earlier dress this one had a strap on each shoulder. It was tighter too, at least in the upper body where it took the shape of her chest and waist before widening out some. The other major difference was that this dress had a large opening in the back. With her hair down as it was, she felt it grazing her spine each time she moved. She thought she looked okay, all things considered, but she also knew approval from the person whose opinion mattered was unlikely tonight. 

While she was busy Daario made himself at home. He took off his armor and weapons and laid them on an empty chair. He also helped himself to a drink and was sipping it as he lounged in the same chair she directed him to wait in. 

She took a moment to watch him before he realized she was there. He looked tired and in need of a bath. There was dirt and grime on his hands and arms as if he’d been riding for days. His beard was longer than the last time she’d seen it, as was his hair. With his shirt discarded she was afforded a view of every well-defined muscle. Wherever he had been and whatever he’d been doing, he kept himself in peak physical condition. That said, she had no desire to go to him and trace his skin with her fingers. She didn’t ache for the scratching of his beard against her face when they kissed or yearn to feel his hands on her skin. She felt nothing at all. He was attractive, she could admit that, and while that alone was enough to tempt her once, it wasn’t anymore. 

She didn’t want him, but she had no desire to hurt him either. Daario was important to her, even if it wasn’t as important as he was or wanted to be. He’d been there for her when she needed him, and she was sad that this was going to cause him pain. If there was another way, she would have taken it, but there wasn’t. She didn’t love Daario and no matter how deeply he loved her he deserved better than a woman who couldn’t return his affections. 

Just as she was about to announce herself, she lost her nerve. Could she really do this to him and now? They had only minutes before the feast started. Wasn’t it unfair to try and rush this conversation, knowing how difficult it was going to be? Maybe it would be better to wait until after dinner. Then she and Daario could speak at length and she could try and explain herself fully. Yes, that made a lot of sense, and not only because it delayed things by a few hours, it was the best option for both of them. It gave her more time to decide what she wanted to say, and provided Daario with a few more hours with the woman he loved. There really wasn’t a downside to waiting, no one else knew about her and Daario anyway, just Missandei and…

All her thoughts skidded to an abrupt halt. Arya. Arya knew. How could she have forgotten about Arya? Now that she was back, occupying a large percentage of Daenerys’s mind, it changed everything. She remembered the hurt on Arya’s face when Daario introduced himself, and the cold way she used the word ‘friend’ when she elected to stay in the hall. Suddenly she had a reason not to wait until later for this uncomfortable conversation, a good one, Arya. With any luck, she’d be busy after dinner, trying to win the guard’s forgiveness, there wouldn’t be time to end things with Daario too. 

With renewed purpose she cleared her throat. Daario had been watching the fire, but his head snapped up when he heard her. They were on opposite sides of the large room, him in a chair and her standing near the mirror. He set his empty glass down and stood. “It’s not the black one, but I don’t think any other dress would look better on you than that one.” 

She bristled and tried not to notice the way he was admiring her body. This would be hard enough without the compliments. A nagging voice reminded her she could postpone this, but she knew she’d waited too long already. They should have gone their separate ways months ago, but Daario disappeared before she got the courage to tell him so. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. She wanted Arya and the only way that could happen was if she made it clear to Daario that they were over. 

“We need to talk,” she said. She held out a hand to the chair he vacated. 

“So you keep saying,” he replied with a charming smile. For once it wouldn’t get him what he wanted. “What’s going on, you seem tense. Want some help relaxing?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What I’d like is for you to sit down so we can talk!” she said a little too forcefully. It wasn’t his fault she was upset, but she didn’t have the patience to fret over small details anymore. 

He picked up on the change. “Whoa, alright then, sitting down.” He took his seat and then asked, “What’s going on?”

She’d had plenty of time to think about what she wanted to say. When she was changing, in the time since, even months ago when she and Missandei discussed Daario and her feelings for him repeatedly and still she was woefully unprepared. She waited a moment, hoping a clear path would reveal itself, when none did, she took another deep breath. Okay, she just needed to do it, get it over with. It wasn’t going to get any easier. “Daario, we need to stop.”

For the first time his smile slipped. Even when she was ordering him to sit, he maintained his confident exterior, but it was crumbling now. “Stop what?” he asked, though she suspected he knew exactly what she was referring to. 

Daenerys pointed to herself and then to him, “This, us, our…” she stopped, unsure of what to call it. “I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to.”

“Is this because of the wedding?”

The wedding? This was about her and Arya. “What wedding? I’m talking about us and I don’t think we should…”

“I heard your father arranged for Viserys to marry some woman from Dorne.”

That was the wedding he was asking about? She supposed in a way Viserys’s wedding was the reason, but not in the way Daario thought. If she didn’t go to Sunspear when the wedding was formalized, she never would have met Arya and then she might be inclined to leave things with Daario as they were. “That’s not…”

“That doesn’t need to change anything for us,” he claimed. He was done and then she saw the instant an idea came to him. “Is your father marrying you off next? Is that what this is because you don’t need to worry.”

“No,” she said, answering the easier part of that statement first. “No, I’m not marrying anyone it’s just…”

“Good, then what’s the problem?” He answered his own question, “Are you worried someone is going to find out? They won’t, I promise. No one will know, it’ll be just like before, better than before.”

“No, that’s not why either. Daario, it’s not what I want.”

His eyes hardened at that. “I’m not something you want?” 

She felt for him and tried to ease his suffering by reminding him they’d been on borrowed time from the start. “We both knew it could never last. We agreed we’d enjoy it while we could and then…”

“It could last. I don’t care who you need to marry to please your father, I don’t care where you need to live or how many children you need to have. All I care about is you, all that matters to me is you.” 

She believed him, and that only made her guilt more crippling. “That’s not much of a life for you.” 

“I don’t give a fuck,” he proclaimed, “if I have you, it’s enough.” 

That was the crux of their problem, because whether he knew it or not, Daario didn’t have her. She may have been willing to give him a small piece of herself before, but now everything she was belonged to Arya. She had nothing left for him. “I do give a fuck, and you should too.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” he growled through closed teeth. 

She always knew this wasn’t going to go well but the reality was worse than she imagined. She wasn’t trying to tell him how to feel, she just wanted him to see he deserved better. Fine, if he didn’t want to discuss his feelings, they’d talk about hers. “I can’t be with you,” she said as plainly as she could. “I’m sorry if that hurts you but it’s the truth. I won’t ask you to stay, I know you don’t like it here, so go, go back to Essos, go back to the life you had before you met me.” 

“I don’t want that life anymore.”

She smiled in spite of their circumstance. “Yes, you do, you love that life, the roaming, the fighting, the fucking…”

“I’d give them all up for you, if you’d just let me.”

All the sudden they were back where they started. She knew he cared, knew he was willing to sacrifice for her, but she wasn’t willing to accept his terms anymore. If she was going to break them out of this repetitive cycle, she’d need to say the one thing she’d been hoping to avoid mentioning. “I don’t love you,” she said, as she expertly dodged his eyeline. “I care about you and you’ll always be important to me, but I don’t love you and it’s unfair for me to…”

“I love you,” he said as though that made his case stronger and not weaker. 

“I know,” Daenerys acknowledged. “I know you do and that’s why…”

“I don’t care if you don’t love me,” he retorted, interrupting her again, “just like I don’t care if you marry some snivelling little shit and move to some far away fucking kingdom.” 

Why couldn’t he see this was for the best? His logic was proving her side more than his own. “If you love me why didn’t I hear from you for months?”

“That’s what this is about!?” He jumped up out of his seat. “I had business, I told you that. We talked about it and then I left. I told you I was coming back.”

She remembered their last conversation vividly and that was not an accurate representation of it. “No, we didn’t talk about anything,” she remembered, “you gave me a kiss and told me you were leaving. We didn’t discuss anything.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step toward her. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, softer this time. “I’m sorry I left like that, I didn’t think it would be such a long trip. It won’t happen again, I promise. Everything will be okay.” 

No, they were definitely not okay. The woman she cared about was outside the door, furious at her and in pain and instead of mending that relationship, she was with Daario while he tried to keep alive a relationship neither of them should have started in the first place. “You’re not hearing me. I don’t want…”

“My hearing is fine,” he retorted, “you’re the one who’s not making sense. You can’t just decide you don’t have feelings for me anymore, because I left too quickly or was gone too long. Be reasonable Daenerys.”

How dare he accuse her of not being reasonable! She wasn’t the one fighting for something that was already dead. Anger bubbled up from her stomach and spread until it was warming all of her. It burned right through all of her guilt and regret, moving on to devour the concerns she had for Daario’s feelings. “How many women did you fuck while you were away?” she asked without any sort of forewarning. 

“Wh… what?” he stammered. 

Daenerys pressed on. “You were gone a long while and the Gods only gave you two things to entertain yourself, right? You couldn’t have been killing the whole time, so how many was it?”

“You’re jealous? They meant nothing…”

“I’m not jealous,” she declared loudly, and she truly wasn’t. While he’d been with his other women, she’d been with Arya, or was trying to be with Arya. She didn’t care if he bedded all of Westeros in the last few months, but she did care that he wouldn’t admit defeat. “If you loved me as much as you claim to, if your feelings were as singular as you say, you wouldn’t have needed those other women. You would have…”

“Daenerys.” He went to her and grabbed her hand. “Believe me, you’re the one I want. From the moment I saw you, it’s only been you.”

She tore her arm free. “Then stop interrupting me!” she shouted. He visibly recoiled and returned his hand to his side. “I don’t know much about love, I haven’t had many examples to learn from, but I know it’s two-sided, I know it’s mutual and honest. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have needed those other women, whoever they were, and if I loved you, I would have missed you while you were gone. I don’t know what we had, but it wasn’t love and it’s over.”

Having spoken her mind, she turned to go. The feast had likely already begun. A strong hand grabbed her wrist and pulled hard, turning her back the way she’d been. “No!” he yelled. “You don’t just get to walk away.”

She stared at him and made no effort to hide her rage. “Unhand me or I’ll summon a guard to do it,” she threatened. 

“I just want to talk,” he said releasing his hold. He smirked, more amused than fearful. “It wouldn’t matter anyway, we both know I could beat any guard you have, I could beat all of them.” 

His cocky self assurance had been an attractive quality once, before Dorne, before Arya. “Not anymore,” Daenerys spat bitterly, answering both her internal thoughts and Daario’s pronouncement. 

Something in her underhanded comment set him back. “What’s going on?” he asked, bringing them back to the beginning. “Whatever happened while I was away, whatever has you acting like this we can…”

“Acting like what?” she growled angrily. What had happened to her? She thought back to the Water Gardens when a soldier took off her helmet and defied a King. “A lot happened,” she said underselling it a bit, “and it showed me that I don’t need to sit quietly and smile politely all the time.” She saw memories in flashes then, Jorah and Rhaegar and the arguments they had since she got back to King’s Landing. “I learned that sometimes you need to scream to be heard and that’s okay, because I’m tired of being so fucking nice all the time.” As she made her final point, she remembered the sight of Arya in chains, beaten and dragged toward the dungeon. No one listened until she got angry, but once she did, they all fell in line, even her brother. 

“I don’t know why you’re so upset. It sounds like you’ve been busy, but that doesn’t need to change anything for us. You and I can still be together.”

Why was she upset? Oh, she could think of a few reasons. “I’m upset,” she told him, “because although I’ve said it again and again you don’t hear it. I don’t want to be with you anymore!” By the end she was shouting, no longer caring if the whole castle listened in. 

His face twisted in pain and for a moment she thought he finally got the message, but it wasn’t to be. “I won’t let you throw away a good thing, just because you’re angry. We are great together and it’ll be even better this time.”

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen!” she reminded him in a thundering voice. “You don’t let me do anything. You serve me. You pledged your loyalty to me.” She let him reflect on the oath he gave her and then she continued. “We will never be together again, nothing you say or do will change that. You can stay and accept this, or you can go and live a different life, what you can not do, what I won’t allow you to do for another second is keep me from living the life I want.” 

She might have enjoyed his stunned expression, or felt guilt at his clear and obvious pain, but she was too far gone. “I’m late for the feast. While I’m downstairs, take the time to collect any of your things that you may have left here.” 

She went to the door fully aware she’d only completed one of the two monumental tasks laid out before her. She’d dealt with Daario but still had to apologize to Arya before things could return to normal. Nothing and no one waiting downstairs was more important to her than earning Arya’s forgiveness, but she was a Princess, and her obligations came first. She ordered the events in her mind – feast first, grovelling second.

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: It was a celebration, naturally something had to go wrong. Dragon eggs last chapter, Daario this chapter. I hope people are enjoying it. 
> 
> This version of Daenerys doesn’t have quite the power of the Khaleesi or the Mother of Dragons, so I figured Daario would put up a fight, but it gave her the perfect chance to put everything she learned into practice. 
> 
> See you next time,
> 
> RC


	24. Chapter 24

Was it over yet? Leave it to the Targaryens to find another way to torture her. What the Gods devised for her this time was especially cruel, having to stand there, close enough to hear her laugh, and see her smile knowing she and Daenerys could never be together. It was like being cut over and over again by a dull, rusty knife. No single slice did significant damage, but together, layered one on top of the next, they became debilitating. All she wanted to do was to get away, from Daenerys, from the castle and everyone in it, but she was trapped with no way out. 

Daario absence wasn’t enough to improve her mood. She didn’t see him at the royal table or anywhere else. Him hanging off Daenerys’s arm might’ve been preferable to the things her mind was thinking. Was he upstairs in her chambers, waiting for her in bed? Would she rush to him as soon as she could? 

Arya wasn’t stupid, she knew Daenerys had been trying to get her attention all night. Walking to the feast she apologized directly, but sorry wasn’t going to fix this. In between the various speeches she could feel the eyes on her and knew they could only belong to one person. She steadfastly refused to meet them, however. She didn’t have control over much in her life, she couldn’t return to Dorne until the King released her, she couldn’t avoid the Princes like she wanted to, but Arya could do this – she could get through the coming days and weeks until Viserys returned and then she could leave and never look back. She had a life waiting for her in Sunspear, one she’d worked hard to earn. It was going to be a challenge dealing with Daenerys going forward but she didn’t have a choice. The most tolerable of her limited options would be to salvage what remained of her dignity and escape back to Dorne to lick her wounds as soon as possible. 

After the main course and more speeches than Arya cared to count, it was Daenerys’s turn. Missandei pulled back her chair and she stood. Her voice was clear and loud, easily reaching to the far corners of the big room. “First, I’d like to thank everyone for coming to celebrate with me today. I know many of you travelled a long way to be here. Whether you arrived by land or sea, I welcome you to the Red Keep and hope you enjoy your stay.”

When struck by a stab of sympathy, Arya had to remind herself that she was angry with Daenerys. As she listened to her address her audience the guard noticed how forced she sounded. The nobles were too busy to pick up on how uncomfortable Daenerys looked, they were distracted by the conversations at their respective tables or the food they were gorging on. They didn’t care, but Arya did. and she hated herself for it. 

“In addition to a heartfelt thank you for all the gifts, well-wishes and visits I received today, I’d also like to thank the people in my life who have made this year the best one I’ve ever had.” 

Arya who had been studying the crowds turned and gave Daenerys more of her attention. She sounded less rehearsed now, more genuine. 

“Some people think I’m perfect,” she continued, “but I’m not, far from it in fact. I make mistakes frequently and I regret them, just like everyone else. I can’t promise that things will be flawless, but I give you my word that I’ll never stop trying, to be the best Princess, the best person everyone here deserves.” Picking up her glass she raised it to the room. “As you all know, its customary to make a wish on one’s nameday, so I will. It is my sincerest wish that a year from now I can stand before you again and tell you that once more I had the best year of my life. Until then, I bid you goodnight and safe travels.” 

As the speech ended Arya stared straight down at her boots. It was the only way to avoid the violet eyes seeking her out. Her traitorous heart invented a secret message meant just for her, hidden in Daenerys’s speech. For a split second she allowed herself to hope she was right before she snuffed it out. Daenerys didn’t care about her, she had Daario, everything else only existed in her mind. 

R-C

“Thank you for agreeing to let me explain,” Daenerys began. 

“Thank Missandei.” Arya’s retort was cold and stiff. Daenerys had taken a seat, but Arya remained on her feet, with her hands behind her back. She wanted to know what part Missandei played in Arya hearing her out, but she had much larger concerns. She’d ask the handmaiden to clarify things later, after she’d shown Arya that her past with Daario wasn’t indicative of the future. 

“Would you like a drink?” she offered.

“I’d like to get this over with.” She knew why Arya was upset and her feelings were justified, but Daenerys was hurt by those words all the same. Arya had never treated her so dismissively, not even when they were strangers. 

She took a deep breath before sliding to one side of the bench she was occupying. “Will you sit down at least, please?”

She expected another curt refusal, but with a huff of annoyance Arya moved toward Daenerys and sat down. By moving to the side and making room it was obvious where Daenerys wanted her to sit. Without replying, Arya spoke volumes by choosing a chair on the other side of the table from the Targaryen. 

The tension in her didn’t leave even after she was settled. Her expression remained hard and her posture rigid. She had undoubtedly hurt Arya more than she realized. In their time together she’d learned to read Arya’s grey eyes, to detect the subtle changes that revealed her mood. Looking now she saw a foreboding color, reminiscent of the sky before torrential rain. They called her ‘Stormborn’ because she came into the world during a night of unforgettable rain. Perhaps it was coincidence or maybe it was because of that moniker but Daenerys always loved lying awake listening to the rain against her window, hearing the rolling thunder and seeing the dark room illuminated by flashes of lightning. Storms reminded her how big the world truly was, and how small she was by comparison. She enjoyed that feeling because it gave her something to strive for – hoping that one day, if she was lucky, she’d find a place where she could disappear. In a world as big as theirs, there had to be one such place, right? 

“Thank you,” she said. Arya nodded but gave nothing else. It would be up to Daenerys to take the first step. She took another deep breath and started at the beginning. “I’m sorry you had to learn about Daario like that.” 

She paused just long enough to collect her thoughts and Arya jumped in. “You don’t need to apologize, I understand.”

No, she really didn’t. “Please,” she implored, “let me explain. I should have told you. I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, I’d forgotten about him.” 

She knew how her claim would sound, but Arya’s scoff cut deeper than her sword would’ve. “You forgot your lover? Just how many do you have?”

Her face felt warm, but she pushed through any embarrassment. She needed to do this, not only for Arya, but for herself. She wanted to be with Arya, for as much of their remaining time as possible. That couldn’t happen unless she did a better job of explaining herself. ‘He was the only one, ever.” 

Across from her, Arya was suddenly taking the conversation much more seriously. “Then how is it possible you’d forget him?”

How was it possible? It was a reasonable thing to ask. Before she went to Dorne and met Arya, would she have thought she could’ve forgot Daario’s existence? Probably not. “I blame you,” she said to lighten the mood. When Arya’s hard expression didn’t crack, Daenerys clarified, “What I mean is that from the moment I saw you, I felt a connection to you, one I never felt with Daario.” 

“How can that be?”

“I don’t know,” Daenerys admitted, “and honestly I don’t care. I was with Daario because I was lonely. He came here to kill me, you know. He murdered his friends instead and…”

“Wait, what!?” Arya erupted, needing more information. 

“Daario was a sell-sword in Essos,” she said, “he and his men came here to murder me. They had taken a contract on my life. His partners wanted to go ahead with their job, Daario didn’t. There was a fight, he won.”

With a grim nod, she was back to being distant. “Go on,” Arya encouraged. 

“The next day he pledged his sword to my father and he and his men joined the army.” 

“When did…” 

She didn’t need to hear the whole question to guess what Arya wanted to know. “That night Daario came to my chambers and pledged his loyalty to me. He said that although he was sworn to the King, his true allegiance would be to me.” 

“I see.”

“I was lonely,” she said again, repeating her earlier point. As far as excuses went it was pitifully weak but accurate. “When Daario showed a preference for me, not my father or my brothers, it was what I’d always wanted.” 

“And then you had it.” 

“I did,” she acknowledged, “but it didn’t last. Every time Daario cancelled our plans because he had to work, for my father or his mercenaries I’d feel marginalized and overlooked again.” 

“You stayed with him.” 

“Yes. because I didn’t think I would ever find someone better. I wanted someone who put me first and who wasn’t using me to impress my father or earn favor with my brothers, someone who didn’t care about the wealth or the titles and chose me.” She leaned forward and extended her arm toward Arya. “I thought I was being childish, that it was wrong to expect to find such a person, until I met you.” 

When Arya didn’t immediately take her hand, she swallowed her disappointment and tried to coax a reaction out of her. “I was going to end things with Daario, even before I met you.” She decided to skip over the fact that he loved her. “I didn’t care for him as deeply as he did me, and I realized it was unfair to him. I planned to tell him so, but he was called away on some business for my father and he left before I could.” 

Arya wasn’t swayed, so Daenerys used what she thought was her best and most compelling argument. “He knows now, I told him before the feast we couldn’t be together anymore.”

The surprise on Arya’s face was almost as painful as her harsh words. Did she really expect Daenerys to remain with Daario after she’d confessed her feelings to the Dornishwoman? She’d made mistakes certainly, but she didn’t think any of them would make Arya think so little of her. 

“You did that because of me?”

“No,” she said, meaning it, “I did it because it was long overdue. Daario and I shouldn’t have been together, but I was lonely. and he was charming, so I gave in.”

“That isn’t the only reason,” Arya predicted. It was slight, but there was an upturn in her lips, as if she was attempting a smile. 

“No, I suppose not.” She’d never confessed her underlying motivation to anyone before, but she could trust Arya with everything she had, even the bad parts. “My father wouldn’t have approved, if he knew, and Rhaegar would have ordered him away.” 

“You liked that.” It wasn’t a question. 

“After so long being the perfect Princess, it was freeing to step outside that role and be something else.” 

“And now you wish to rebel again?”

“What?” Hadn’t she just told her that things were over with Daario? “No, of course not. It was a petty reason to begin with, and I’m past it. I want to live my life for me, not to get my father’s attention or to tarnish my brother’s opinion of me.” 

Arya set her hand into Daenerys’s. She’d forgotten she was still waiting for Arya to make contact. She closed her fingers hard and fast, desperate to lock Arya in before she could change her mind. “Daenerys,” she said, sounding like she wasn’t angry anymore, “your father wouldn’t approve of me either. I’m less suitable for a Princess than even a sell-sword.” 

That was what she was worried about? “I don’t care what he thinks,” she responded, willing Arya to believe her. “I was with Daario for months and no one knew. No one has to know about us either.”

It was presumptuous for her to assume there was still a chance for them, but Daenerys was emboldened by Arya’s rough hand against hers. 

“You shouldn’t have to live like that, sneaking around…”

She could tell where Arya’s thoughts were taking her, and Daenerys refused to accept it. “Don’t,” she pleaded, her voice braking, “don’t give up on me.” 

“You deserve…”

“To be happy,” Daenerys finished. “Don’t I?”

“Of course,” Arya supplied, giving Daenerys’s hand a squeeze. 

“Then be with me, because no one and nothing has ever made me happier than you do.” 

“No one could ever know.” 

Daenerys could feel the grin spanning her face. She was going to say ‘yes.’ She would get to hold and kiss Arya. “It’ll be our secret,” she promised. 

“Are you sure you want to? I’ll still have to leave when…”

She wouldn’t lie and say she was happy that Arya would be returning to Sunspear when Viserys and Eliza came to King’s Landing for the wedding, but she did know that wasn’t a good enough reason to deny them the happiness they’d feel. “I want to be with you Arya, for as long as I can. I don’t want to waste another minute.” 

“What about Daario?”

“What about him?” 

“Where is he now? Do you think he’s just going to give up?”

“I don’t know where he is, I told him to gather his things during the feast,” she recalled. She looked around the room and noticed a few things missing. “He did.” She applied more pressure to Arya’s hand with her own. “He doesn’t matter. If he is still here tomorrow, we will deal with it, but I think it’s more likely that he’ll take his sell-swords back to Essos.” 

“You’re assuming he will accept this,” Arya stated, “that he’ll just give you up.”

She was making that assumption, but why wouldn’t she? She’d made her feelings known and if she wasn’t interested in him anymore, why would he stay? “He will.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Arya countered. “I wouldn’t walk away without a fight.”

She wanted to be cheered by the sentiment, but memories of the past few hours were too fresh. “You did, when you learned about Daario, you were ready to give up.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Arya contended passionately. “You and I have only had a few kisses, over a few days. You were with Daario for longer, I thought stepping back would be honoring your wishes.” 

“It isn’t my wish, it’ll never be my wish. I want to be with you, and only you.” 

When Arya stood up, Daenerys feared she’d inadvertently done something to upset their reconciliation. “It’s late, you must be tired, you had a long day.”

Long didn’t even feel like a strong enough word to describe it, but that didn’t mean she wanted Arya to leave. “You could stay,” she proposed before she could wonder if it was too forward. 

“Not tonight,” Arya answered, sounding as pleased by this as Daenerys was. “We still need to talk about me."

Oh right. She’d forgotten all about Arya’s concerns. Her nameday and the ensuing chaos stole all her focus. “We can do that now, I know you’re worried, but I promise, whatever it is you have to tell me, it won’t change how I feel.” She told Arya something similar the last time they discussed it too, but she was unmoved. 

“I think we’ve been through enough tonight.”

“Then when?” Daenerys inquired. She was aware she was whining but couldn’t help it. She wanted to be with Arya and if they needed to talk first, then so be it, she’d do that. It just needed to happen soon. 

“Tomorrow evening?” Arya suggested. “We can talk and then if you still want me to stay with you afterward, I will.”

Tomorrow? Could she survive one more night alone? She didn’t want to, but she could if necessary. She didn’t understand why this was so important to Arya, but she tried to accommodate her anyway. “Tomorrow then, but you better bring your things with you, because you’ll be staying here tomorrow night.”

With a chuckle, Arya tried to brush off Daenerys’s ascertain. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

It was difficult to watch her go, but she took comfort from the knowledge that tomorrow night she’d fall asleep where she wanted to, in Arya’s arms. Impatient as she was, she’d just have to persevere. 

R-C

It was becoming a habit. That was twice now she’d choked on the words when she had the opportunity to tell Daenerys everything. Her excuses were flimsier too. First, she rationalized her delay by saying that she didn’t want to ruin Daenerys’s nameday. Now, she was telling herself the reason still held. Daenerys’s official nameday may be over, but the real celebration was tomorrow. Arya wanted Daenerys to enjoy it without the truth hanging over them. She wanted to give Daenerys that, since it may be the last thing the Targaryen accepts from her. 

Each time she thought about it, she ended up in this circular conversation with herself. Did she need to tell Daenerys? Was it worth the risk? What would happen if Arya didn’t tell Daenerys of her family’s role in the destruction of the Starks? Was her body trying to discourage her from opening old wounds? That would explain why she repeatedly failed to actually tell Daenerys the truth. 

Knowing about Daario Arya considered using him as an excuse to keep things as they were. It would be easy to justify her inaction by saying Daenerys just ended one relationship, she shouldn’t rush into another so soon. Daenerys would protest but Arya could be equally stubborn. The only problem was, she really did want to be with Daenerys, as badly as Daenerys wanted to be with her. 

She understood exactly what the Princess meant when she said they had a connection from the start, Arya felt it too. She also agreed with the sentiment when Daenerys spoke of not wasting their one and only chance to be together. It wouldn’t be forever, but did that diminish her feelings somehow? She didn’t think so. 

When she was a girl and Sansa was dreaming of which Prince she’d marry or which castle she’d live in, Arya felt none of her sister’s fascination with marriage. On the rare occasions her mother brought it up, Arya was filled with dread. She didn’t want to marry just because everyone else did. When she said as much, her mother would smile and say, ‘You’ll feel differently when you meet the right man.’ Arya had her doubts. She knew sometimes noble marriages worked out well, as it had for her parents, but she heard of others too, the kind filled with violence and contempt, with bastard children and visits to whores. She didn’t want that. She’d rather no marriage than a loveless one. 

One of the things she liked about her life in Dorne was the lack of pressure to be wed. No one nagged her about getting older and remaining unmarried, not because she didn’t have a family or because she was a foster, but because in Dorne marriage wasn’t a prerequisite for love or happiness. Oberyn was the perfect example, he loved Ellaria even though they never married, and she returned his affection just as intently. His daughters, though all Sands were loved and cared for, by both Oberyn and Ellaria. She didn’t punish the girls for the brief relationships their mothers had with Oberyn years before. In Arya’s opinion the rest of the Realm could learn a thing or two from how the Dornish dealt with such matters. 

She still had no desire to get married, and was just as comfortable being alone as she’d always been, but it seemed Catelyn Stark knew what she was talking about, because Arya had met someone and just as her mother predicted it changed her outlook dramatically. So why couldn’t she just be with Daenerys as they were? The answer was as simple as it was complicated – if she was going to be with Daenerys, she wanted it to be honest. She couldn’t lie next to her and make love to her and pretend to be Arya Sand. Daenerys deserved to be informed before she chose, anything else would be a lie. The honor her father instilled in her remained, as central to her as it had been for him. It would dishonor Daenerys, their relationship and Arya’s feelings to climb into her bed without admitting her identity. 

She’d started walking as soon as she left Daenerys’s room. She didn’t have a destination in mind, too lost in her own head to worry about where her feet were taking her. When she bothered to assess her surroundings, she was in the market of King’s Landing. Most shops were closed, but a few merchants remained, packed up their goods for the night. Why had she come here? She didn’t need anything, and even if she did, she didn’t have much gold left. 

It took a moment, but it eventually dawned on her, she did need something actually. Her eyes swept across the stalls hoping something would catch her eye. How could she decorate Daenerys’s gift? A nice box perhaps, or a bow? She had to find some way to decorate it, she couldn’t just walk up and hand her a few random documents. 

Stall after stall, she walked away disappointed. She was just about to give it up as a lost cause when a breeze picked up and blew across her face. She wasn’t the only one to feel it, a middle-aged woman with light hair and blue eyes was packing up her wares when the wind knocked over a display of silks. Arya was just close enough to catch the falling fabric. She clutched it to her chest protectively, aware of the dirt and mud around her. If the silk fell, it’d be useless. 

“Oh, praise the Gods,” the merchant said as she came to Arya’s side. “Thank you so much. I usually have help but I let my daughter go early today, I should’ve known better.” 

“It’s no problem,” Arya assured her as she set the silk back on the table. “Can I help?”

“Oh, you don’t need to, I’ll be fine, and I couldn’t pay you.”

“I don’t need pay, but perhaps you can help me. Do you sell ribbons?” The idea came to her when she was setting the silk down, she noticed the various colors and was reminded of the elaborate decorations nobles used to differentiate their gifts from all the others. Maybe she could use a ribbon to bind the pages, it’d look a lot better than giving them as they were. 

“I do,” she confirmed. She walked over to a chest that was already closed and opened it again. Arya was about to tell her not to bother, but the older woman was quick. “What color?” she asked holding out a selection for Arya to admire. 

“Grey,” she said without thinking, “if you have it.”

It took her only a moment to find the right ones. She showed Arya four lengths of grey silk, differing in shade and width. She chose the one that reminded her of the long ago banners that hung around Winterfell. She’d blame her selection on the conversation with Daenerys that was looming, and her thoughts of both Catelyn and Ned Stark. “I’ll take it,” she told the merchant, “how much?”

“Help me pack up the rest of my supply, and it’s yours.”

Arya smiled. “Deal.”

R-C

Only twenty notes in and she was already developing a cramp in her wrist. She’d be working until her next nameday at this rate. 

Three signatures later she was saved by an insistent knocking on her door. Any question she had about who would be calling on her at so early an hour was overshadowed by her willingness to accept any excuse to abandon her desk. On the way to the door a second series of hard knocks rang out. 

Having Arya be the first person she saw, improved her feelings about the day significantly. It was unusual for the guard to arrive before Missandei, but Daenerys didn’t let herself dwell on that. Whatever her reason, the Princess would take full advantage of it. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully as she pulled the Dornishwoman into her chambers. 

“I’m sorry if I woke… you.” Arya’s eyebrow lifted and her confusion was visible in the set of her jaw and the crinkle of her forehead. “I didn’t wake you,” she realized, “why didn’t I wake you? What are you doing up?”

It was probably rude to not answer her questions directly but there was a much more pressing issue that needed to be addressed first. She leaned into Arya’s space until the guard’s back was against the door and then she kissed her. She aimed to show Arya just how deeply she was missed. She was already excited, knowing that tomorrow morning she’d be waking up with Arya right next to her. As she prolonged the kiss and introduced her tongue to try and illicit a response from her lover, Daenerys wondered if this was the reason Arya came by. Was she as eager as Daenerys was? 

When the kiss was over both women needed to refill their lungs. Any discomfort was well worth it when she saw the stunned expression Arya wore. She’d done that, she’d rattled the steady, composed soldier. “Good morning,” she chirped, remembering she still owed Arya a reply to her greeting. 

“No… not that I’m complaining,” Arya stammered as she recollected her wits, “but what has you in such a good mood this morning?”

It hadn’t been a particularly good morning actually, but it was beginning to improve. She shrugged, inadvertently freeing one of her shoulders from her thin, white robe. She didn’t have to wonder if Arya noticed, because her eyes snapped to the exposed skin and stayed there for several long seconds. It took all of her self-control to not untie the belt and show Arya a lot more than just her shoulder. She wanted to but knew Arya had reasons to wait. She didn’t know why exactly, only that it was important enough to Arya to turn down two offers to share Daenerys’s bed. It wouldn’t be long now, later today they would have their talk and after Daenerys reassured Arya, they could be together. She could last a few more hours. If Arya tried to postpone again however, she would not be responsible for her actions. “You’re here,” Daenerys declared happily, stating the obvious. 

Arya’s smile wasn’t the slight, quick one she was used to, this was bigger and stayed in place. Seeing it and knowing she was the cause thrilled her more than stunning Arya did. She wanted to see this smile on Arya’s face everyday, every time they were alone together. It made her look younger, more relaxed and unbelievably beautiful. Aware she’d be unable to resist kissing Arya’s smiling lips, she didn’t even try. She just pinned her to the door with her body and connected their mouths. She was rewarded with one of Arya’s strong arms slipping around her waist and holding her close. With or without the arm Daenerys had no plans to move. 

“Well,” Arya said, recovering from another round of passionate kissing, “I may have to show up early every morning.”

“No need,” Daenerys retorted, “beginning tomorrow, you’ll be here with me, so I won’t even need to climb out of bed to kiss you good morning.”

She tried to hide it, but Daenerys spotted the momentary hesitation before Arya buried it. Something about spending the night with Daenerys made her nervous and the Princess didn’t think it was the sex. Daenerys was about to suggest they have their talk now, so she could set Arya’s mind at ease and end her suffering, but Arya was faster. “Why aren’t you sleeping? I thought you’d be exhausted after yesterday.” 

Daenerys was conflicted. She didn’t want Arya to keep avoiding the issue, but she didn’t want to rush her either. In the end, she chose to let Arya steer the conversation. Arya said she wanted to discuss things that evening, so Daenerys would wait. Her instinct was to force the issue now and get it over with, but this wasn’t about her. She’d let Arya do this at her own speed, because she was confident nothing Arya was going to tell her would alter her feelings. 

She waved her over and then led her to the desk. “I’m writing thank you notes for all the gifts I received yesterday.”

Grey eyes narrowed as she reviewed the two distinct stacks, the unwritten, blank pages piled high and the much less impressive completed notes. “I don’t think you have enough,” Arya mentioned casually. 

“There are more in the drawer,” Daenerys explained, “I just took out the first hundred or so.”

All the humor vanished from Arya’s features. “You have to write a note to every person who left you a gift?” 

“Yes, Tywin and my father insist upon it.” 

“That’s torture,” Arya said, growing agitated. “You didn’t invite those people, you didn’t ask them for anything, tell Tywin and the King to write the damn notes themselves.”

It was a strange seeing Arya so fierce in her opposition to something as simple as thank you notes, but Daenerys quickly understood it for what it was. Her real complaint wasn’t with the notes, but rather that Daenerys was required to write them. She was touched by Arya’s defense of her, it rarely happened. After last year’s feast Missandei commiserated with the Princess over her notes and kept her friend company while she completed them, but no one had taken such offense, the way Arya was. 

“… ridiculous, I mean it!” Daenerys rejoined the conversation to learn she missed a large chunk of it. “Well forget about this shit, the notes and the nobles they are addressed to, all of it can wait. We have plans today.” 

“We do?” Daenerys was still catching up. She worried that she missed more than just Arya upset about her duties to her guests. 

“We do,” she confirmed. “Today we are celebrating your nameday.” 

She waited for anything that would clarify that statement, but nothing came. “My nameday was yesterday,” she said quietly, feeling stupid for pointing it out. She gave a general wave in the direction of the notes as proof. “It’s not my nameday for another year, praise the Gods.” 

“Yesterday was your nameday for your father, the court and the nobles, today is the celebration for you.” 

She was flattered by the gesture, but Daenerys didn’t need anything more. She had too much already. “I don’t…”

“I already spoke to your brother,” Arya interjected. “We’re going to spend the whole day doing things you actually enjoy.”

How quickly change could come. Moments ago she’d been so sure that she hadn’t wanted to celebrate her nameday again. What Arya was describing, in addition to being different from the formal festivities she was accustomed to, sounded perfect. “You shouldn’t have…”

“It wasn’t a bother,” Arya supplied, pre-empting what would have been Daenerys’s argument. “I couldn’t save you yesterday, but I can do this, I can give you today, a nameday celebration you’ll actually smile at.”

“I smiled yesterday,” she said weakly. 

“No,” she disagreed, “not your fake Princess smile, I mean your real smile.”

She chuckled before she asked, “I have different smiles?”

“Of course you do, and most of yesterday was full of the stiff, insincere kind.”

She was right, Daenerys knew the formal, polite smile she wore in public was a far cry from the real thing she showed when she was comfortable and happy among friends. With every word exchanged Arya provided evidence that she cared about Daenerys. She’d never had a discussion about her smile before, but there were a lot of things she was doing now that she hadn’t done before she met Arya. 

“Alright then, so where are we going first?” she wondered. It was obvious that Arya had put a great deal of time and effort into arranging this, and Daenerys was exceptionally grateful. The more she thought about it, the more excited she became. She knew it was typical for people to be happy on their nameday, to anticipate it eagerly for days until it finally happened, but Daenerys had never experienced that. To her, her nameday was never more than a chore. Maybe she was going to discover what made namedays so beloved. She had planned to spend the majority of her day with Missandei and Arya writing notes, but what Arya was suggesting sounded much more appealing. 

Her innocent question caused Arya’s smile to falter and her eyes to shift to the floor. “Well, where we’re going is a bit of a surprise, but if you want, I could give you your gift.” 

The gift?! She’d been so caught up with everything else happening lately that she hadn’t given it much thought. Immediately after Arya confessed she left the keep to buy a gift, Daenerys had been curious, who wouldn’t be, but before long there were things to do and people to meet, be it the Musgoods or the long line of visitors that came after. She remembered Missandei saying Arya had gone to get the gift, but when she returned, they went downstairs. Daario’s arrival made certain the gift Arya bought didn’t cross her mind last night either. 

“I could wait, if you’d rather…”

She could hear the uncertainty in Arya’s voice, and it pulled Daenerys from her mind and spurred her into action. She reached out and took her lover’s hand. “You didn’t need to get me anything. You shouldn’t have spent your gold on me…”

“Stop,” Arya insisted. “One thing Missandei told your father was true, she did tell me I wasn’t required to buy you anything, but I wanted to.” While Daenerys watched she reached under her armor and with unmistakable care produced a scroll held closed with a length of ribbon. 

Without knowing what it was, Daenerys was already moved. Tears pricked the back of her eyes and she did her best to blink them away. It was clear that Arya put thought into whatever she was about to hand over. “Thank you,” she said as she took the scroll with her left hand and wound the fingers of her right with Arya’s. “Thank you so much.”

“I know it’s not dragon eggs, but I hope you like it.”

“I don’t even know what you got me yet, and it’s already better than everything I received yesterday, including the dragon eggs,” Daenerys informed her. 

“You don’t have to say that. I know you love the eggs, even if you don’t like the man who gave them to you.” 

She recalled the overweight Magister Varys brought to her. “I don’t know him,” she specified, “but I don’t trust him. Those eggs may have been given to me, but they were a gift to impress my father, so anything you took the time to select with me in mind will be better, no matter what it is.”

Arya relented and nodded suggestively to the scroll. “Open it,” she encouraged. 

She was mildly disappointed when Arya released her hand but that was tempered by her curiosity. Now that the gift was in front of her, she was anxious to see it. What had been worth nearly being executed? 

She carefully undid the knot and set the grey ribbon on the corner of her desk. The candle nearby combined with the early morning sun provided more than enough light to see the documents. She gasped when she unwound the page and saw the hand-drawn sketch of a ship. It was remarkably detailed from the dark wood that made up the deck, to the purple, unmarked sails and finally the name written on the side. “The Princess’s Dream” she read aloud. 

She was speechless. It was as if Arya had somehow taken the image out of her brain and had it drawn. She looked away from the paper and tried to see Arya, but her vision was clouded by unshed tears. She held them at bay earlier, but they were back with a vengeance now. “I don’t know how you did this, but it’s perfect.” 

Arya chuckled. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”

What?! Of course she had. Arya had a drawing commissioned of her dream ship. She looked at her lover and tried to decide if she was joking. Unconvinced she turned her attention back to the sketch. It was only as she raised it to her face for a closer look that she noticed the width. It was too thick to be a single page. Her eyes snapped to Arya before she used her thumb to separate the top page from the second. 

If she loved it before, Daenerys didn’t have words for what Arya had done after she discovered what was written on the second page, or the third, the fourth or the fifth. It was all there, from the type, amount and quality of wood used to make the hull, the colors of fabrics and paints. There were measurements and specifications for everything. The ship as a whole was outlined on the second page. The third contained details for the deck, from the helm to the sails, from bow to stern. The fourth page displayed pictures and descriptions of what would be below deck, including the crew quarters, the galley and a area for cargo. The final page was titled ‘Captain’s Quarters.’ Daenerys had seen the room designated as hers on the previous page, but that had been basic measurements and accommodations, this was entirely different. There were illustrations of the various parts of her cabin beginning with the table and chairs inside the door and continuing on until they reached the Captain’s bed. Daenerys remembered her conversation with Arya about the ship she wanted one day, but she never went into this much detail. Even in her own mind, she never considered what her quarters would look like, but despite that, Arya managed to design the ideal place, surpassing even Daenerys’s own imagination. 

She set the documents down carefully, so not to damage them. Her mind was a collection of disjointed thoughts and partially articulated questions. There was so much she wanted to know and to say, she was having a hard time choosing where to begin. 

She could have stayed in that moment forever and been at peace there. She did what she could to memorize the details, what she was feeling, what she was thinking, all of it. She might have continued savoring, had it not been for Arya who appeared on the verge of panic. At first, she didn’t understand, couldn’t Arya see how much she loved it? She’d been right, Arya’s gift surpassed any of the others she received. Then it occurred to her that she hadn’t expressed any of her feelings to Arya yet, and she was probably assuming the worst. “I was right,” Daenerys told her bluntly, “much better than dragon eggs.” 

“You don’t have to say that, I know compared to the things you got yesterday…”

Daenerys needed to put an end to this. She glanced at the desk to make sure her gift was safe there and then she went to Arya. She was pacing a bit, so Daenerys set herself directly in her path. When she stopped in front of the Princess, she took both of Arya’s hands in hers. “I meant what I said, those weren’t for me, they were for the Princess. For ninety-nine percent of the people who showed up yesterday, they had motives that had nothing to do with my nameday. Some sought an audience with Tyrion, or Tywin, others wanted to negotiate with the King directly. As it was happening, all I could think was that I wanted just one person who came for me, one gift on that table filled with them, that was selected for me, not my father, Rhaegar or Tywin.”

“Well now you have one.”

“That’s exactly what I meant, why I knew even before I opened it, yours would be my favorite, because you bought it for me, and me alone.” 

“You deserve some happy memories of your nameday.” Arya had finished speaking but then provided more. “In those first few years after my family was taken from me, I wouldn’t have survived if I didn’t have my memories of all the good times we spent together to pull me through. I wanted to give you a few good memories of your own.”

Daenerys was all about making memories and she was pleased to have this one with Arya. She would never forget this, any of it. She still had no idea exactly what Arya planned, but she trusted her to know what the Daenerys would like. 

She put the day of limitless potential out of her mind for a moment and focused entirely on the here and now. She kissed Arya deeply, using her tongue immediately and working tirelessly to try and illicit a moan or better yet a muffled curse. What she got when Arya ended their kiss was a mixture of the two. “What was that for?” she asked after she licked her lips slowly. 

Daenerys watched the tongue that had just dueled hers wipe her upper lip and slowly return to Arya’s mouth. She was so focused on it that she forgot she was required to answer. 

“Nothing to say?” Arya teased. “If a little kiss renders you speechless, we’ll need to limit them, to ensure you’re capable when you have important meetings.” 

Her relationship with Daario had been relaxed and carefree, but they had none of this back and forth, the give and take she noticed becoming commonplace in their interactions. She liked it a lot. “Maybe I’ll just tell them my new lover makes it hard to think of anything else.”

“Yeah, you could do that, if you wanted me to die,” Arya replied, not joking this time. 

“I’m sorry Arya, I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to joke with you, I didn’t think it through.”

“I’m sorry too,” Arya said, taking Daenerys’s hand. “I knew you were joking, but I’m still a little uneasy.”

That made sense, considering it wasn’t long ago that Arya nearly lost her life before the King. She probably didn’t see the humor in Daenerys’s joke about revealing their relationship to the next noble she meets with. If her father ever found out there would be severe consequences for the both of them. In Arya’s case the punishment could easily prove fatal. 

“I can be known as the Mute Dragon,” she said trying to salvage her morning. “As long as you keep kissing me, and looking at me like that, I’ll deal with all the repercussions, even if I’m speechless.” 

“It’d be easier to just not kiss you, and therefore eliminate the problem.”

“The easiest approach is not always the best one.”

With a smirk Arya made sure she understood. “So just to be clear, you’d rather be mute in your meetings than stop kissing me?” 

Did she really need to ask? If asked a thousand times, her answer would never change. Some things, some people were more important than others. Rather than try and explain that in a way that Arya could comprehend Daenerys pulled Arya with her, using their connected hands. When Arya had her back to the bed, Daenerys kept pushing. Although Daenerys gave a stiff shove to try and make her fall, she didn’t even teeter. “Sit,” she pleaded. 

During their two second stand off Daenerys was left to wonder how she’d persuade Arya, if a simple request wasn’t enough. Luckily a backup plan wasn’t required, Arya sat down on the end of the bed. 

She hadn’t brought her over or sat her down at random, she had a plan, but all those details, the next steps she needed to take, all left her when she looked down and saw Arya Sand sitting on her bed. 

“Now what?”

The answer should have been immediate, because she had a distinct purpose before she got distracted. Just before she was forced to admit she’d forgotten the details came back in a rush. Daenerys didn’t think it was coincidence that she recovered the missing pieces when she looked away from Arya and her eyes. Apparently, it was easier to think clearly when she wasn’t looking into those grey, bottomless eyes. “Now,” Daenerys whispered, “we work on making more memories for me, until Missandei gets here.” 

Before Arya could decide what that meant, Daenerys lowered herself into Arya’s lap and with one hand tangled in dark hair, she guided Arya’s mouth to hers. As the kiss heated up, Daenerys’s eyes rolled back in her head. Mmm yes, another moment she’d relive again and again in the coming weeks and months, especially after Arya was sent back to Dorne. 

R-C

On their way from the stable to the courtyard Daenerys was walking with Missandei. Arya disappeared as soon as her horse was back in his stall. “Having a good day Princess?” Missandei asked formally. 

She knew she was only asking to try and get a reaction out of her friend, but it worked. “I can’t believe she did all of that,” she gushed. “When she gave me my present this morning, I didn’t think anything could make the day any better.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have underestimated Arya.”

That was definitely true. “Why would she do all of this for me?”

Missandei tilted her head and squinted suddenly, as if trying to solve a riddle. 

“What?” Daenerys pressed.

“She did it because she cares for you, as you care for her.”

Hearing Missandei’s assessment raised her already high spirits. “I really do,” she confirmed. 

“Do you know why we had to return to the keep for lunch?” 

Daenerys herself had been questioning that too. Why spend all morning in King’s Landing, then return to the castle for lunch before going back into the city for the afternoon? They had food outside the keep. “I have no idea, but knowing Arya, there is a reason.” 

Arya returning stopped her from having to speculate what the reason might be. The first thing she noticed was that Arya had removed her armor and was wearing a shirt and trousers. She still had her belt around her waist, which housed her sword, but to Daenerys the message was clear, her request for Arya to forgo her armor from time to time had been heard. 

In addition to the lack of armor, when she pulled her eyes off her attractive lover, she could see Arya wasn’t alone. Tyrion was at Arya’s side, talking about something, making gestures with his hands as he went. Behind them was Grey Worm. He wore his armor, but carried his helmet under one arm, had no shield, no spear and only one sword on his hip. Daenerys turned to the woman beside her and could tell Missandei hadn’t known he’d be coming either. The handmaiden grinned widely as he came closer. It was rare the slave couple got to spend any time together during the day. Grey Worm stayed with his troops and Missandei was with Daenerys, their paths rarely crossed. Occasionally Daenerys would send Missandei with a note for the Unsullied under one pretense or another, and they’d get a few minutes together, but those were rare enough to make what Arya had done special. 

If she thought seeing Grey Worm and Tyrion would be the end of the surprises, she wasn’t giving Arya enough credit. There was a long table in the courtyard covered with a clean white tablecloth. There were three vases of fresh, colorful flowers, a smaller one on each end and a larger, more elaborate bouquet in the center. It was hard to believe Arya of all people had done this and done it for her. She was in awe. 

By the time Tyrion reached her, Arya was no longer with him. “Princess, happy nameday.” He greeted her with a hug and then once the pleasantries were done, he stepped back and waved Aidan forward. Daenerys hadn’t seen him he must have been hiding behind the taller bodies. 

“Happy nameday, Princess Daenerys.” 

“No celebration can be called a success without the finest of fine wines, so I bring you this…”

Tyrion stopped talking and Daenerys waited. Three seconds passed, before Aidan remembered his part. “Lord Tyrion and I present you with this.” He held out the bottle to Daenerys with a smile. 

She smiled back and took it, thanking him repeatedly, before turning to the adult. “Thank you, Tyrion.”

He dismissed her gratitude immediately. “Save it for a special occasion or open it after a really bad day.”

“You didn’t need to get me anything,” she said, repeating something she told Arya before accepting her gift. It was even less effective on Tyrion. 

“I wasn’t going to, I expertly avoided your receiving line yesterday, but then I saw your guard and learned of a more private, personal celebration, well that was something I wanted to be included in.”

“Thank you. Whenever I open this, I hope you’ll share a glass with me.” 

“Name the time and place and I’ll be there.”

She’d always liked Tyrion, but the longer he served in the castle and the more frequently they interacted, Daenerys was confident he was becoming her friend, like Missandei or Arya. 

“When you’re not too busy,” she said in a whisper to the Master of the Coins, “bring Aidan to my chambers. Once I have opened all the presents, I’ll need to decide what to keep and what to donate. If there is anything he likes, or has need of, he can go through it first and pick his favorites.”

Tyrion responded with his charming smile. “You know it’s nice to know all those rumors about you are true.”

She was almost afraid to ask. “What rumors?”

“Oh, there were many. Outside the capital gossiping about the Dragon Princess is a fun way to pass the time,” he explained. “I heard of your beauty of course, naturally, I thought they were exaggerating, but for the first time I was happy to be wrong.” Daenerys blushed and looked at the grass, Tyrion continued on. “I also heard of your generosity. It was noteworthy before you stepped in to help me distribute the Crown’s gold to the people who need it. You are even more amazing than the stories describe, and for a cynic like me, that’s quite the realization. 

Unsure how to respond, she steered them back to Aidan. Tyrion didn’t seem to mind. “I doubt he’ll have use for dresses or golden trinkets, but he could pick a few and sell them and begin to buy what he wants and needs.”

“We can do it next week,” Tyrion suggested, “it’ll give you a chance to open everything.”

“Sounds great,” Daenerys agreed. “You’re both welcome anytime, so if you have an opening and want to stop by and have a look, that’s fine by me.” 

As Tyrion went to his seat, Daenerys looked around the table for Arya. She wasn’t there, but Grey Worm was. He and Missandei were speaking off to the side. 

She scoured the table and the surrounding area again for any sign of her lover, but there wasn’t one. Out of ideas, she looked to the last place she’d seen Arya. She exhaled when she found her but couldn’t understand her behavior. She appeared to be waiting for something, standing just outside one of the Red Keep’s many doors, looking in. 

Nothing prepared her for what Arya was waiting for. The last person she expected to see Arya escorting was the man limping toward them. Aemon was there too, walking behind his father. She noticed that both father and son were dressed in fine clothes, nicer than was standard. 

She watched as Arya kept pace with Rhaegar easily. They weren’t talking but given how hostile Rhaegar had been since Arya joined them, that was probably for the best. She had ample evidence that Arya cared about her, it showed in everything she said and did, but inviting her brother to celebrate with them, for Daenerys’s sake, was a striking example. She thought she’d be forced to mediate peace between her brother and her lover until the day Arya left for Sunspear.

Missandei and Grey Worm came over, each with a gift in hand. Missandei’s was a book decorated with a ribbon. While the soldier held a plain wooden box with a lid. “You really didn’t need to do all this…”

Missandei provided context, filling in some of the gaps in Daenerys’s knowledge. “After Arya got permission for you to leave the keep today, she told me of her plan, and we decided to wait to give you your gifts until today, at your true nameday celebration.”

“You shouldn’t waste your gold on me,” she continued, wanting to make sure both the handmaiden and the Unsullied knew. Missandei and Grey Worm gave her much; friendship, loyalty, and support just to name a few. She didn’t need material items as well. 

“We want to,” Grey Worm said in the common tongue. Missandei had been tutoring him and he’d gotten much better. 

“Wanted to,” Missandei corrected gently. 

“We wanted to,” Grey Worm said again, holding out the box to her. 

“Thank you, my friend.” She took the box and he nodded before taking a step back. She lifted the lid and was genuinely surprised by what was inside. Placing the box on the table she reached inside. When she pulled it out, she was holding a small knife. It had a wooden handle, a straight blade and looked simple but functional. 

Before she had to ask, Missandei cleared everything up. “Do you remember when we went away?”

“Of course.” She would never forget that, because it was during the same time that she and Arya were growing closer. 

“Arya gave me her knife.” Daenerys nodded to confirm she was paying attention. 

“I showed it to Grey Worm, and he gave me a few lessons on how to use it. When your nameday was approaching, he asked if you had a knife like the one Arya lent to me. I told him you didn’t, so he went to the Street of Steel to find one for you.” 

She spoke to Grey Worm in Valyrian, wanting him to understand fully. “This is such a thoughtful gift. I will cherish it always. I will carry it with me everywhere I go. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” 

She set the knife back in the box and situated the box next to the wine. She caught Grey Worm in a hug before he could back away. Once he had, Missandei stepped up to present the Princess with another unnecessary gift. “None of you should have wasted your money on me.”

“We didn’t waste anything, we wanted to because you’re important to us.” 

Before they moved on to Missandei’s gift, Daenerys wanted to discuss the last offering she received for a moment. “Please make sure he knows how much I appreciate what he did.” 

“He knows,” Missandei assured her. 

“Sometimes I think that all the Unsullied see when they look at me is the daughter of the man who holds their whip.” 

“Some see you that way,” she acknowledged, “but not most and definitely not Grey Worm. He knows you are not your father, he knows you mean what you say, and he knows he can trust you.” 

“I hope so, I wish I could do more for them.”

“You will, when the time is right you will make sure the Unsullied are given the freedom they were promised. I know it may not come until after Rhaegar is King, but you won’t forget no matter how long it takes. 

She embraced Missandei, unbothered by the hard book between them. When they separated, she held it out for Daenerys to take. “Happy nameday, may each page spark a journey in your mind.”

When she got past the ribbon, she wasn’t immediately sure what she was looking at. The front cover was unmarked leather. She flipped to the first page and saw a lot of words, but no clear explanation. She went to the middle of the book, and finally started to understand. On the page she chose at random was a map. She read the heading on the first “Pentos.” On the following page was notes dedicated to Pentos, she could see it was a traveller’s guide. She flipped to one of the last pages and found a map of the area around Missandei’s former home in Naath. 

When Daenerys looked up from her new book Missandei was waiting. “With that, you can plan your trips, decide where you’ll leave from, where you’ll go, you can even choose which ports you’ll make landfall in for a night to restock supplies. That’s one of the biggest books of its kind, including maps from all over the Seven Kingdoms, Essos and beyond.” 

“This is remarkable,” she said, underselling it a bit. “Thank you so much.”

They embraced and while she had Daenerys close, Missandei whispered in her ear. “Arya was right, you deserve to celebrate your nameday the way you want.”

“Thank you, no matter how many times I say it, it’ll never be enough, I could never thank you for everything you do for me. You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” Missandei replied, “always.”

They were still hugging when the last two guests arrived. Aemon was smiling wide with his arms full, likely carrying his gift, and one from his father. 

“I’ll go see if Arya needs help,” Missandei said before she escaped. 

“Thank you for coming,” Daenerys said kindly. 

Aemon was content with a smile and a nod in greeting, but Rhaegar wanted a hug. “Happy nameday Dany, you look beautiful.” 

“My nameday was yesterday,” she reminded him. 

She meant it as a joke, a lighthearted comment, but her brother took it very seriously. “If someone asked me two days ago, I would have agreed with you, now I’m not so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think your friend was right. She said you deserved the chance to celebrate, after you did everything Father and I asked of you yesterday.”

Aware that mentioning Arya could be volatile, she treaded carefully. “I know you agreed to let me leave the castle today, so thank you. None of this would have happened without you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he said. 

In front of her eyes, he was tiring, so she urged him to sit. When he asked which chair was meant for him, she had no idea, so she told him to sit anywhere. 

As the Crown Prince got settled, Daenerys was left with Aemon. He handed her the smaller package first. “From me,” he told her as she went to work opening it. As she looked down at the incredible equipment, she wondered what she’d done to deserve such generous, kind-hearted people in her life. She knew what Aemon had bought her, and she knew why. She gently lifted it from the box. “That’ll give you advanced warning if raiders are lurking.”

“Maybe you should keep it,” she said as she turned it over in her hands. 

“Me? Why?”

“I’m sure it’ll spot a Wildling just as easily. I may never get to make use of it, but you, I think your father really intends to let you go to the Wall soon.”

She could tell her opinion brought him joy. She was happy for him. Aemon was quick to regain control of his features and adjust his expression. She knew why he was doing it, but it was needless. Just because she likely would never get the ship she now had drawings of, just because she’d never steer a ship while using one of the pages from her book of maps as a guide, just because she’d never stand at the helm and use Aemon’s spyglass to spot a pirate didn’t mean she couldn’t be happy that his dreams were coming true. 

“This is from my father,” Aemon said as he set the final gift in front of her. It was similar in size and weight to Missandei’s and with good reason. It was a book, this one gave all the necessary information in the title, saving Daenerys from having to flip through to learn what it was about. The cover said it all; ‘Histories of the Seven Kingdoms – Including all houses big and small, prosperous to long forgotten.” 

Just from those few words Daenerys was thinking about all she’d learn inside. There would be a section on the Tyrells. She promised Lady Olenna she’d visit and before they departed for Highgarden, she’d read the entire portion of the book devoted to the Tyrells, more than once if necessary, so she knew as much as possible about the family, the people, the lands and the region. She had only a basic understanding about Dorne before arriving in Sunspear and every day she spent there sprouted new questions about the people, their customs, their beliefs, she wanted to know everything. She always planned to return to Dorne one day, if not when Arya went back, then some time later. Perhaps the book could provide suggestions of other places and things she needed to see while she was there. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I wanted to get Arya’s reveal into this chapter but there was too much that had to happen first. 
> 
> The next chapter will have the last part of the nameday celebration and then Arya finally telling Daenerys who she is. If you’ve stuck around this long, I hope you’ll hang on a little bit longer. 
> 
> RC


	25. Chapter 25

Arya led the servants from the kitchen toward the courtyard where they would present Daenerys with her favorite meal. On the walk, she thought about the gift she’d given Daenerys and how well it had been received. She’d had her doubts, concerned that nothing from her could compare to the elaborate, expensive, rare items Daenerys had been given, but the Princess seemed truly moved by Arya’s choice. Her reaction gave Arya hope that they’d make it through the conversation they were destined to have that evening. 

In order to get to that discussion though, she’d first need to endure a meal with the Crown Prince. It didn’t require as much persuasion as she feared it might. She simply reminded herself she was doing this for Daenerys, and then led the servants out into the sun. 

Once the food was on the table Arya dismissed the staff. Less than ten people didn’t need half the castle waiting on them. They could get through one meal on their own. 

When she saw it, Daenerys realized the significance of the food, as Arya knew she would. She got up from her chair and rushed to the guard, throwing her arms around her in a tight hug. “Thank you so much. I can’t believe you did this for me!”

“It’s your day Daenerys.”

“And I get to choose what we eat,” she remembered from Arya’s story. 

“That’s right, now let’s go enjoy it, before it gets cold.” 

The food was not her primary concern. More pressing were the eyes she felt on them. She knew Rhaegar was watching their interactions carefully, and he wasn’t alone. She assumed Tyrion and Aemon were as well. She needed to be seen as nothing more than Daenerys’s guard, but the Princess had clearly forgotten their agreement. She hung on to the soldier for much longer than a typical hug between friends. A heartbeat after separating their bodies Daenerys latched onto her hand, pulling her to the table. Arya intended to let Missandei and Aemon have the seats next to Daenerys, but the Targaryen had other ideas. “You can sit with me,” she decided happily. 

She could have taken her hand back, put some distance between them both figuratively and literally, could have insisted she was fine further away, but she didn’t want to do anything to spoil Daenerys’s mood. There would be consequences for her choices later, she was sure, but for the time being Daenerys’s smile was enough to keep Arya close. 

R-C

“What did you do this morning?” Rhaegar asked as they ate. 

“We went to the orphanage and I spent some time with the children there,” Daenerys recounted with a grin. In her mind she relived memories of the happy, excitable children cheering and singing when they learned this was how the Princess chose to celebrate her nameday. 

To his credit, Rhaegar smiled fondly as she described it. “I’m sure they enjoyed that almost as much as you did.”

That made the entire table smile and laugh because it was true. “I hope so.” She snuck in another bite before she told the next part of the story. “Then I met with some commoners.”

Rhaegar was less thrilled by this admission. “What? Why? Who were they?”

“Many of the same people who stood in line for hours just to greet me yesterday,” she told him. “I had to leave to get ready for the feast, but I wanted to keep talking to them, so Arya arranged for them to meet us again this morning.

Daenerys hadn’t meant to put the blame on Arya, she was just explaining how things came to be. When Rhaegar turned his disapproval on the guard Daenerys felt guilty. She probably would have wilted under such a glare but not Arya. The Dornishwoman didn’t flinch. She met the Prince’s eye directly, even as her cheeks turned red. 

“It was great,” Daenerys said in an effort to ease the tension. It did not work. As she spoke, she slipped one of her hands under the table and took Arya’s in a silent show of support. “They were gracious and welcoming.”

His posture softened some, but Rhaegar wasn’t ready to let it go completely. “I thought we had an agreement,” he said to Arya. “You promised to keep her safe.”

“Rhaegar Arya…” Daenerys began, ready to jump to her defense, but it wasn’t necessary. 

“She was safe,” Arya stated calmly. “I was with her the whole time.”

“How many people were at this gathering, huh?” he wondered aloud, growing more agitated.

“Ten,” Daenerys answered, rounding down. 

“Fourteen,” Arya corrected truthfully. 

“Exactly and what would you have done if one or all of these fourteen friendly commoners turned violent and wished my sister harm?”

Arya was unbothered by the question or Rhaegar’s hostility. Her response was as calm and as straightforward as all the others. “Three of them were children, but regardless, I would have killed anyone who tried to hurt her.” 

The war survivor scoffed. “You think you could defend yourself, defend Dany against fourteen attackers, alone?”

Daenerys had had enough of this. After all Arya had done to give her a wonderful day, she wouldn’t let her brother ruin it. She was rising out of her seat when someone else beat her to it. 

“I wouldn’t doubt her Father,” Aemon said. “Much of the progress I’ve made in my training recently is because Arya has been helping me.” 

She watched a myriad of emotions pass over her brother’s face before he settled on shock. “You’ve been training with him? Why?”

“He doesn’t require much training,” Arya clarified, minimizing her contributions as she so frequently did. “His instincts and natural ability serve him well, I just help where I can.”

“But why? Your job is to guard my sister, so why aid my son?”

“Daenerys and I have a bargain,” she explained, “before we reached King’s Landing, she asked me to do what I could to help the people she cared about. I told her that as long as it didn’t interfere with my ability to protect her, I would. That’s why I sparred with Aemon the first time, but after that I kept going back because I was confident that I could learn as much from him as he could from me. 

That wasn’t quite how Daenerys remembered things, that said, she was flattered Arya was willing to say something so complimentary when Rhaegar was behaving like a spoiled child. 

From the chair next to his father Aemon beamed proudly, obviously affected by Arya’s words. Before anyone else spoke they heard from a new voice. “Arya saved my life twice, once in the desert outside Sunspear and then again in the city when a thief tried to rob and then kill me.” 

“I hadn’t heard about that,” Rhaegar admitted. “Are you unhurt?”

“Thanks to Arya,” Missandei answered. 

As he always did when they discussed the day Arya rescued Missandei, Grey Worm bowed his head in a show of respect to the fellow soldier. 

Her brother knew when to admit defeat. “I’m sorry,” he said first to Daenerys, and then to Arya. “I worry about her safety.”

“I understand.” Arya was being much more accommodating than Daenerys would be in her place, but she bit her tongue and let everyone move on to a less volatile subject. 

“What do you ladies have planned for the afternoon Tyrion asked, expertly restarting the conversation. 

Daenerys could only look to Arya. The whole morning had been her design. She suspected the afternoon would be as well. “I don’t know actually,” she said looking down, “that’s a large part of the fun.” 

For the second time during their lunch the guard from Dorne blushed. “Actually, this afternoon we are meeting with the man who made the gift I gave you.”

She couldn’t hide her excitement. “Really!?” 

Arya nodded. “He’s working on a new project and when he learned my order was for the Dragon Princess, he invited me to bring her back to watch him work.”

Daenerys knew most around the table didn’t know what they were talking about, because she hadn’t shown them Arya’s gift yet. Only Missandei knew how meaningful this was. “I can’t believe he agreed to that, are you serious?”

“He agreed,” she promised, “in fact he seemed almost happy about it, although it’s hard to tell with him.”

“Who is this?” Aemon asked on behalf of most of those listening in. 

“Bevin,” Arya said, finally looking away from Daenerys, “the shipwright. He’s crafting a new vessel and will permit Daenerys to watch it take shape.” 

“That’s remarkable,” her nephew commented. 

“That’s quite a treat Princess,” Tyrion added, “I hear he’s a particular man who is very set in his ways.” 

“That is an understatement,” Arya acknowledged, “when I went to him, I thought it would only take a few minutes, but he kept me over an hour asking questions.” 

“It was worth it,” Daenerys gushed. “However long it took, it’s perfect.” She punctuated the words by squeezing Arya’s hand which she still held under the table. 

“What did she give you Dany?” Rhaegar asked. He was working to sound casual, but she picked up subtle hints of annoyance. She guessed it stemmed from having to ask what he probably felt she should have told him already. She suspected his restraint was an effort to avoid angering her by starting another fight with Arya. 

“Drawings of a ship,” she answered, “in incredible detail, there are measurements and specifications about the wood and the sails.”

She would have kept talking but Arya squeezed her hand hard enough to make her stop and look at the guard. She cleared her throat. “Those aren’t drawings exactly.” 

“They aren’t?” She’d seen them, what could she mean they weren’t drawings? 

“They’re plans,” Arya elaborated, “plans for a ship. You take them to any shipwright, anytime, and he’ll use them to build it for you.”

Just when Daenerys thought her day couldn’t possibly get any better. She was used to being spoiled, but not like this. This was different, everyone was giving her such heartfelt, meaningful presents. How did she get so lucky? Her friends, her family, Arya. Yesterday was dominated by her nameday celebration and still they were all willing to spend time with her today too, to help her celebrate again. Tears threatened just as they had when she first laid eyes on the gift Arya nearly died to commission. “Really?” she felt the need to verify. 

“I hope someday you get to use them,” Arya said quietly from her left. Daenerys hoped so too, more than she ever had before. Maybe, just maybe the future would be one where she’d get some say. It was a worthwhile wish to make. 

R-C

Aemon and Rhaegar left first. Daenerys felt it had gone rather well. Her brother got a little overprotective and took it out on Arya, but she handled it well, and they managed to move past it. Perhaps sharing a meal with those closest to her could become something of a nameday tradition going forward? 

She tried to picture how they would look the same time next year, and she immediately rejected what she saw. Her brain had unhelpfully reminded her that next year Arya wouldn’t be with them. It felt wrong to Daenerys, the mere idea of celebrating without Arya, but she was determined to stay positive. Even if Arya was thousands of miles away in another kingdom, Daenerys would think of her each and every time she celebrated her nameday, in a way she wanted. None of this would have been possible without her. Daenerys would always honor and remember that. 

Missandei, Grey Worm and Arya collected the dishes and the leftover food and carried everything away. Daenerys offered to help but they refused her assistance, telling her to relax and enjoy her wine. 

With the table largely empty Tyrion the Master of the Coins came and claimed Arya’s empty chair at her side. “I have something else for you,” he said. 

“Tyrion no,” she responded through a sigh. “I already have too much.”

“You’ll like this one,” he predicted.

She sighed again. “What is it?” She felt no excitement or anticipation as she waited to hear what the Lannister had gotten her. In fact, it was dread she was overwhelmed by, it sank in her stomach like a stone. 

“I received word yesterday that the smith has finished his work on that item you ordered.”

The dread was gone the instant those words reached her ears. It was really done? It was finally ready to be presented to Arya and on the perfect night too. Now she’d have a way to show her lover how she felt, just as Arya had done with the plans for her future ship. “He’s done? Are you certain because…”

“I’ve seen it,” Tyrion confirmed. “I know very little about such things, so I asked for my brother Jaime’s opinion and he said it was exquisite.”

Daenerys was thrilled, not only that it was ready, but that it met the Lannister’s approval. Still, there were other, more practical matters to contend with first, before she got lost in her excitement. “Did you tell him it was for me?”

“No, I said a friend had it commissioned and wanted to make sure it was worthy of being given as a gift.”

“And is it?” Daenerys heard herself ask. 

Tyrion laughed good naturedly. “Jaime said that if whoever it was meant for was dumb enough to refuse it, he’d gladly take it.” 

“That’s great Tyrion, thank you. When can I pick it up?”

“No need, I’ll have Aidan take it to your chambers. it will be there by the time you return from your visit to the shipwright.” 

Arya had promised her a day of memories and she was getting that and so much more. It made her anxious to see what was coming next. She doubted she’d be disappointed. 

R-C

While Daenerys sat at her desk memorizing every detail in the plans for her ship, she made herself a promise that she’d have it built one day and she’d sail on it, no matter what it cost. 

At the same time Missandei was standing next to the newly constructed shelf built specifically to hold her dragon eggs. “How much do you know about them?”

“Very little,” she admitted, looking up from the documents. “I know dragons were once common, long ago in the time of my ancestors. Targaryens ruled because we had dragons.”

“They must be very old,” Missandei noted. “Dragons have been gone from the world for a long time, yes?”

“Yes, many years now.”

“I wonder if all dragon eggs were this size, or if these dragons were bigger or smaller than the ones in the legends?”

Daenerys smiled. She should have known that her intelligent friend would want to understand as much as she could about the ancient items she brought into their lives. “I don’t know.”

“The colors are beautiful.” 

“Beautiful,” Daenerys agreed, “but dead.”

“I wish we could learn more about them, perhaps the colors tell us what manner of dragon they’d be.”

Daenerys put down Arya’s gift and walked over to the shelf. “We could look in the library. Many of the books there are from a time when dragons existed.”

Missandei was instantly interested. “I’ll look later and see what we can learn about the eggs.” 

“That sounds like a great idea,” she acknowledged, “I’ll help you. I used to spend a lot of time in the library.”

“You hardly ever go there now.”

She was a little embarrassed to have to explain the reasons, but she knew Missandei wouldn’t judge her. “Before you came, I didn’t have anyone to talk to, so I’d pass the time by reading books, often two at once. After you joined me, I didn’t really need to escape into stories anymore.”

Missandei turned away from the eggs and hugged her. “You are not alone anymore, you have me and Arya, Grey Worm and Tyrion even.” 

“I know,” she said releasing her friend. 

“What’s that?”

Unsure of what the handmaiden had spotted she moved to get a better view. Missandei was standing next to the desk holding the grey ribbon Arya had used to bind the pages of her present together. She smiled at the memory. “Arya used that to hold the plans together.” 

Missandei’s smile mirrored the one she felt on her own face. The day had been perfect. She learned a lot watching the shipwright and though he was sometimes annoyed by her endless questions, he never ignored her or sent her out. When the day came, and her ship was finally built Daenerys definitely wanted to be there to watch it happen. It was fascinating to see something that massive being crafted by mere men right in front of her eyes. 

“That’s not all it’s good for,” Missandei said as she wound the ribbon around her knuckles. 

“What do you mean?”

“Sit down,” she encouraged, giving Daenerys a gentle nudge toward the mirror and the stool. 

As soon as she was sitting, Missandei went to work unwinding her braids. When her hair was free and straight Missandei gathered up a large portion and separated it from the rest. Then she tied the ribbon around one section of hair, securing it in place. Daenerys watched her reflection and smiled at the flash of grey she saw each time she turned her head. Now she’d have a reminder of Arya’s gift with her always. 

R-C

They separated at the completion of dinner. Missandei went to spend the evening with Grey Worm, but only after Daenerys assured her multiple times that she would be retiring early. 

Arya escorted the Princess to her bedchamber and then left, claiming there were things she had to do back at the barracks. That may have been what Arya said, but what Daenerys heard was that she was going to gather her things, so she could stay the night. 

Every second felt longer than it should. She studied her appearance in the mirror, wanting to look her best. She smoothed out her dress and then adjusted the ribbon in her hair, even though it was already straight. When that couldn’t distract her anymore, she moved on to considering where she and Arya would sit when the other woman arrived? Once she knew where they’d be, she thought about refreshments. The room had a cart filled with goblets and cups and every manner of drink you could imagine. She went to it to check her options. Would Arya want to have a drink? It might help with the nerves she was bound to be battling but Daenerys also knew Arya preferred to be clear headed. She set out two plain cups and a bottle of wine, just in case. 

Her next tactic for staying busy came in the form of the package Aidan delivered. It was there, waiting for her, as Tyrion promised it would be. At first glance it didn’t appear all that impressive, at least not when concealed by the scabbard. It was already attached to a new, black, leather belt. She traced the smooth leather with her finger while assessing the sword’s grip. It was almost entirely silver, with a few bits of copper and bronze for color. She wasn’t sure she made the right choice, but Arya didn’t seem like the sort of woman to wear an elaborate golden sword. Silver suited her far better in Daenerys’s opinion. Although she’d commissioned the sword, and paid for it, it felt wrong in her hand. It was never meant for her. Taking hold, she gave a sharp tug, to try and expose some of that famous Valyrian steel, people are always going on about, but the weapon didn’t budge. Drawing a sword was harder to do than all the soldiers around her made it seem. She tried again, but this time used her free hand to hold the scabbard to the table. Gritting her teeth, there was a satisfying scraping sound as the sword separated from its sheath. With half the length visible, Daenerys had an ideal opportunity to assess the smith’s ability. She wisely avoided the edge but ran two fingers down the center of the steel. It was smooth and cool, Daenerys liked how the light reflected off of it. She was no expert, but even to a novice of weaponry such as herself, the sword looked good. It wasn’t as thick, long, or heavy as some others she’d seen but that was by design. She had it made with Arya in mind. She didn’t need a big, scary-looking sword that was half her height and matched her weight, she needed something smaller, lighter, something she could easily control and manipulate with speed and accuracy. Daenerys was pleased. The Red Keep’s smith earned his exorbitant fee and even more impressive than his skill with the hammer was his ability to keep his mouth shut. Miraculously none of the gossips had ruined the surprise before it was finished. Arya had no idea she was going to be receiving the sword of her dreams tonight. 

She returned the sword’s full length to the scabbard and then carried the weapon to her desk. Rather than setting it on the desktop where it would be readily visible, Daenerys placed it on the seat of the chair, and then pushed it in, effectively hiding it until she was ready to present it to Arya. 

Minutes passed slowly and grew into a substantial total. She could help wondering if Arya had changed her mind and decided not to share information about her past? As curious as she was, her primary emotion was concern, for Arya. She knew her friend and lover had been tense lately and she suspected it was at least partially because of this conversation they were about to have. More than once she sat down determined to find a way to show Arya that the past wasn’t nearly as important to Daenerys as her present, or the future but she’d decide on a strategy. Although Arya feared that what she planned to reveal might alter Daenerys’s feelings, she had no such reservations. 

She wished there was something she could do, to ease the burden Arya was being crushed under. In the end however the choice wasn’t hers, all she could do was wait. Daenerys was trying to be patient, but it wasn’t easy. First, she said she wanted to wait until after Daenerys’s nameday, then it was after her second nameday. If she backed out again, Daenerys wasn’t sure when or if she’d ever learn the truth. 

When the knock finally came Daenerys invited the person in without bothering to check and see who it was. She stopped pacing, tried to calm her nerves and then made sure the sword was concealed before sitting down and hoping to appear calm. It wouldn’t benefit either of them for Arya to see Daenerys anxious before they started. 

Arya appeared tense, but was smiling when she walked in. Her eyes swept the room until she found Daenerys. The smile grew. “Everything okay?” Daenerys asked carefully, if only to get an understanding of her lover’s current mood. 

“Yeah,” she answered, “I’m sorry it took me so long, I needed to grab my things and then I took a walk to clear my head.”

“It’s fine,” Daenerys assured her. “You can set your things down anywhere and make yourself comfortable.”

Without warning Arya’s anxiety was getting worse not better. “Can I take my armor off? It’s just that…”

Whatever she was going to say to gain permission was unnecessary. She wanted Arya to be happy with her, there, the one room in the giant castle where they didn’t have to hide their feelings. “Please do, if you’re hungry eat, if you’re thirsty, drink. When you’re here, what’s mine is yours, you don’t need to ask.”

“Thank you.” She set her bag down on the floor and then moved in the direction of the closet. When she reached back and began unstrapping her armor Daenerys forced herself to look away. 

She went to Arya’s bag and picked it up off the floor. By weight alone, it didn’t seem as though it carried much. Daenerys placed it on a table where she determined it’d be safer. She fought the urge to peek as the amount of armor in the pile increased. To keep her mind and her eyes busy Daenerys rushed to the drink cart. “Would you like something to drink tonight, Arya?”

“Yes please,” she responded, “rum if you have it. I’m going to need something stronger than wine for this.”

It hadn’t been intentional, honest. She was just surprised by Arya’s request, so much so that it was only natural for her to glance at her to see if she was serious. She had her back to the Princess and was topless. Even the thin layer she wore under her armor had been removed. Daenerys could see every muscle in her back, all the way down until the cut off pants blocked her view. She should have turned away, but she was only a woman. Just as she was about to seek out a bottle of rum, Arya’s hands went to her waist and began pushing the fabric down. She couldn’t turn now to save her life. She watched as Arya wiggled out of the trimmed pants, bending slightly and sticking her firm, bare ass in Daenerys’s direction. She’d seen Arya in the underclothes she wore beneath her armor, but that was child’s play compared to this. She remembered thinking once that Arya’s armor hadn’t done her any favors, but now she could see that was perhaps the biggest understatement she’d ever uttered. Arya’s body was magnificent, so strong and well-defined. It screamed of power without being blunt and Daenerys ached to feel it pressed against her. Not even the muscles could take away from the distinctly feminine curves, Arya was stunning. 

She stared shamelessly until Arya stepped out of her shortened pants. Daenerys didn’t want to be caught gawking, so she looked away in spite of every instinct begging for her to do the opposite. Her brain was little help, it was too clouded by what she’d witnessed. When she should have been thinking about where the servants might store the rum, all she could see was the way Arya’s back flexed as she moved. When she should have been wondering what Arya intended to tell her about her family, about her father, Daenerys was mesmerised by how tempted she was to reach out and touch Arya’s ass. 

She stood there dumbly and tried to collect herself. It would be hard, but she had to pull herself together. She couldn’t throw herself at Arya yet, no matter how badly she wanted to. She had to hear her out first, then set her at ease. After that, then Daenerys could get lost in Arya completely. 

“If you don’t have rum it’s all right, just pour me whatever you’re having.”

She looked over her shoulder unsure of what she wanted to find. It would be easier to act civilized if Arya was clothed again, but there was a part of her, and not a small part, that hoped Arya had turned too, and was still dressing, then she’d get to see the front of her body too. 

Arya was wearing a plain blue shirt and brown pants. She was adjusting the shirt on her frame, meaning it was a recent addition. It offered Daenerys a glimpse of none of the flesh she yearned to taste and touch. 

With a shake of her head she tried to regain her composure. “No, I’m sure its here somewhere,” she said, trying to think around the flashes of tanned, bare skin that were tormenting her. “Just give me a moment.”

“Take your time,” Arya replied. 

She had just located the proper bottle and was reaching for it when Arya spoke again. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Daenerys said at once, “anything.”

“When you met with Lady Olenna, you said you wished to visit Highgarden, was that true or were you just being polite.”

That may not have been the type of question she was expecting, but she replied anyway. “Oh, I meant it. Lady Olenna and the Tyrells are great. I’d love to go to the Reach for a few weeks and get away from King’s Landing.” 

“Would it be before or after your brother’s wedding?”

“I don’t know, it’s not as though I have a lot of business keeping me here. If I asked my father on the right day, there is a chance he’d agree.” As she imagined the best way to get approval, she came to a realization about why Arya was asking. “Do you wish to see the Reach?”

“I would like it, I think.”

Daenerys nodded. If Arya wanted to see Highgarden that was more than enough incentive for Daenerys to procced. She was genuinely looking forward to the travelling, and spending time with Lady Olenna and her granddaughter Margaery, if she could do that with Arya as her guard it would be all the better. “I’ll speak to my father about it soon then, and we’ll try and get the preparations started.” 

“I’d be in your debt,” Arya said seriously. 

Standing in front of the table, Daenerys set down the two glasses and the bottle of rum. She poured Arya’s first and then her own. “You don’t owe me anything Arya, I want to go too, and I’d much rather do it in your company.”

Arya took the drink as soon as it was offered. “Thank you.” She took a sip before commenting. “I didn’t know you liked rum.”

“It’s not my first choice,” she confessed, “but I don’t dislike it.”

Instead of sitting, Daenerys went to the desk, specifically the chair in front of the desk and retrieved Arya’s sword. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll be right there,” she assured her. She was nervous as she hid the weapon behind her back and carried it toward her guard. “I have something for you,” she told her as she stood next to Arya’s chair. 

Arya responded with a real smile, the kind that made it hard for Daenerys to remember what she intended to say. Luckily, it was Arya’s turn to contribute to the conversation. “I don’t know how things work in the capital, but I’m pretty sure you don’t give gifts to other people on your nameday Daenerys.” 

She savored the light laugh that came from Arya. She was thinking through various arguments for convincing Arya to take the sword, when a strategy came to her. She smiled wickedly as she tested it out. “Actually,” she said gently, “my nameday was yesterday, today, you told me I can do anything that will make me happy. Did you mean it?”

“Absolutely,” Arya said without delay, just as Daenerys hoped she would. 

“So, if it will make me happy to give my friend, a gift to thank her for all she’s done for me today, for all the memories she’s given me, then you wouldn’t object?”

By the time she saw the trap she had already fallen in. “Daenerys,” she said slowly. “I don’t need gifts, I did what I did for you, because I wanted you to have a good day, I don’t need thanks for that.”

“Today was better than good,” she justified, “it was perfect. It was the exact sort of nameday celebration I dreamed of having when I was a little girl and you made it real. You may think it doesn’t deserve thanks, but I’ll forever disagree. I’ll never forget this Arya.”

Wisely, Arya chose not to argue. “You’re welcome, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

She could have spent the rest of the night helping Arya to understand that Daenerys didn’t just enjoy it, her feelings ran much deeper, but that would have to come later. Other things had priority tonight. “As wonderful as today was, this gift isn’t for that, I commissioned this weeks ago, and it was chance and not scheme that it was finished today.”

“Okay,” Arya said warily. 

She moved her hands from behind her, revealing the sword, along with the accompanying belt and scabbard. After an audible gasp, the guard wasn’t even looking at her, she was staring at the sword alone. Although her focus was singular, her eyes were in motion, trying to take in every aspect of the weapon that was visible. “I hear a soldier can never have too many swords,” Daenerys remarked playfully. “I wanted you to have this one, as a gift from me, as a way to say thank you for all you’ve done.”

She held it out for Arya, but she was uncharacteristically timid. Her hands twitched as though she was going to claim the offering before deciding against it at the last moment. “Daenerys, you shouldn’t have,” she said in quiet, awed whisper. 

“I wanted to,” Daenerys insisted. That was true when she and Missandei came up with the idea, and it was truer now. She had hoped she’d be Arya’s friend by the time the sword was ready, now they were becoming something more, and it made the gift all the more significant. “Please, take it. It’s one of a kind, I had it made just for you.”

Arya finally took hold of the weapon. Daenerys had been holding it by the belt, but Arya gripped the scabbard. Running her thumb around the silver pommel, she whispered, “This is amazing.” 

“I don’t know much about warfare,” Daenerys acknowledged, “but I remembered what you told me on the ship, and I gave that information to the castle smith.” 

Arya’s head popped up so abruptly it was a miracle her neck didn’t snap. “This is castle forged steel?”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. Was it? It was forged at the keep. 

The room was silent except for the sound of steel being pulled from its cover. Daenerys paid the sword little attention, focusing instead on the blade’s owner. Arya’s eyes were wider than the Princess had ever seen them. Daenerys had carefully avoided touching the sharp edge when she admired the steel earlier, but Arya was less cautious. She brushed her finger across the steel and was satisfied, not alarmed when she drew blood. “This isn’t just castle forged Daenerys,” Arya told her, “it’s Valyrian steel.”

She had no idea if Arya intended it to sound like an accusation, but it had that quality to it. Daenerys didn’t let it get to her. Not this time. She wanted Arya to have this, price be damned, all Daenerys cared about was if Arya liked it. “It’s what you said you wanted,” she recalled, “a one of a kind, unique weapon made of Valyrian steel.”

“Yes, that was my dream, to one day have such a sword, I didn’t mean for you to…”

“Well perhaps today is ‘one day,’ she tried. 

Arya was conflicted, looking between the woman and the sword, unsure of what to say or do. “Daenerys,” she began. 

When nothing further came, she jumped in to fill the silence. “Please Arya, I want you to have this. What you’ve done for me, how special you’ve made our time together, I know you’ll be leaving for Sunspear soon, and I wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

She didn’t think it was a good sign when Arya put the sword down on the table next to the rum. She went to Daenerys and took both of her hands. “I’ll never forget you,” she promised. “You say I’ve given you memories, but you’ve given me just as many. I didn’t want to come here, you know that, but I’m glad I did.”

Unsure of what to say, she gave up on words and leaned in for a kiss. Arya matched her intensity and before long Daenerys’s hand was cupping the back of Arya’s head, her fingers buried in the dark hair as she held on. While their tongues fought an epic battle, Daenerys tried to use the kiss to convince Arya to take the sword. She wasn’t sure if she was successful but both women were breathless when they pulled apart. 

“Do you like it?” Daenerys asked, hoping to start with the simplest question and work up to the more complicated ones. “There was a lot more involved in designing a sword than I knew, I didn’t know all of your preferences, so I had to guess, I hope I chose well.” 

“You did great, it’s gorgeous.” Arya had finished answering but then pulled Daenerys in for an unexpected hug. “Truly,” she said as they clung to one another, “it’s the most beautiful sword I’ve seen in years.” 

“It’s yours,” Daenerys proclaimed, aware she was jumping right to the end. 

“A sword like that deserves someone worthy, not just a guard.”

Daenerys used a hand on Arya’s chest to push her back. It was much easier to alter her direction and show annoyance without having to strike a blow hard enough to be felt through her breastplate. “You were never just a guard,” Daenerys contended, “you’ve always been more than that, to me. This is your sword Arya, if you don’t accept it, I won’t give it to someone else, I’ll keep it, locked away in a trunk or chest where it’ll never be used.”

Honest as her threat was, she hadn’t expected much of a response. She was already preparing her next argument when she noticed how stricken Arya looked all the sudden. Her lips parted but she remained silent. There was a pause and for several seconds Arya looked at the sword they were discussing. “You should give this to your brother, or Aemon maybe, as a gift for when he goes to the Wall.” 

Something about the sword never being used mattered to Arya. She didn’t need to understand what, to seize upon it. “No, I told you, it’s your sword, either you take it, or no one ever will.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” That didn’t make sense. Who cared if it was a nice sword, or worth a lot of gold? If Daenerys wanted her to have it, and Arya wanted to take it, why wouldn’t she? “I want you to have this Arya, and not just to remember me by, but because you deserve it. You may be a guard now, and a soldier just done with training, but I know you’ll rise through the ranks quickly. You’ll excel and do many great things. That woman, the one you’ll become, she should have a sword like this.”

Arya’s nod was the first clue that maybe Daenerys would get her way. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said, “if you still want to give me that sword after we finish our talk, then I’ll accept it.”

That wasn’t agreement exactly, but it was close. “Nothing is going to change Arya, I know you’re worried, but you shouldn’t be. I care about you and no matter what it is, I’ll always care about you.”

“I hope so,” she whispered under her breath. Daenerys couldn’t say for certain, but she didn’t think she was supposed to hear that. 

Arya led her by the hand to the table and they both sat down in front of their glasses of rum. Daenerys wasn’t thirsty and pushed hers aside. 

Arya noticed. “Shall I get you wine?” she proposed, already rising from her chair. 

Daenerys reached over and put her hand on Arya’s arm. “Not at all, I want you to stay right here with me.” 

Arya settled and made short work of the rum Daenerys poured. When her glass was empty, she pushed it aside instead of reaching for the bottle. Daenerys wanted to take Arya’s hand, but didn’t think the contact would be welcome, so she folded her hands in her lap and waited to hear what was coming next. 

“Before I begin, I want to apologize.”

“For what?” She raced through recent events as quickly as she could. At the conclusion of the review she still had no idea what Arya was apologizing for. She’d done nothing wrong. 

It was as if Arya hadn’t heard her. She was looking down off to her left, her grey eyes bound to a spot on the floor, like she intended to stare right through it. “The things I said, the lies I told, it was before I met you, before I knew you, before I cared about you. I didn’t think I had a choice.”

What was she talking about? Lies? Before that moment Daenerys would have bet her last gold dragon that Arya had never lied to her. Evidentially, that was a wager she would have lost. 

“To understand this,” Arya explained, “you need to remember our first meeting. It was after your father summoned me to the Water Gardens and demanded I fight.”

“I remember,” Daenerys swore, she was confident she’d never forget that particular evening. 

“I didn’t know I was lying to you, I didn’t know I’d become your guard, or that I’d like you, that we’d be friends, I didn’t know any of that, all I knew was that I didn’t want to die, not like that, not in front of your father like everyone else.” She said the words in a rush, making Daenerys work to catch them all. 

Despite her best effort to keep up she couldn’t. Arya wasn’t making sense. Of course, she hadn’t wanted to die, no one would, but why was Arya so distraught? What was the lie she kept referring to? 

“If I’d known,” she continued, “that I would end up here with you, like this, I hope I’d make different choices, better choices, but when I think back, I don’t really know what they might be. The truth would have gotten me killed.” By the end Arya was agitated, like a wire pulled too tight, she was stretched to the limit and now it wasn’t a question of if she’d snap, only when. 

Daenerys wanted to be considerate. It was evident that Arya was struggling, and Daenerys didn’t want to make it worse, but she needed more information. She had no idea what Arya was even talking about. “Calm down, it’s going to be okay. Just talk to me, it’s just us here, just me and you.”

“Me and you,” she repeated quietly. 

“That’s right.” Daenerys put one of her hands on the table and left the palm up to see if Arya would take it. “Just us.” She gave Arya a moment before she asked, “Who would have killed you?”

“Your father,” she responded without feeling. “If he knew, if I didn’t lie that day, he would have burned me or cut me or strangled me or…”

Daenerys had heard enough. Recent events made the idea of her father killing her lover all too real. With each of Arya’s fears, Daenerys’s mind conjured up an image of it happening. She saw Arya burnt in green flames, Arya cut down by Jaime Lannister’s sword, then Arya being strangled by the King himself. She didn’t need anymore similar ideas inserted into her head. She’d be haunted enough as it was. “Arya!” she said a little too loudly. “What lie did you tell? What couldn’t he know?”

“Some of my first words were a lie,” Arya confessed, “but only those, nothing that came after, nothing that I said to you was a lie. I never wanted to lie to you, only him.” 

Arya’s first words to her father were a lie? What were they? Was that before or after the fight? It took a moment, but she arranged her memories in an order that seemed to fit. Arya didn’t speak until after the match, when she refused to kill her friend. Was that what she lied about? No, it couldn’t be, Arya hadn’t killed him, and she risked her life to defy Aerys, she wouldn’t do that if she secretly wanted the man dead. If it wasn’t that, what was it? She scoured her brain for the earliest words she heard Arya speak. Her name! It had been her name. “Arya Sand,” Daenerys recited proudly, too pleased at having solved the puzzle to notice Arya flinch, “your name isn’t Arya Sand?”

The next sound she heard was Arya’s chair scraping across the floor. She stood up and stepped back from the table. She took a knee in the middle of Daenerys’s bedchamber. “I am not,” she admitted, keeping her head down. “I was given the name Arya, but I am not a Sand, because I am not a bastard, and I was not born in Dorne.”

What!? She had said that what she needed to say involved her father and her family, but Daenerys was still having difficulty believing it. Before she sorted through that mess, another issue demanded attention. She was curious about where Arya was from, and why she’d lie, why she’d take the name Sand if she didn’t have to. Even after she had answers to all of that, Daenerys would still want to know how Arya came to be in Dorne. She took the necessary seconds to arrange her many questions, beginning with the most urgent. The first thing Daenerys needed to know was why telling the truth would have gotten her killed. “Why would my father kill you, if he knew who you were?”

There was a pause, but it didn’t feel like Arya was avoiding the question, more that she was preparing her answer. “Because I am the daughter of Eddard Stark.”

With those words Daenerys’s whole world shifted. She knew who the Starks were. In her younger years, her father spoke of them often, saying they were the true power behind Robert Baratheon’s rebellion. Aerys didn’t believe Robert could have rallied the support of other houses to his side, and with only his vassals and his brothers for support, he was no match for the Targaryen army. Supposedly, it was Ned Stark who cautioned his inpatient friend to wait, to gather support, to forge alliances and strike only when they had the best chance of victory. 

The Starks hadn’t been spoken of in the castle for years. As the rebellion faded into history, her father spoke of it less and less. The Boltons ruled the North and the Starks were forgotten. “Your name is Arya Stark?” she verified, as she wrestled with all that this meant. 

“Yes,” she said simply. “I didn’t want to lie…”

Yes, she did! She wanted to lie. She’d been lying from the start! Her argument with Rhaegar weeks earlier came to the forefront. She defended Arya when her brother thought she couldn’t be trusted. “Rhaegar was right, wasn’t he? You came here for revenge?” 

“Absolutely not,” Arya insisted. She looked up at the Targaryen for the first time and then stood. “I came here to protect you and keep you safe, that is the only reason.” 

As she spoke, she closed the distance between them, approaching Daenerys. There was nothing threatening about her movements, she appeared more broken than dangerous, but Daenerys wasn’t taking any chances. “Don’t touch me!” she snapped. “I’m such a fool, I defended you, and everything was a lie.”

Arya took a half a step forward before Daenerys’s glare reminded her to keep her distance. She retreated and then addressed Daenerys’s latest claim. “I told one lie, one, everything else, everything that came after, everything with you was sincere, I swear it.” 

Angry as she was, there was a part of her, likely her traitorous heart that wanted to believe Arya was speaking true. Unfortunately for that part of her, the anger ruled her now. With her arms folded over her chest she put the guard on the spot. “Why should I believe you?”

“You shouldn’t,” Arya said, startling Daenerys and dulling her fury by a few degrees. “Don’t listen to a word I have to say, trust yourself Daenerys, trust your instincts. What do you think?”

Why was she saying that? Why was she trying to turn this around on her? Daenerys wasn’t the one who lied. “This isn’t my fault…”

“No, it’s mine,” Arya acknowledged, “and if I lied once, how can you possibly trust anything I say now, right?”

That was perfectly in line with Daenerys’s current thinking. “Right!”

“So, don’t listen to me, listen to yourself. Do you really think I’d hurt you to avenge a family you had no hand in harming?”

“I thought you were a bastard from Dorne, I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

Unbothered by the venom in Daenerys’s words, Arya kept going. “Okay then, ask yourself this, if I wanted to kill you, or kidnap you or whatever vile act you wish to imagine, why haven’t I done it? Think about it, we’ve been together for weeks, we’ve spent hours alone, I shared this room with you once, if I had ill intentions, what better way to take my revenge than to attack you in your sleep, when you’re vulnerable?” 

There was some truth in what Arya was saying, but it wasn’t powerful enough to quell her rage and embarrassment. She’d given Arya her heart without knowing who she was opening herself up to. “You could just be waiting for the right opportunity.”

“If that were true, why would I be telling you this?” Arya asked her plainly. “If I wished to hurt you, why not maintain the lie and as you say, wait for the right opportunity.” 

Daenerys didn’t have a response for that, because it didn’t make any sense. Why had Arya confessed to her? “Why did you?” She wanted the words back, but was perversely curious too, so she waited to hear the answer. 

“Whether you hate me or not, whether you forgive me or not, you’ll always be important to me Daenerys. I care about you, and I decided that I wanted to be with you.”

Daenerys kept her walls up high and tried not to be swayed by Arya’s sentiment. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Telling you is dangerous, but preferable to being with you while you still believe me a Dornish bastard.” 

“Why did that matter?” she spat bitterly. “You could have taken me to bed nights ago, you could have lied to me until you returned to Sunspear and I never would have known.”

“You really think I’d do that to you?” The hurt she heard weakened Daenerys’s resolve slightly. 

Her hot-burning anger happily reinforced any weak points she had. “I don’t know you.”

“You do,” Arya countered, “you know me better than anyone ever has.”

“I knew Arya Sand, but she doesn’t exist, you’re Arya Stark, and I have no idea who she is, or what she’s capable of.”

For a moment Arya appeared defeated. Daenerys thought she was about to give up and go, but then her back straightened, her head lifted, and her eyes found Daenerys’s. “I’ll tell you who Arya Stark is, she’s a girl who watched her family destroyed in this very castle. At eight years old she was put on a ship and sent to Dorne to live as a foster. After years in the Water Gardens, scrubbing chamber pots and washing bedsheets she was finally granted permission to serve in the Dornish army. Only days away from getting everything she wanted, the King and his children arrived in Sunspear and summoned her. She stood in front of the man who ruined her life and when he asked her name, she lied. She lied to try and avoid the same fate so many of her kin met when face to face with the Targaryen King. Arya Stark lied, that’s true, but she also agreed to serve as the Princess’s guard. She travelled thousands of miles from the only home she has left, from her friends, and was committed to being the best guard she could be. She may hate the King, she may hate the Crown Prince, but Arya Stark has never hated you.” 

Daenerys was unable to speak and that was probably for the best seeing as how she didn’t know what she’d say. Arya’s plea had been heartbreakingly honest and passionate. Daenerys was still upset, but it wasn’t quite as all-consuming as before. 

She was still coming to terms with what she’d learned about Arya Stark when the sound of steel clanging caught her attention. She found Arya collecting her things. “What are you doing?” she asked a little too harshly. She hadn’t meant to be so hostile, it couldn’t be helped. 

“I’m leaving,” she said simply. 

“What?”

“I told you that what I had to tell you would change things for us, and I can see I was right. I’m sure you have a lot to think about, so I’ll give you your privacy. I am sorry Daenerys, if you believe only one thing I’ve said, believe that. Whatever happens next, I won’t blame you, and I’ll never regret telling you the truth.”

Arya exited the Princess’s bedchamber, carrying her armor, her bag and her sword. Daenerys wasn’t sure if she was glad or devastated. Should she stay or go? In the end her uncertainty made the decision for her. She said nothing and let Arya exit, closing the door behind her. Alone now the room felt much too big. She looked around and saw Arya everywhere. On one side of the desk were the unwritten thank you notes she still had to finish. Seeing them reminded Daenerys of Arya’s outrage upon learning she had to thank every guest for every gift. At the mirror where Missandei did her hair, she saw flashes of memories of all the times Arya stood off to the side trying to make her laugh. The bed was where she and Arya were supposed to spend the night. Now she’d be sleeping in it alone. When her eyes landed on the table with the rum, she focused solely on the Valyrian steel sword. Arya hadn’t taken it. She did see Arya carrying a sword, but it was the one she was given in Dorne, not the one Daenerys had made. Something about the sword felt final. Arya had said she wouldn’t take it until after Daenerys knew the truth, now she did, but Arya left the weapon behind anyway, probably because she assumed Daenerys no longer wanted her to have it. The problem was, Daenerys herself wasn’t sure if she still wanted Arya to have it. As she tried to organize her thoughts and emotions. she noticed rather abruptly that she was crying. When had that started? Aware of her tears now, she felt how fast and hard they were falling. Daenerys surrendered to it and sank to the floor. Maybe if she cried it all out, then she could decide what to do. 

R-C

Arya returned to the barracks but didn’t go inside. Instead she sat on a long, empty bench just steps from her bed. It was there so weary soldiers could rest between bouts of training. but it would serve her purposes just fine. 

She dropped her bag carelessly, then her armor and sword followed. As soon as she’d released her weapon, she wanted it back. She bent down over her bag first, moving through it with haste until she found what she was looking for, then she reached for the blade. 

On the bench she laid the steel across her lap and readied the sharpening stone. The familiar act brought comfort but also sadness. In the years since she was banished to Dorne there wasn’t a day she’d been able to sharpen a sword without thinking of her father and how he’d do the same to Ice under the Weirwood. 

She needed no encouragement to think of him tonight. Her conversation with Daenerys made sure he was at the firmly planted in the center of her mind. Would he be upset with her for risking her neck to tell Daenerys who she was, or proud that she’d done it? She tried to face her problems directly and with honor, like he taught her. 

It had been a long, busy day and she was tired, but sleep held no appeal. It was very possible this would be her last night alive. If it was, she didn’t want to waste a minute of it sleeping. Her fate was in the hands of one of the few people Arya trusted. It wasn’t how she wanted the night to go, but she understood. It was probable that Daenerys had been fed lies about the Starks her whole life. Rhaegar hadn’t even told his own son about the rebellion and his role in starting it, so she shouldn’t be surprised Daenerys’s reaction was negative. She could have told her, she almost did, it was nearly out of her mouth when she pulled it back in. It was right after Daenerys said she didn’t know what Arya was capable of. She wanted to deny responsibility to say it was Rhaegar’s fault. If she told Daenerys what really happened, maybe she would have been able to stay, and spend a few more minutes with her. It was tempting, but she couldn’t do it. Daenerys already hated her for lying, that was unlikely to change, so she couldn’t drag Rhaegar down with her, no matter how much she hated him. It wasn’t for his benefit that she kept his secret, it was for Daenerys. Arya’s time in the Red Keep left little doubt that there aren’t many people Daenerys can rely on. Missandei, Aemon, Tyrion, Jorah maybe and Rhaegar. She knew the Princess well enough to say confidently that the truth about her brother would damage their relationship, if it didn’t destroy it permanently. Who would protect her from the King, if not Rhaegar? No, Arya couldn’t do that. She would be gone soon, dead or in Dorne, and either way Daenerys would be in King’s Landing. She’d feel better about it if she knew the Prince was close, providing protection. 

Her decision to leave rather than defend herself was difficult. She was a fighter. She wanted to fight against the assumptions about her and her character, but Daenerys’s safety needed to come first, before Arya’s honor. 

In a way, she was glad Daenerys knew. She didn’t mind lying to the King or the Prince or anyone else, but with Daenerys it was different. They were on the ship the first time she felt it, the rock in her stomach that came when Daenerys called her ‘Arya Sand,’ it happened every time after that too, getting heavier and harder to manage each time. 

She stopped long enough to yawn, then got right back to work. She didn’t think the King would let her die with a sword in her hand, but she wanted to be ready in the event she was granted a trial by combat. She was good, but she didn’t like her chances. Whether it was Jaime Lannister, the Mountain or the Hound her death was almost assured, still she’d prefer it to any of the other alternatives. 

Realizing she was tired, reminded her of the day, and the many reasons she had to be exhausted. In spite of everything, she smiled when she thought of it. Daenerys had been like a child, happy and laughing near constantly. From the time Arya knocked on her door until their after-dinner kiss, their last, everything had been great. Daenerys seemed happy and that made it impossible for Arya to regret. As they travelled the city, sat with the shipwright, the smallfolk, or the children at the orphanage, Arya repeatedly caught Daenerys seeking her out. Each time she discovered a new wonder, she’d look back at her guard, as if to make sure she was seeing it too. It was a memory of Daenerys she’d take with her wherever she went next. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Arya finally told her, at least some of it. Telling Daenerys all the gruesome details seemed beneath Arya somehow, especially when in her mind Daenerys will never forgive her anyway. Don’t worry, in the next chapter Daenerys will need answers only Arya can give her, and they’ll talk the rest out. 
> 
> Until then,
> 
> RC


	26. Chapter 26

How long had it been? She came back to her body and took stock, her vision was blurred, her throat raw, and her cheeks wet. She ached everywhere, sitting on the floor had done her no favors, her back, her neck, her hips all throbbed. She calculated the passage of time by comparing the candles on the table to her last memory of them, they were significantly shorter. Likewise, the brazier was almost out, and the sky was much darker than it had been before Arya arrived. All of these clues were telling, but none spoke louder than the realization that she wasn’t crying. She’d run out of tears, meaning it had to have been quite a while. 

Her legs were weak and unsteady when she finally stood. She washed her face and dried her eyes, hoping to conceal at least some of her distress. The last thing she needed now was to draw the attention of someone who would ask a lot of questions. She straightened out her dress before opening the door. It didn’t help much but allowances could be made, she was having a rough night. 

In the hall she turned her head to the right and then the left. It was empty, no patrolling guards, no staggering drunks trying to find the proper door, she was alone. She breathed a sigh of relief. 

Guilt bubbled up within her. She shouldn’t be doing this. She should wait until the morning. It was early morning and any reasonable person in the castle was sleeping. She knew that, she knew, but knocked anyway because she was selfish and desperate. She couldn’t carry the burden of what Arya told her alone. 

While she waited for someone to answer her stomach rolled and she was nearly sick. Could she turn back? Should she? Probably, but…

The door opened, ending any thoughts of retreat. “Daenerys, are you alright?”

“No,” she admitted. 

“What’s happening?”

“I need your help,” she said as she fought the desire to crumple into a ball and sob. 

“What’s wrong?”

Nothing about this had been easy, but the hardest words she had to utter were these two. “It’s Arya,” she confessed. 

That was all Missandei needed, she stepped out into the hall, forcing Daenerys to move back to accommodate her. She didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the fact that she was wearing only a robe. Before she closed the door, she spoke in Valyrian to her lover. “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

She felt bad enough when she thought she’d be waking them, but to realize they were awake and likely busy before she interrupted made everything worse. It wasn’t uncommon for Grey Worm to spend the night in the handmaiden’s quarters. He had a bed in one of the barracks with the rest of the Unsullied, but there was no privacy there, even for a soldier of his rank. Missandei was afforded a small room just down the hall from Daenerys’s and she didn’t mind sharing with her lover. It had been a closet once, before it was emptied out so Missandei would never be too far from the Princess she served. It was an arrangement Daenerys never needed to take advantage of before. 

“I’m sorry,” she said as her tears started again. “I shouldn’t have…” Turning away she was stopped by Missandei gripped her arm, locking her in place. She mustered up another attempt. “Go back to Grey Worm and I’ll see you in the morning.” When her friend didn’t appear convinced, she added, “It can wait until then.” 

“Come.” Missandei gestured. Her hand left Daenerys’s wrist, but only to take her hand. She escorted Daenerys back to her chambers. 

“You don’t…” she stopped, knowing Missandei wouldn’t be swayed. She bypassed all others and went to her strongest argument. “Grey Worm will…”

“Grey Worm will understand, he’s about to fall asleep anyway,” Missandei finished for her. Daenerys didn’t know if she was lying to spare her or if it was true, but it didn’t change much either way. She was undeserving of a friend like Missandei. She remained with Daenerys even after the Princess offered the slave her freedom. She stayed when she didn’t need to, because she was loyal, good, and kind. It made her the obvious choice when Daenerys needed to confide in someone. It made her a horrible friend, dumping her problems on Missandei like this, but who else could she rely on? 

“What’s this about Arya?” Missandei asked gently. As she spoke, she closed and locked the door. The audible click was enough to make her dizzy, even from several feet away. What was happening to her? 

She didn’t miss how dark eyes swept the room, searching for the woman who was missing. “She’s not here,” Daenerys confirmed, feeling a mixture of sadness and anger. 

“Okay. She was when I left,” Missandei noted as she guided Daenerys to a seat. 

They sat together in the rapidly darkening room. Daenerys tried to find the right words to explain everything that happened. “You know that secret Arya has been talking about the last couple of days?”

“She never mentioned it to me,” Missandei informed her. Daenerys was immediately dejected. So much for hoping they could skip to the important parts. She’d need to start at the beginning. “You spoke of it however,” Missandei said, ending Daenerys’s panic as abruptly as it began. “Did she tell you what it was?”

“Yes.” Arya had definitely told her. 

“And is that why she isn’t here?”

“Yes,” she said again. 

“What was the secret?” Missandei pushed gently. 

She hesitated and hated herself for it. Why was she behaving like this? She already knew. The damage was done. Once she started speaking the words rushed out with limited pauses between them. “She’s not a Sand, she’s not a bastard, she’s not from Dorne at all!”

“She’s not? How is that possible?”

“Her name is Arya… Stark,” she confessed as her crying intensified. She somehow managed to sound much more composed than she felt, a monumental achievement all things considered. 

It took several moments for Daenerys to notice and understand Missandei’s lack of comprehension. If she’d been thinking clearly, she would have remembered telling Missandei about the secret Arya had to share and she would have known the name ‘Stark’ wouldn’t mean anything to the foreign-born woman. Missandei knew little about Westerosi history, she didn’t know who the Starks were, and couldn’t grasp the significance of Arya admitting to being one of them. Daenerys wished she could be oblivious too. 

“The Starks are traitors,” she explained, “years ago, the Starks joined with another house and tried to steal the throne from my father. It was in the final battle that Rhaegar’s legs were injured.”

“What happened to them? These Starks?”

It was only natural for Missandei to have questions. This one however made her stop and think. What had happened to the Starks? She was a young girl, but even so, her father still called her to the throne room on occasion. She told Missandei what she remembered. “After the war Arya’s father returned home and served as Warden in the North for a few more years, then my father replaced him with another Northern Lord more loyal.” She cringed as she pictured the Flayed Man on the Bolton sigil, it never failed to make her skin crawl. 

“So, they resettled in Dorne?” Missandei assumed. 

“I don’t know.” A memory surfaced of a passionate Arya speaking about her life, ‘sent to Dorne to live as a foster,’ was the phrase she used. “I don’t think so, she said she is a foster.”

“What is a foster?” 

Again, she paused. For a long moment she struggled to think of the right way to explain such an unusual idea. “It’s like a forced adoption,” she generalized. She could see Missandei didn’t understand, so she kept going. “If a nobleman’s crimes are so evil that he is ruled unfit to raise his children, they are taken from him and sent to another family to be raised, usually in another kingdom.” 

“How horrible,” Missandei commented, looking as offended as her words would suggest. 

“It isn’t meant to be,” Daenerys defended, “it’s so the children have the chance to grow up untainted by their birth families.” As she spoke, she knew she wasn’t providing Missandei with a fair representation. Fostering may have begun as a selfless practice but in the centuries since it had developed into a tool used by nobles to punish one another. For a second time she was reminded of something Arya told her in their heated exchange, she ‘spent years in the Water Gardens scrubbing chamber pots and washing bed sheets.’ Obviously, Prince Doran hadn’t concerned himself with giving Arya a proper example to learn from, instead he chose to saddle her with the life of a servant. That suggested the reason she was made a foster was retribution, but who would seek to harm Arya? She wasn’t even born when her father tried to overthrow the King. Perhaps the Boltons seized power and sent Arya away as a show of force. As her thoughts wandered, she knew she was leaving out one likely culprit. Arya had feared her father, said her family was destroyed in her castle, so did that mean Aerys was responsible? Did he send her away? 

“Still,” Missandei maintained, “it sounds cruel for the child, regardless of the reasons.”

Daenerys could agree with that. “Yeah I’m sure it is.” She pictured a young Arya scrubbing chamber pots and felt sympathy. 

“Is being a foster shameful, more shameful than being a bastard? She took the name Sand willingly, I do not understand why she would.”

Missandei was right, as she typically was. “She feared my father would kill her,” she said as the urge to vomit threatened again. 

“Would he?” 

That was the question, wasn’t it? If her father did send Arya to Dorne, if he did destroy her family as Arya claimed, was that not enough? Would he demand more from the Northern girl? She wanted to rush to her father’s defense, to insist Aerys was not capable of harming an innocent woman, but Daenerys knew better. Her father had no problem with killing, she’d seen it, and women and children were not spared his wrath. Had it been anyone else asking and Daenerys probably would have danced around the issue and replied with some vague half-truth, but with Missandei she could be honest. “I think so,” she acknowledged, avoiding the concerned gaze aimed at her. “Father hates the Starks and blames them for what happened to Rhaegar.” 

“Arya’s father led this revolt then?” Missandei summarized, seeking confirmation. 

“He did, along with another man, Robert Baratheon.”

“Does your father hate this Robert as well?”

“He’s dead,” Daenerys remarked without feeling. “He was killed in the battle where Rhaegar was hurt.” 

Missandei pondered that for a time and then said, “You said earlier it was the final battle in the war.” 

“It was.” 

“If that’s true then perhaps Arya’s father was not the leader you think him to be. If he was an equal partner, why did he not continue fighting after his friend was killed?”

She didn’t have an answer to that. She was a child then, there was a lot about the war she didn’t know. Was it possible Ned Stark gave up because he saw he couldn’t win? Yes, but it was also possible that Missandei had a valid point and he wasn’t leading anything. All she knew for certain was that Robert was killed, Rhaegar nearly was, and when the rebels disbanded their army the Stark returned to the North. Anything else would be pure speculation on Daenerys’s part. “I don’t know.” 

Accepting Daenerys’s lack of knowledge, Missandei moved on. “Do you blame Arya for lying? If the King would have killed her, aren’t you glad she lied?” 

Angry and hurt as she was, she didn’t wish Arya dead. Still, the lie hurt. Her heart didn’t care about her motives or her intent, it only concerned itself with the end result, and for Daenerys that was pain. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, one more time. She didn’t want Arya killed, but she was unwilling to forgive. The wound was still too fresh. 

“Don’t you though?” Missandei challenged. “When the King was going to kill Arya for refusing him, you spoke up to save her life. You didn’t plan to, you hadn’t considered the consequences, you just did it, in the heat of that moment. How you felt then is likely how Arya felt when the King asked her name.” 

Another thing Arya said popped into her mind as Missandei compared their circumstances. ‘I never wanted to lie to you, only him.’ “Maybe.” 

“Did she lie about anything else?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated bitterly. Missandei was trying to help and Daenerys was being difficult. She amended her statement, offering up a little more, “She said she didn’t, but how can I believe her?” 

“Did she ask you to believe her?”

“Not exactly,” Daenerys recalled. 

“What did she say?” Missandei prodded when Daenerys provided nothing further. 

“She said to trust myself, to trust my instincts.” 

“And?” Missandei asked pointedly. 

“And nothing?!” Daenerys erupted. “She lied to me. She lied to us. We were her friends. I care about her, I wanted her to…” She stopped short of revealing everything she wanted Arya to be a part of, but Missandei already knew. “I don’t know if I can get passed that.”

Missandei’s kind face hardened a bit but she didn’t dispute Daenerys’s feelings. She just posed another of those questions the Princess wasn’t prepared for. “Will you tell your father?”

Maybe it was naïve, but she hadn’t considered telling anyone, other than Missandei. Arya hadn’t asked her not to, but that wasn’t the same as wanting everyone to know. If Daenerys shared Arya’s secrets it would undoubtedly lead to her death Would she be required to be there? Could she sit and watch as Arya died by her father’s hand or on his order? After a night filled with so many unanswerable questions, this one came easy. No. No, she couldn’t let Arya be murdered like that. Her lie may have ruined their relationship, but it didn’t merit death. “No, I’ll keep her secret, and I’ll ask you to do the same.” 

Missandei nodded, a solemn expression on her face. “Not a word,” she vowed. 

They sat in the quiet room and somehow it was more uncomfortable than Missandei’s soft spoken, deep-reaching questions. She scrubbed her hands down her face and groaned. How had this night gotten so fucked up? She was supposed to be spending her first night with Arya and now she didn’t even know if they were still friends. What had gone wrong? Without removing her hands from her face, she called out to Missandei in need. “What do I do?”

“What do you want to do?” 

Though it sounded quite simple, it wasn’t. In the moment Arya’s lie seemed insurmountable, but now she wasn’t sure. Missandei’s perspective helped a great deal. Daenerys wasn’t ashamed to admit that she never would have seen the similarities between Arya lying to save her life and Daenerys defending her for the same reason, if Missandei hadn’t drawn her attention to it. Was wanting not to die such a crime? She already decided she didn’t want Arya harmed. She wasn’t going to tell her father, or Rhaegar or anyone else, but there was a lot more yet to be resolved. Could they get back to how it had been? Did Daenerys even want to? Could she care about Arya Stark the way she did the non-existent Arya Sand? 

Missandei had more. “It’s understandable you were hurt by this,” she began, “anyone would be. I think even Arya understands why you’re angry, but what matters most is what you do next.”

“You’re right,” Daenerys agreed. She reflected on all the times Arya feared her secret would unravel them, and how Daenerys readily reassured her. Arya had been trying to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. With a jolt she heard Arya’s parting words in her ears. ‘I’ll never regret telling you the truth.’ Why was that? Why tell her anything? She didn’t have to, doing so was an incredible risk. 

“Only you can decide. Arya says you should listen to yourself and I agree with her. Do that now,” the handmaiden encouraged, “what do you want to do? You have many options.” To prove it she began listing them. “You could forgive Arya or send her back to Dorne. If you asked the Prince for help, I think he’d rename Jorah your guard, and we both know the knight would welcome it.” 

She didn’t doubt that. Jorah would love it, and Rhaegar would be equally thrilled, but what would become of Arya? What would people say if they learned Daenerys replaced her? Would it damage her standing as a soldier? The easiest solution would be to send her back to Sunspear under some pretense and be done with it, so why couldn’t she get the words out? “She’d be happier there,” she said to justify what she was contemplating. In truth, it was cruel asking Arya to stay if she had bad memories of the castle. 

Even without context Missandei had no trouble keeping pace. She knew where, there’ was without being told. “Perhaps, but I don’t think she’s as eager to return as she once was.”

Hearing that, she had to wonder if Missandei knew more about Arya’s feelings than she did. “Why do you say that?”

With an indulgent smile Missandei clarified her meaning. “She cares for you. I know you’re too upset to see that right now, and that’s fine, but it’s true.” 

“She lied to me!” Daenerys reminded her fiercely, as if the handmaiden had forgotten why they were there. “She lied, so how can I believe anything she says? How do I know if you’re right?” By the end it was less angry outburst and more desperate plea. She needed to know how to decide if Arya could be believed. She needed to know if she cared, or if it was all some twisted game? She couldn’t rely on Arya to be honest, and Daenerys was too confused to be helpful, her emotions were chaotic, swinging from one extreme to the other before going back again. This left Missandei as the lone voice of reason. Daenerys was counting on her to guide her to the right path. 

“She lied,” Missandei admitted, holding up one finger on her right hand. “Did she lie about anything else? Did she ever do anything hurtful or harmful, did she offend you or belittle you?”

Why was she asking? She already knew the answer, she was there for most of it. She tried to communicate with a stare but Missandei refused to budge, demanding Daenerys reply aloud. “No.”

“Okay, how about good things? Did Arya ever make you smile, or do something nice for you? Did she give you a gift, or support you when you needed it?”

Just like last time, Missandei already knew. Yes, Arya had done all of those things for her and so many more. “I get it Missandei,” she said with an exaggerated huff of annoyance. “I understand what you’re saying, but I still don’t know if I can forgive her.”

“I’m not saying you should,” she clarified, “that is up to you, only you know how you feel. I’m simply saying that one mistake shouldn’t make you forget all the good.” Daenerys already told her that she got the message, but Missandei wasn’t done. “I wouldn’t want to be judged only on my mistakes, and you wouldn’t either. Don’t we owe Arya the same courtesy?”

Although she said ‘we’, Daenerys knew she meant ‘you.’ Daenerys’s past was littered with errors, poor choices, missteps and stupidity, how would she feel if that was all people saw, all people considered when they decided who she was? It would be unfair, but what Missandei failed to account for was that not all moments were equal. One significant mistake could undo a lifetime of good deeds. She didn’t know if Arya’s lie qualified as significant, or if it erased all the good she brought into Daenerys’s life, but it was enough to give her doubts. She tried to express her jumble of conflicted emotions. “I care about her, I wanted to be with her, but her lie wasn’t small, it wasn’t meaningless, who she is, where she comes from, it matters.” 

“If she hadn’t lied would you have a problem being with Arya?”

“What do you mean?” She didn’t follow Missandei’s logic. If Arya didn’t lie, then she wouldn’t be here. The realization was shocking. She accepted that her father wouldn’t have been merciful if Arya told him the truth in the Water Gardens but she didn’t allow her mind to venture beyond that point. She didn’t consider how different her life would be if Arya was removed. With all of the memories Missandei dug up still there, she thought about all that wouldn’t have happened without Arya. There were big things, like Harvest Time, receiving plans for her ship, and meeting her niece and nephew, but there were just as many simple, deeply personal moment too, like each and every kiss they shared, or watching Arya stand up to Tywin. It was Arya and no one else that convinced Rhaegar to let her leave the keep. All the days they spent in the city, all the memories they made at the port, the orphanage or just wandering through the market, she would have missed out on it all if Arya had been killed the day they met. She would have missed it all if Arya didn’t lie. 

Unaware of her revelations, Missandei continued trying to work through the problem. “If she just said she was Arya and not Arya Sand, would you be upset? It wouldn’t have been a lie.”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, still reeling over where her racing thoughts had carried her. “I guess not, but she didn’t say her name was Arya, she said she was Arya Sand.”

“You said that a lot tonight,” Missandei noted. “;I don’t know,’ you’ve said that many times.”

She definitely had, but she didn’t see what that had to do with anything. “And?”

“Whether you send her away or not, Arya won’t be in King’s Landing forever. By your own admission there is a lot you don’t know, a lot of questions you still have, would it not be better to get the answers while you still can?” 

“Can I? Can I believe anything she says?”

“I don’t know,” Missandei retorted, smirking as she used those three words to illicit a reaction. They did. Daenerys chuckled and shook her head. They returned to the serious topics before them. “I don’t know if it’ll change anything, but I know you should talk. She heard you out after Daario, do the same for her.” 

“What are you suggesting?”

“Talk to her,” Missandei recommended, “when you’re not angry, when you are ready to listen Ask her all the questions you have, tell her how you feel and learn how she feels. You can decide what to believe or if it changes anything later, but first you need to know everything. If our friendship was going to end, I’d want to be certain the both of us did everything we could to try and save it before we let it go. You’ll regret not giving Arya the same chance, I think.” 

She was tempted to say she knew everything she needed to, but with all the things Arya had done for her still trapped in her head, her frustrations dulled. Add to that Missandei’s comment about Daario and Daenerys knew what she needed to do. Dornish or Northern, Arya had done enough good to earn a few more minutes of the Princess’s time. She couldn’t promise it would change anything, but it would probably benefit the both of them to finish what they’d started. 

“Okay,” Daenerys relented. 

“Okay?” she repeated, skeptical of what she meant by it. 

“You’re right, she was my friend once, maybe she still is, I don’t know, but I’ll never find out if we don’t talk about it.” 

Her goodbye to Missandei was quick, littered with gratitude and apologies. She still wasn’t happy that she’d interrupted their night and stole Missandei away from her lover, but the handmaiden provided wisdom and perspective Daenerys couldn’t get elsewhere. She listened to Daenerys, didn’t dismiss her opinions and asked the right questions to help her think beyond the anger and hurt. She’d find a way to thank Missandei for this – maybe she could arrange another few days away for her and Grey Worm, -- she wasn’t sure, but she’d think of something. 

Alone again, the bed was calling. She was exhausted. She was halfway there when her shuffling feet stopped, and she closed her eyes. Going to sleep with so much unresolved felt wrong, but she didn’t know if she was strong enough to endure the conversation they needed to have. 

The excuses she’d need to justify waiting came quickly. Arya was probably sleeping, talking to her now would involve sneaking into the barracks and getting past dozens of Unsullied to find her bed and wake her up. Even if she could do all that there was no guarantee that Arya wanted to talk to her. She could refuse to answer Daenerys’s questions. If that happened, there was little the Targaryen could do to compel her. 

She got another couple of feet closer before she stopped again. Would Arya really send her away? Would she hold a grudge? Seconds before she gave Arya the benefit of the doubt, she was reminded that the Arya she cared about wasn’t real. Arya Sand, the one Daenerys was beginning to fall for, she would never act vindictively, but a Stark, who knew what she would do? 

Around and around she went in a never-ending cycle. She could know how Arya felt unless she asked her, but if she did ask, how could she trust the answers? Arya insisted her only lie was her name and that everything that came after was genuine. In the hours since Arya spilled her secret, Daenerys gave up on the idea that Arya came to harm her. She was right when she said she had plenty of chances if that was her intention. She wasn’t ready to admit this to her guard yet, but she could say it to herself. She’d been wrong when she accused Arya of being everything Rhaegar said she was. She didn’t come for revenge, so why did she come? She claimed it was to protect Daenerys, and all other things aside, she’d done that. She saved Missandei and Daenerys in the desert, she saved Missandei on the street, why would the daughter of a traitor do that? 

Huffing in frustrated exhaustion she threw up her hands. The questions would still be there in the morning. She removed her dress and left it where it fell. She took off her bracelets and dropped them next to the silk. She’d clean the mess in the morning, for now she wanted to sleep. 

Safely in bed under the covers she expected oblivion would come quickly. She yearned for a dreamless sleep where she didn’t have to think about any of this. With her eyes closed, she counted her breaths and waited for the nothingness. She rolled over onto her other side, hoping the change of position would help. It didn’t. 

For nearly an hour she fought to find peace, growing more agitated the longer it evaded her. The change happened when she rolled onto her back, an uncommon position for her to try to sleep. As the back of her head pressed directly into the pillow, she felt it. Immediately she rolled toward the nearest candle to get a measure of light and then she reached up for the ribbon in her hair. The grey silk had been a gift from Arya, binding for the plans of her ship. Missandei was the one who thought to put it in her hair and Daenerys had worn it since. In addition to being cute, she used it to show Arya how special she thought it was, not only the gift she received, but the woman who gave it to her. That had been hours earlier, not years, and yet so much had changed. 

She reached to untie the ribbon and free her hair, but her hand stilled before it found the knot. What was she doing? Her talk with Arya couldn’t wait, it was bad enough she let her leave when she did. She should have stopped her then, yelled until she could think and then conversed like an adult. Missandei was right, she did have questions and she wasn’t going to lay them to rest in this bed alone. 

Her body tried to caution her against her new plan. She was yawning before she had her dress back on, but she didn’t care. This needed to happen. She’d suffer tiredness tomorrow if necessary, as long as she had some clarity. 

R-C

She put the sword down on the bench next to her long ago. It wasn’t going to get any sharper than it was. She considered walking to the Godswood to say some prayers, but she wasn’t motivated enough to move. King’s Landing didn’t have an authentic heart tree anyway, so she didn’t think she’d find what she craved there. She didn’t need to kneel amongst the trees to pray, if that was a requirement, she would have stopped the practice after leaving Winterfell. No one in Dorne worshiped the Old Gods that she did. She decided she’d think of her family right where she was, right in front of the barracks. It was as good a place as any. She abandoned the bench and knelt in the dirt. Her parents, her brothers, her sister. She prayed for safety, for the ones who still needed it, she prayed for peace for the ones who were already gone. She asked that someone far greater than her watch over those who remained. She apologized for the girl she’d been and begged for forgiveness for her many mistakes. Those words were mainly for her sister. She and Sansa hadn’t gotten along very well as girls. They didn’t enjoy the same things or share the same friends. They were as different as any two sisters could be, but Arya loved her. and she wished she told her so more often. In fact. as they left Winterfell for the last time she and Sansa were in a fight. It was petty and childish, and they would’ve gotten past it, if only they had more time. Sansa had encouraged her friends to call Arya names, so in retaliation Arya refused to speak to her. She held the grudge the entire way to the capital, right up until it didn’t matter anymore and by then it was too late. She didn’t get to say goodbye or tell Sansa she forgave her, she didn’t get to say anything. They were separated, two Starks going to two different kingdoms. Kneeling in the dirt she tried to mend things between her and her lost sister, fearing it could be her final chance. Once that was done, she moved on to their parents. “I hope you know that I always tried to make you proud,” she said, no longer content only thinking the words. “I wasn’t successful all the time, or even often, but I never wanted to dishonor you or our family. I tried to be a good person, to do the right things, like you would want me to. I remember everything you taught me. I’ll see you soon.”

She stood up and dusted off her knees. She was already eying the bench when she heard someone behind her. She turned as the woman spoke, “That was beautiful, who were you talking to?”

Arya’s heart may have stopped in her chest, but it made up for the pause by doubling in speed. Daenerys was here? Why had she come? She was nervous, her smile was forced, and her hands were folded in front of her. Tension was radiating off of her like the rays of a midday sun, but she appeared unharmed, so why seek the guard out? She’d been furious when she learned who Arya really was, and she didn’t think that changed in the hours since. 

Greedily she stared openly at the Princess. She was pale and had been crying, the redness around her eyes gave her away, but she remained the epitome of beauty in Arya’s opinion. 

“What were you doing?” she asked, working to keep her voice from sounding too loud or harsh. 

“Saying goodbye to my family,” she admitted freely. Daenerys knew she was a Stark, she had no more reason to lie. 

She raised an eyebrow and took a look around the yard. “You were speaking to yourself, were you not?”

Gone was the anger from earlier, now when she spoke, Arya heard the curiosity she had come to admire in Daenerys. She always wanted to learn, to understand, she was fascinated by anything new, and eager to soak up any knowledge she could. “Talking to the dead requires prayer Princess, I know no other way to do it.”

Arya couldn’t make sense of the emotions she saw cross Daenerys’s face. She was surprised, then pained and lastly saddened. “They are dead?”

Was a Targaryen seriously asking a Stark that? “Most of them, as I’m sure you know.”

Daenerys was immediately defensive, putting her hand on one hip. “And how would I know that?”

“Because they died here Daenerys!” she snapped, turning away before she said something she’d regret. 

With her back to the royal she heard a sob. “They did?” 

Daenerys was a lot of things, but cruel wasn’t one of them. She wouldn’t track Arya down and inquire about her family, if she already knew what became of them. It wasn’t all that surprising, the Targaryen empire was built on dead enemies and buried secrets, and more than a few of them involved Starks. Since arriving in King’s Landing Arya came to realize that lies were as valid a currency as gold dragons to those who held power. Everyone was lying to someone about something and being lied to in return. Rhaegar was lying to Aemon about who his mother was and where he came from, but he was also being lied to by Aerys, who told his son the Starks were dead. Daenerys never being told about what happened to her family wasn’t all that unpredictable. 

Arya was at a crossroads. She had a choice to make. If they continued this conversation, she would need to tell Daenerys everything. She held back before, to spare her, to avoid damaging one of the good relationships she had, but that wouldn’t be possible if they kept going. If Daenerys wanted answers, Arya would need to go all the way back to the beginning, to Lyanna and Rhaegar and it would have repercussions for the Princess. Could she do that? Should she? 

She turned back and found Daenerys standing much closer than she had been. She didn’t need to wonder anymore everything was visible in her eyes. “You really didn’t know, how is that possible?”

“Will… Will you tell me?” she asked softly. 

She countered with, “Do you really want to know?” Before Daenerys could respond, she elaborated. “There is history between your family and mine, most of it bad. I have no more lies for you Daenerys, I meant what I said, everything that came after my name was the truth. If you want to hear the whole story, I’ll tell it, but there are reasons your brother and your father don’t talk about it.”

“What do you mean?” Daenerys fired back, getting agitated. “What does Rhaegar have to do with this, I thought you feared my father would kill you?”

“They probably would have argued over who got the privilege,” Arya quipped sarcastically before she got to the main point. “Rhaegar has everything to do with it; Robert, the rebellion, why it started, what happened to my family, all of it.”

“I don’t understand,” she confessed. 

“I can tell you why Rhaegar refuses to discuss Aemon’s mother. I can give you her name, but only if you want it.”

Her anger gone again, she was too wide eyed and bright for the early hour. “Of course I want to hear that, why wouldn’t I? Aemon’s been dying to know for years.”

“Perhaps the lie is better for him that the truth,” she proposed. 

“He doesn’t lie,” Daenerys corrected, “he just doesn’t speak about her.” 

“I can, if you want me to,” she offered, “but I need to warn you, it’s not a happy tale. Your family and mine have many reasons to hate, on both sides.” She stopped and let that sink in. “I’ll be gone soon,” whether it was Dorne or dead, she didn’t know, that depended almost entirely on Daenerys. 

“Why does that matter?”

“It matters because once you know the truth it may change how you look at your brother, your father, his Small Council, it may change a lot and I don’t want to do that unless you’re sure.”

“What are you saying?” Daenerys shouted, angry again. She was tiring of the riddles, but Arya was trying to do right, trying to give her a choice. 

“I’m saying most of what you know about my family, about what happened to us, about why it happened, it’s all lies Daenerys. Your brother and your father lied to you, lied to Aemon and everyone else. I’ll tell you the truth, all of it, if you want it, but you can say no.”

“No?” she repeated, like she didn’t understand the meaning. 

“You can tell your father who I am, and I’ll take what I know to my grave in the throne room. You could tell Rhaegar and he’d probably run me through himself. If you don’t tell them, I could hold my tongue until I got back on the ship and you’d never see me again. What I know will be painful to hear, so maybe you shouldn’t. You’ve had enough pain Daenerys I don’t want to give you more.”

“That’s not for you to decide, it’s not for my father to decide or Rhaegar. I can make my own decisions!” she roared, never more of a Dragon to Arya than right then. They were probably waking the sleeping Unsullied, but she trusted none would come to investigate. 

“Yes, you can,” she agreed, “which is why I want you to think about it, really think. Is the truth worth all you stand to lose?” 

“If what you’re saying is true, I’ve been lied to my whole life, about Aemon, the war, I need to know what happened. I can’t know how I feel, until I hear everything.” 

“Fine.” A part of her knew as soon as she gave Daenerys the chance to learn about Aemon’s mother, she wouldn’t refuse it. She held out her hand and then pulled it back, aware she probably didn’t hold too much warmth for the soldier right now. “Let’s go speak somewhere private, where we won’t be bothered.”

Determined to see her choice through to the end, Daenerys squared her shoulders and nodded stiffly. “After you.”

R-C

They found an unused bedroom and locked the door. Before they got that far, Daenerys stopped by her chambers and left a note explaining where she’d gone. She didn’t want Missandei to worry when she discovered her missing. It was a sentiment Arya not only agreed with, but respected. 

They sat down, Arya on the end of the bed, Daenerys in a nearby chair. She got right to it. “Who is Aemon’s mother?” 

“To understand that, you need to go back to the beginning.” She took a deep breath and steeled herself for the painful memories she was going to unleash. “Why were you told Robert Baratheon went to war against your family?”

“He wanted the throne,” Daenerys answered immediately. “He wanted to usurp my father and take his place. He wanted to be King.”

“Why though?” Arya pressed. “Why? Why then? Do you know what made him act?” 

Daenerys as unimpressed by the question. “Money, power, greed, lands, titles, the throne, the list was probably endless.” 

“For other men it might’ve been, but Robert Baratheon wasn’t motivated by any of that. He fought the war, and ultimately died, for her.”

“Who?”

“Lyanna Stark, my aunt, and Aemon’s mother.”

The revelation about Aemon’s mother overshadowed everything else for a moment. Daenerys smiled, as anyone would after finally finding a piece of a puzzle she’d been searching years for. It didn’t last. however. “Your aunt? How did my brother and your aunt know one another?”

“They didn’t really.” She stopped there and decided to give Daenerys one final escape route. “We can stop here,” she said, “I told you what you really wanted to know, is it enough?”

“We haven’t talked about you yet,” Daenerys replied, after giving the question some consideration. “If there is more about you, about what happened and why you lied, I need to hear it. I need to understand, or…”

“Or?”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to forgive you.”

Arya was touched forgiveness was even a possibility given everything. She wouldn’t hold her breath waiting for it, but it was a nice dream to have. “Are you sure?” she verified. 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she snapped. 

“I’ll always worry about you Daenerys, always.”

The anger melted from her face and she looked like the Daenerys who had smiled most of the day until Arya’s admission upended everything. “You can tell me. I want to know.”

“My father was Lyanna’s brother,” she explained. “As a boy he was raised with Robert Baratheon, they were friends, close as kin even. When they came of age, Robert went to Storm’s End, and my father returned to Winterfell. He wasn’t a Lord then he was a second-born son. He had an elder brother who would rule after their father.” 

She could see the questions burning in Daenerys’s eyes, so she nodded to encourage her to voice one. “Your father was Lord of Winterfell, I remember that much. When I was a girl, he was the Warden wasn’t he?”

“He was,” she confirmed, picturing her father in her mind. “Before we get to that, you asked me how your brother and my aunt met, right?” 

“Mmhmm,” she hummed. 

“By all accounts, they met at the tourney at Harrenhal. Your brother won the joust and was given a wreath of flowers to celebrate his victory. According to what I heard, he bypassed Elia who was sitting in plain view and gave the prize to Lyanna instead.” 

“Really?” Daenerys checked. “How do you know it’s true?”

“That’s how my father said it happened, and Oberyn and Elia spoke of it the same way.” She wasn’t at all bothered by Daenerys’s lack of belief. 

“So, they met then and began an affair?”

“No,” Arya said quietly. This was going to be difficult, but she promised she wouldn’t lie to Daenerys again, and the Princess claimed she wanted the truth. “Lyanna was pledged to Robert, they were going to be married.” 

“If that’s true,” Daenerys began, taking the time to put the pieces together, “then how is Aemon here?”

She swallowed hard. She wanted to go to Daenerys and comfort her, but she would be unwelcome. “Not long after the tourney, Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna.”

Suddenly Daenerys was on her feet. “No!” she yelled. “My brother would never do such a thing. He wouldn’t.”

Arya waited patiently for Daenerys to calm down. She remained standing with her arms crossed over her chest, defiantly staring at the accusing Stark. “Lyanna disappeared and after everything that happened, people began to whisper that your brother had a hand in it. My grandfather Rickard Stark and his heir Brandon rode for King’s Landing, they requested an audience with Rhaegar. Aside from the rumors there was no evidence against your brother, so they went to ask him directly.” 

“What happened?” Daenerys asked warily, lowering herself back into her chair. 

“He wasn’t in the capital when they arrived, but your father was. He invited them in and greeted them,” she said, starting with the tolerable parts. “They asked their questions, things grew heated and your father ordered them executed.” That telling was bad enough, there was no reason Daenerys needed to hear the cruel way her grandfather and uncle were killed. It wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Daenerys.

“What?” she asked after a loud gasp. 

“He was probably lost in his madness,” Arya said, making allowances for the Mad King to try and spare his daughter grief. Arya chose to believe Aerys was in a fit when he killed them, because it was easier to comprehend than a fully rational man doing what he did. “No one knows for sure, maybe he took offense when they suggested Rhaegar knew what happened, maybe it was something else, either way, they both died that day, and my father became the Lord of Winterfell.” 

Daenerys nodded, clearly connecting that fact with her earlier question. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“It’s alright.” 

Daenerys wasn’t so quick to let herself off the hook. “I got angry when you told me you lied to me, but I didn’t let you explain yourself. If I had, maybe we could have avoided all this.” 

“It’s okay,” Arya assured her. “I’m okay, and you’re okay.” She took another break, giving Daenerys time to truly take in the information being presented. “Do you want to stop?”

“I want to hear about you, about what happened to you, how you ended up in Dorne and what happened to your family. You said it happened here.”

With a stoic nod, she confirmed it did. “I will tell you anything you want to know, I promise, but what happened to me and my family won’t make sense until you know everything that came before.” 

“Okay,” Daenerys said looking pained. She couldn’t tell if it was what she’d already heard that upset her or what she feared was yet to come. 

“Word of the executions spread quickly and people all across Westeros took it as proof. To them, there was no need to kill a father and son seeking a missing woman unless he had something to hide. People assumed your father murdered them to protect Rhaegar. Not long after, Robert and my father met. They still wanted Lyanna back, but they knew they wouldn’t be able to defeat the Targaryen armies alone, so they gathered allies.”

“This part I know.”

“All the Northern Houses joined my father, as well as most of those from the Stormlands. Much of the Riverlands too.”

“Why the Riverlands?” Daenerys asked, once again curious. 

Arya responded with a simple, “My mother was a Tully, and she was supposed to marry my Uncle Brandon. After his death the Starks and Tullys still bonded their houses, except they used my father in place of his brother.”

“Oh,” she muttered, clearly at a loss. Arya didn’t blame her. 

“It was after their wedding that they finally had a big enough army to give your father pause. They thought he might give them information about Lyanna to avoid a full-scale war, but he denied knowing anything, and claimed he hadn’t seen Rhaegar in months.”

She felt nothing but sympathy for Daenerys as she learned about a sordid part of her family’s history. “After that,” Arya continued, “it was war. They fought small battles and large battles, winning some and losing others. My father said he feared it would never end, but then word reached them that Rhaegar had been spotted with his armies. Days later a courier arrived with a note saying the Prince and his men would be on the field at the Trident waiting for them.”

“They went.” 

“They did, but on the way Jorah Mormont defected.”

“I know,” Daenerys confessed. “He gave my father information about Robert’s army and they used it to win the battle, and the war. What happened after? To you, to your father?”

“He went back to Winterfell, to my mother, who by then had given birth to their first son, my brother Robb. The King decreed that all the houses who joined Robert would pay an increased tax to the throne, and slowly things settled. It wasn’t perfect, Robert was dead, Lyanna was still gone, but the army disbanded, and people returned to their homes and lives.” 

“But they didn’t,” Daenerys disagreed, “if that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Father paid the higher tax each and every year, even when a large portion of it came from his inheritance. He thought it was over. Time passed and along with Robb, he had two more sons, Bran and Rickon as well as two daughters, Sansa and me.”

“A big family,” Daenerys remarked, gracing Arya with a slight smile. 

“It was. My days were spent chasing after my brothers, avoiding the Septa who insisted I learn to sew and getting reprimanded by my parents when I failed to match my sister’s impeccable handwriting. It was a good life,” she remembered fondly. “We had the North and to be honest we didn’t care much for what happened in the South. King’s Landing’s politics, which Lord was fighting with which, none of it mattered to us in Winterfell.”

“What changed?”

“The year I turned eight, a raven came, the King summoned all of us for a meeting,” she recounted, unable to keep the dread from her tone. 

R-C

Daenerys could not believe what she was hearing. She thought she lacked the ability to be surprised anymore but Arya proved her wrong again and again. Not only did she claim she knew who Aemon’s mother was, she gave a name. It was a member of Arya’s own family. 

She was hesitant to believe Rhaegar would kidnap a woman, but Arya’s story had so many details, and they matched well with the little pieces Daenerys had gathered over the years. She couldn’t point to any one claim and find fault. If it was a lie, she prepared well. It was elaborate and thought out, leaving Daenerys to fear there was more truth in it than she wanted to acknowledge. 

Arya had other things working in her favor also. How could she know Jorah deserted on his way to the Trident? She had to have heard it from someone who was there, someone like her father. Likewise, she didn’t seem surprised when Daenerys told her what Jorah traded to earn his position. She hadn’t been there on the day he bent the knee, so another source was the only thing that made sense. 

She saw the pain on Arya’s face when she spoke of her uncle and grandfather. It hurt Daenerys to know her father was the one to blame. They came for information about a missing woman, a missing daughter and sister, and her father responded with violence. Even if one of the Northmen accused Rhaegar directly, was there no other way? All too easily she could imagine her father killing at the slightest provocation. It chilled her. No wonder Arya feared him when their paths crossed in Dorne. 

Now they were reaching the part she’d been desperately awaiting. She needed to hear Arya’s story, not things that happened years before her birth. She needed to know what made Arya feel the lie was necessary. Only when she knew could Daenerys judge if it was reasonable. She couldn’t forgive or even accept Arya back into her life, unless she knew the whole story. They’d covered a lot already, but they weren’t finished yet. 

Her father summoned them? That matched with Arya’s statement that her family was destroyed in this castle, but why would he wait years? In that time, she remembered multiple rants where Aerys cursed Ned Stark and his family, always while letting him keep Winterfell and serve as Warden. 

“I was so scared,” Arya admitted to begin with, “my father told me not to be frightened and although I tried to obey him, I couldn’t. Every instinct I had told me to run the opposite way, I wish I had.”

“My father sent you to Dorne, didn’t he?” She already knew, a part of her had since Arya confessed to being a foster. She tried to rationalize it, to think of other people and less sinister reasons Arya might’ve gone to Sunspear but in her heart she knew who had done it and why. 

“He did, but I went last.”

“What do you mean ‘last?’”

Arya’s eyes looked as though she was staring at something far away, and Daenerys supposed she was, a distant past. “Your father ordered us to stand before him one by one. My father went first.”

She knew she had to get through this, for both their sakes, so she helped a little. “Did he kill your father?” It was a reasonable prediction and if it was true, she could spare Arya the anguish of having to say it. 

She laughed humorlessly. “No, he just stripped him of his lands, his titles, and had him pummelled by the Mountain while his wife and children watched, but he didn’t kill him.” 

Daenerys didn’t know what to say. Was it better that her father let Ned Stark live? It didn’t seem like a kindness, making his family witness his beating. She remembered how she felt when Arya was attacked at the gate and knew it would’ve been even more intense if she’d been forced to stand there, powerless to help. “I’m so sorry…”

She didn’t get to finish her apology. “My mother went next. I tried to grab her hand and keep her with me, but she went bravely, handing Rickon to my sister and then stepping forward, expecting much the same as her husband received.” 

Was it too late to go back and ask that they stop? She knew it was, but she wished it wasn’t. Daenerys had witnessed enough ‘trials’ to know how they happened. Her father screamed and yelled and whispered and blamed and the accused weren’t afforded the chance to defend themselves. It usually ended with a ruling of death and a barrel of wildfire. It was hard to imagine an eight year old girl having to suffer that. Knowing that the girl was Arya made it a more heinous crime to the Princess. If only she had been there. She stopped that thought quickly, fully aware that before Dorne, she had never managed to stand up to her father. She would hope that the sight of a family being brutalized would have motivated her to try, but she wasn’t confident. She’d allowed many other terrible things to take place without her objection, so could she really say Arya’s family would have been different?

“He had my mother kneeling before him, but he was speaking to my father, who had been dragged off to the side. He said, ‘Death is too good for you, you must suffer and only the living can truly know pain.’ Then he waved Ilyn Payne forward and instead of hitting her, he slit her throat.”

Daenerys felt sick. Killing a mother in front of her children was a reprehensible, unforgivable crime. She’d seen it done before, but nothing prepared her for seeing Arya’s grief. It nearly broke her. She cared about Arya and hearing her history made her ache for a way to fix it, or help, or comfort, but she couldn’t, not with so much unresolved between them. 

“Arya,” she tried again, intending to apologize, but Arya moved on to the next. 

“My brother Robb jumped forward when he saw Payne draw his sword. He wasn’t fast enough, but the King laughed. He said, ‘Don’t worry boy, you’ll get your turn soon enough.”’ 

“Gods, please stop,” Daenerys begged. The scene Arya was describing was very plausible, but that wasn’t what rattled her. It’s when she said he laughed that Daenerys knew every word she heard was accurate. That laugh haunted her dreams, tormenting her every time she heard it. It was sick and gleeful and devoid of any compassion or decency. 

“I’m sorry,” Arya said from the bed. “I didn’t tell you that to hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you, but you asked, and you’re owed the truth.” 

“It is the truth isn’t it?”

“Every word,” Arya declared with conviction. 

She came into this unsure of how she could trust anything Arya told her. Arya and Missandei both encouraged her to follow her instincts, and they were telling her to stay and listen no matter how difficult it became. She tried to appear more composed than she actually was. “Go on then, what happened to Robb?”

Arya bowed her head as she remembered. “He died on his feet, he was good with a sword, and quick but the guards took his weapons on the way in. He didn’t stand a chance, he had to know that, but he fought anyway. He died right next to our mother and then the King turned to my father and said, ‘You tried to kill my heir, now I’ve killed yours.’ He was the strongest man I’d ever known, brave and honorable and was the first time I saw him cry, as he looked past the King to the bodies of his wife and son. I’m sure he knew then what we all did, none of us were going to be okay.”

“Did no one stop him? What about the court, the audience, his advisors?” Daenerys listed off the people usually around her father, searching for someone who might rise up in defense of the family. “What about Rhaegar?”

“He wasn’t there,” Arya stated plainly. “Almost no one was. Littlefinger, the Spider, lots of guards, the pyromancer, Tywin, and a few others I didn’t know.”

“And no one tried to stop him?” 

“No one said a word,” she recalled bluntly. “Not a fucking word.”

As terrible as that was to hear, it would have been more shocking to learn someone on the Small Council actually spoke out against her father. Those things just didn’t happen. 

“Bran was next,” Arya said sombrely. “He was just a boy. He wasn’t a danger to anyone, but that didn’t matter. He made him kneel in the blood of the dead before looking to my father again. ‘You helped Baratheon break my son’s legs. You don’t know about his constant pain or how much it hurts me to see him struggle, but you will.’”

Daenerys was crying now, not even bothering to hide it. If ever there was a time for tears, it was now. “No,” she pleaded, covering her mouth with her hand. 

The grey eyes across from her were glassy. “They broke him with a hammer, and then laid him beside my father.” 

“Did he survive?” Daenerys needed to know. 

“He was alive when I got on the ship, a testament to his strength, but the damage was severe. I don’t know if he lasted much longer than that.”

“You don’t know?” 

“By the time I saw dry land again, I was in Dorne, thousands of miles away. I never saw any of them after that.” 

She could only imagine how difficult it would be, not only living through it but then beginning a new life far away. Arya’s distaste for the Red Keep and King’s Landing made much more sense now. “Okay, I understand, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…”

“I’m sorry too,” Arya said, her features softening. “It’s hard to talk about, but I’m not angry at you, I promise.”

No, just her father and her brother. Was that better somehow or worse? “Do you want to keep going?”

Equal parts of her hoped for different responses. She wouldn’t be sad when they could speak about something else, but she’d come this far, and wanted to finish. 

Apparently, Arya felt the same. “Rickon was next, he was just a baby. They took him from my sister’s arms and showed him to the King.”

Daenerys said a prayer that her father had enough mercy to spare the youngest son, but one look at Arya’s eyes told her that prayer would fall on deaf ears. “They killed him?” she said, again trying to save Arya the agony of having to utter the words. 

“The King said it was unfair for a traitor to have two living sons, he ranted and raved and said only Dragons were allowed two sons, and then he had Rickon burned.”

She couldn’t help it, she folded over and threw up into a wastebasket near her chair. As she emptied her stomach, she could vividly smell the mixture of wildfire and burning flesh. When she straightened, she’d made a life-altering decision. Her father was unfit to be King. She’d gone to Rhaegar and urged him to begin rallying support, but the time had come, they couldn’t wait anymore. Any man who would burn a baby to punish a father wasn’t fit to rule as far as Daenerys was concerned. Were they supposed to merely excuse his evil because he was born into the right family, because he was King? Daenerys was tired of justifying his behavior, tired of tolerating it, tomorrow she’d find Rhaegar and demand progress. 

“Are you okay?” Arya worried. 

“Not even a little bit,” she answered honestly. “You?”

Arya managed a momentary smirk. “I don’t think that is a word I’ll use for a while.”

Daenerys could relate to that. Everything she thought she knew was either an outright lie or a convenient half-truth. When she was brave enough, she spoke. “Then it was just you and your sister?”

“Yeah, he called Sansa up first.”

Poor Arya, having to go last, and witness everything that came before. She’d never liked her father’s version of justice, but she accepted it. She no longer defended him, but she didn’t think it was something that could change either. Now she knew silent disapproval wasn’t enough. Change was precisely what they needed. If he couldn’t change, then they needed to replace him with someone capable of it. Things couldn’t continue as they were. Too many of the King’s subjects had a story like Arya’s. 

“My sister is beautiful,” Arya said, surprising the Princess with her use of the present tense. Did that mean? “All my life I heard, ‘Why can’t you be more like Sansa, Sansa’s so pretty, Sansa’s so smart. I thought I hated her, but I know now what I really felt was envy. I didn’t want to be her, you couldn’t pay me to live the life of a Lady, but I envied how easy everything was for her. She was the perfect daughter and I couldn’t measure up. She could sew and write perfectly and when my efforts were compared, I had no hope of earning favor, eventually I stopped trying.” 

“Siblings fight,” she said. “It’s natural that you’d compare yourself to her.”

“When the King looked at her, he noticed what everyone else did, her beauty, and he claimed she reminded him of you,” Arya revealed.

“Me?”

Arya chuckled. “You look nothing alike, but he saw something in her, and it saved her life. He allowed her to be fostered.” 

This was great news, some of Arya’s family was still alive. “Where?” she demanded a little too intently. She caught hold of her emotions and corrected her tone and volume. “Where was she sent?”

“Highgarden.”

“The Tyrells,” Daenerys realized with a gasp. “Why didn’t you say anything? Lady Olenna was just here.”

“I know, I wanted to ask about Sansa, but I didn’t know how.” 

She was speaking without thinking, too pleased to have something other than pain and death to discuss. “She invited me to visit, we could go.” 

“We? I won’t be alive and if I am, I’ll be in Sunspear.”

Why would you…” She didn’t need to finish, she knew what Arya was thinking. “I’m not telling my father anything. He doesn’t need to know, Rhaegar neither. You’re my friend and what we say is private is no one’s business.” 

“Just us,” Arya said echoing something she said during their original fight. They savored the moment before Arya finished her story. “I went last, unsure if I was going to be killed or spared. If it was Sansa’s beauty that kept her alive, I knew it wasn’t going to end well.”

Daenerys was immediately on edge. She didn’t like anyone speaking about Arya that way, not even Arya herself. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“For whatever reason he let me live but sent me as far away as he could. By the time I got to Dorne, Prince Doran knew I was coming, and I started my life as a servant the same day.”

The little things she knew about Arya were clearer now. She said she had been a servant when she encountered Lady Musgood, now she knew how it happened, and where. “How did you become a soldier?”

“Remember that trip Oberyn took me on?” 

“Of course,” Daenerys said smiling. She loved listening to their various adventures. Arya, Ternesio, Oberyn, it sounded like quite the voyage. 

“Before we made our way back to Sunspear Oberyn offered to let me go. He was willing to say I died, and that my body fell overboard, so I could begin a new life.” 

Daenerys was riveted. “Really? Why didn’t you do it?”

“I already left my life once, I didn’t want to do it again.” Although Daenerys could follow Arya’s logic, it was a mighty big risk to take. She planned to tell her as much, but Arya had more to give. “I asked if a servant was all I could be? He asked what I wanted instead, and when I said I wanted to be in the army, he agreed to speak to Doran on my behalf.”

“He did it. You’re in the army.”

“I am,” Arya conceeded, a smile curling her lips, “I owe him a lot.” She shook her head as if to clear the thoughts. “Can I show you something?”

Was it her imagination or did Arya seem suddenly nervous? “Sure, what is it?” 

Arya went to the door, to where she dropped her things upon entry. From the bag she retrieved the wooden box she’d been carrying since Dorne. “Recognize this?” 

“Those are the things you brought from the barracks in Sunspear.” That was a memorable day. 

“This is all I have,” she said as she produced a key from her pocket and opened the lock. She didn’t lift the lid, she just handed it to Daenerys. “Everything I care about is in this box. A few things from my old life, a couple more I collected along the way.”

She remembered how Arya treasured the box, taking care to place it in her saddlebag where it would be safe. She was hesitant to accept such an offering. “Are you sure, you don’t have to…”

“I want you to know me, all of me, that s why I told you my real name, why I shared my past, all I have left is what’s in this box.” 

She took it and slowly raised the lid. It creaked a bit, making Daenerys tense but she chastised herself for being foolish and continued on. Looking in she was struck by how little there was. Her first guess was four or five items resided inside. She reached in aimlessly and picked up the first thing her hand touched. It felt strange, so much so that she couldn’t begin to guess what it was. When she saw it, her confusion wasn’t over. It was white, and hard and looked like a tooth of some kind, but it was much too big to be Arya’s, or any other man or woman. 

Arya laughed, a sound that seemed miles away from the pain and strife of earlier, it made Daenerys smile too. “What’s this?”

“In Winterfell when I was a girl, I had a pet direwolf, her name was Nymeria and that was one of her teeth.”

Daenerys had never seen a direwolf, but if this was the tooth of one, they were bigger and more fearsome than your average pet. “A wolf really?”

“My siblings and I each had one,” she recalled. “They were great, smart, loyal, fearless.”

It was a treat to see Arya relax. “So, a lot like you then?” she teased. 

“Oh, Nym was so much better than me.”

A realization came to her. “You named your pet the same thing Oberyn named his daughter?”

Arya laughed again, longer this time. “We both admire Nymeria the Warrior Queen who settled Dorne.”

She set the tooth aside and reached into the box again. She came out with a small bronze pin in the shape of a wolf’s head. “My father gave me that,” Arya said, “I was allowed to see him on my way out and he gave me that.” 

There were many things she wanted to ask, but she worried doing so would push Arya back into the pain and despair she just emerged from. Any remaining questions could wait. Arya had shared plenty for one night. 

“It’s beautiful,” Daenerys said sincerely as she put it aside. 

The third item was a beautifully crafted trinket unlike anything she’d ever seen. It depicted a silver wolf in intricate detail, and came with a base that allowed the wolf to seem as though it was standing. It was expensive and obviously cherished. She showed it to Arya to hear its origin. “Oberyn gave me that on the day he told me I was allowed to begin training. He said he wanted me to keep it, to remember who I was. He said after everything I’d been through nothing in training could best me.” 

Daenerys didn’t disagree with that. The hardships of training would have been child’s play after what happened to her family. She seethed under the surface as she was reminded of how wronged Arya had been. “He was right, you didn’t only finish, you were first.” 

Fourth was a single coin. By its shape and feel alone Daenerys could tell it wasn’t from Westeros. “Essos?” she guessed. 

“Oberyn took me to the fighting pits in Meereen. He gave me gold to bet on the matches and while I spent most of what I won that day, I kept this one coin to remember it by.” 

“Is that everything?” Daenerys wondered, feeling around and finding only the bottom of the box. 

“No, there’s one more thing.” Just as Arya confirmed it, Daenerys’s fingers grazed something sharp. Carefully she pulled it out, only to be stunned speechless. “Need me to tell you the story of this one?” 

Somehow, she managed to shake her head. She looked down at the copper dragon and was flooded by the memories. It was just a stupid game, and a cheap prize. It was worth less than the coin she’d handled last, but Arya kept it and with her most treasured things no less. It reinforced what the Princess was slowly coming to terms with – Arya really did care, lie about her name or not. “You kept it?” she whimpered, when the power of speech returned to her. 

“I’ll always keep it, no matter where I go, and I’ll think of you every time I look at it.”

Daenerys was overwhelmed. Her brain wanted one thing while her heart wanted another. Her head constantly went back to the lie, but Missandei’s words about one moment not undoing all the good rang true. She still had questions, mainly about her brother, and her nephew, but they could wait. She’d gotten out of bed and tracked Arya down to decide if the other woman could be trusted, and now she knew. More than that, she no longer had any concerns about the depth of her feelings either. If she kept Daenerys’s stupid dragon in the same box as a gift from Oberyn and her father that was undeniable proof she was important. 

She was done trying to find excuses to be angry. She was angry, and would remain angry for a while, but not with Arya anymore. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Yes, she lied, but only to save her life, and knowing what happened years ago, she could hardly blame her. Now she was angry at her family, at her father’s Small Council, at anyone who was in the room and didn’t object to the King, butchering a family for the crimes of one man. 

“I’m sorry Arya,” she said as she set the copper back in the box, and then returned the other things to their home as well. 

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do,” she insisted, “I know you don’t think I’m responsible for what my father did, but I didn’t even know he did it, and that’s worse. I grew up believing your family was just removed from Winterfell and replaced. I had no idea he did that to you. It was wrong.” 

“As you said, you knew nothing of it. I don’t blame you, I never did. Before we left Dorne I realized you were different, and I swore I would give you a fair chance.”

“You never treated me poorly, you were always kind and respectful.”

“That is what you deserve, that and so much more. I don’t hold you accountable for their actions.”

“Do you think Rhaegar knew? He wasn’t in the room when you were summoned, you said.” She knew she was reaching, trying to separate the brother she loved from the vile acts committed against the Starks. 

“I’m not sure,” Arya said, sounding candid. “He thought Oberyn sent me here to get revenge.”

“I know, he told me the same thing the night you arrived. We fought when he tried to send you back to Dorne.” She considered all that would have changed if she agreed. “Maybe it would’ve been kinder to let you return to your home.”

Arya who was standing next to where Daenerys sat was immediately leaning forward, taking her hand. It was the first contact between them since she learned the truth. She didn’t move and waited to feel repulsed or something, anything different, it didn’t happen. She felt the same warmth she was used to, the same callouses, the same comfort, the same sense that they were two pieces that fit together perfectly. A lot had changed between them, but not that. “I’m glad I came here. What we had, you, mean enough to me to make staying here, in this place, with these people worthwhile.”

Just as her touch still served as an anchor to keep Daenerys grounded, her words still found a way to reach deep inside her, to hit a spot inaccessible to most. Those same words could be said in the same way, by any other person and they wouldn’t have nearly the same effect. Arya remained unique in Daenerys’s eyes. 

The peaceful interlude was shattered when Arya said, “I should probably let you go. You are overdue for some sleep, and I bet your bed is much softer than this one.”

She was tired, but it was too late to change that. A few minutes of sleep, if she could manage it wouldn’t stop her from being exhausted later, nothing could. She wasn’t ready to let Arya go. She let her leave before they really had a chance to talk and all it did was cause both of them pain. When she opened that door and stepped out, the world would be there. Her father, her brother, Tywin, Varys, Jorah and a whole list of others. Every time she looked at them she’d see people who had wronged Arya and her family. She wasn’t ready for that. “Do we have to?” she whined. 

Arya stopped picking up her things and turned back to the Princess. “Do what?”

“Leave?”

“You don’t want to leave?”

“Not yet,” she announced. She moved to the bed and sat down, occupying the spot Arya once had. With her small hand she patted the empty space on her right. From where she was, she could see the window and a few dots of color that were lighting the sky. “Come sit and watch the sunrise with me,” 

Arya emptied her hands of gear and faced Daenerys directly. “Are you sure? I can leave you be if you want.”

“What I want,” Daenerys told her, “is to spend a few minutes with you, like it was before. Can we do that, please?”

“Absolutely, we can do whatever you want.” The speed with which Arya agreed left no room for doubt. She was practically beside Daenerys before the words were out. 

This was nice, she could get used to this. One lie, even a big one couldn’t ruin this. Her rash actions and harsh words felt childish now. She owed Missandei a reward for ending her night with Grey Worm early, she owed her another for providing such wise counsel. If not for her handmaiden she likely never would have heard Arya’s story and without it, she wouldn’t be willing to forgive her. That they had a chance at all, would have seemed improbable if not impossible and now here they were. 

She tried to be subtle as she slid closer to the Northern woman. She caught on right away. “Something wrong with your side of the bed Princess?”

“It’s hard to see the window,” she lied. 

Arya didn’t appear swayed. “Want to switch.”

“Nope, just let me wiggle over a bit.” As she moved Arya tried to slide further away. “Don’t move,” Daenerys instructed, “you’re perfect, right there.” 

She kept squirming until she was right next to Arya, their knees touching. “Better?” Arya inquired. 

“Not bad.”

“Not good?”

She knew she was pushing her luck, she practically kicked Arya out of her chambers earlier and then she spent a large portion of the night assuming Daenerys would be telling the King who she was, she needed time, they both did, but Daenerys couldn’t help herself. She’d worked through all the things that bothered her about Arya’s lie, and what she was left with was the same Arya she’d come to know and care about. Sand or Stark, Daenerys adored her. 

“What’s missing?” she asked when Daenerys didn’t respond. 

Rather than reply with words, Daenerys took a chance and laid her head on Arya’s shoulder. She held her breath and counted the racing beats of her heart, after twenty, she exhaled and accepted that Arya wasn’t going to reject her. “That’s much better,” she confessed. 

“Yeah it is.”

She may be tired tomorrow, or later today actually, but it would be worth it. A few yawns was a minor price to pay for a moment like this. It got even better when Arya’s strong arm slipped around her waist and held her tight. Did she think Daenerys planned to flee? Did she worry she’d disappear? If so, it was baseless. She couldn’t think of anywhere in the world she’d rather be than with Arya and the sunrise. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Seemed like as good a place to stop as any. There you have it – I sincerely hope it lived up to people’s expectations. I must admit, only when I was editing this chapter did I realize how much conversation there was. I hope it flowed well and wasn’t difficult to read. 
> 
> I originally wrote a version where Daenerys took the news much better, but it didn’t fit with the Princess’s character. I’ve always viewed Missandei as a sort of counterbalance to Daenerys’s temper and worst impulses. She needs someone she trusts to help her organize her thoughts and feelings. I couldn’t see her making peace with Arya and relating to what she’d been through without help, and Missandei was the logical choice. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Russell Craig


	27. Chapter 27

It took her longer to notice than it should have, but she spent most of the night awake, believing she was about to be executed. If ever there was a reason to be a little slow, she believed this would qualify. 

She was with Daenerys in her room. The Princess was at her desk, dutifully going through her thank you notes, while Missandei went to get them a snack. She thought that by constantly bringing Daenerys something to eat or drink, she’d help ensure the Targaryen stayed awake and motivated to keep writing. Arya didn’t think it would work and judging by the lack of enthusiasm she saw from the desk, Daenerys agreed.

It was midmorning when she finally saw the pattern. Daenerys would finish a note, set it into the proper pile and then glance at Arya, as if she meant to say something. Once she was aware of the habit, Arya paid attention to it, and saw it happen again and again, without fail. “Something on your mind?” Arya wondered. She kept her tone even and did her best to appear casual. A lot had happened last night, and they still had more to deal with. Without either woman saying so, they fell into a truce of sorts. Neither one had mentioned Arya’s past since they stopped talking to watch the sunrise. 

It wasn’t a long-term solution. They’d need to talk eventually, that couldn’t be avoided, but Arya would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate the temporary reprieve. 

Daenerys looked almost shy when she replied. “No, I mean yes, but it’s not important.”

Although she had no idea if Daenerys was still interested in a romantic relationship, Arya couldn’t alter her feelings. She was struck by how cute the Princess looked all nervous, biting her bottom lip and averting her eyes. She moved away from the wall and approached the desk. “If it’s on your mind, it’s important.” 

Abandoning a half completed note, she angled herself in Arya’s direction. “I don’t want to upset you,” she said to preface whatever was coming next. 

“I’m not upset with you,” Arya assured her. She didn’t blame Daenerys for anything. Her initial reaction to the news was harsh, but understandable given everything she’d been told about the Starks. That she sought Arya out afterward and made peace, that she was willing to keep Arya’s identity a secret from everyone in her life, that was more than enough compensation for any of the hurtful words or incorrect accusations Daenerys said in the heat of the moment. 

“Aren’t you?” 

She was purposely avoiding Arya’s eye, so the guard went to her directly, kneeling next to the chair Daenerys was in. “Of course not, why would I be?”

This made her look up. “I could think of a few reasons you might be angry with me.” 

At the risk of undoing all the progress they seemed to be making, Arya couldn’t help herself. She reached up and brushed a lock of silver hair off Daenerys’s cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “I’m not angry with you, I never was, not when we were talking here, when I left, before you came to the barracks or after.”

Daenerys offered a shaky smile before the accompanying words. “I thought I’d have to sneak in and wake you up,” she confessed quietly. “Why were you awake, and outside?”

Her initial instinct was to deflect away from the truth, but she told Daenerys one lie and it nearly ruined them, she wouldn’t make that mistake again. “Sleeping felt like a waste.” 

“Of?”

“My life,” Arya explained, “I didn’t know if the guards were on their way, or if the King already knew. I didn’t want to spend my last moments sleeping if…”

“Oh,” Daenerys said after a gasp. “No, I never, I wouldn’t, I mean I didn’t even consider it,” she stammered. It sounded to Arya like she had too many thoughts in her head and they were all trying to get out at once. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Arya admitted honestly. “I told you because I wanted you to know, even now I’m glad you know the real me.” 

“That’s just it,” she insisted, “I do know the real you. It doesn’t matter what name you use, you’re still you.”

After everything, hearing Daenerys defend her so fiercely was meaningful. Suddenly it was easier to breathe and the rock in her gut felt a little less oppressive. “Thank you,” she said simply, hoping Daenerys could tell how sincerely she meant it. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” she promised. Her biggest secret was out, and Daenerys hadn’t revealed it to anyone, she had nothing left to fear from the Princess. 

“Do you know why he waited? I’ve been thinking about it all morning and I don’t understand, restraint is not common.”

She tried to make sense of the question but was left confused. Who was she talking about? “Why did who wait?”

“My father,” she clarified. “If he hated your father and wanted to punish him, why wait so long to do it, why let him remain in Winterfell, and serve as Warden?”

She may have been willing to share everything with Daenerys, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t strange talking about her father like this. Even in Dorne, where everyone knew exactly who she was, her past was still a subject rarely broached. Only Oberyn dared bring it up to her directly, and that happened only a handful of times in all the years they were friends. It was going to take some effort to grow accustomed to being open and honest. 

Daenerys misinterpreted the delay. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it again. I know enough already, and like I said before, I know you.”

She smiled as convincingly as she could. “It’s okay, you can ask me whatever you want.” She didn’t look sure, so Arya proved her point by answering the question hanging over them. Why had he waited? She didn’t really know, but she could guess. “Losing his family stayed with my father, it haunted him. No matter how successful he was as Lord of Winterfell, he always knew he only held his position because everyone else was gone, his father, his brother, his sister. Death is quick, even if you drag it out. I think the King wanted to punish my father more than that, hurt him more, so he waited until he had family again, and then he took them away.”

Unshed tears sparkled in Daenerys’s eyes. “I wish I could say that he wouldn’t do that, but we both know he would.” 

When it looked like Daenerys intended to say more, Arya beat her to it. “Don’t apologize for him, you don’t need to.” 

“I do need to,” she disagreed, “but I know you don’t want me to, so I won’t.” It wasn’t much of a compromise, but she’d take it. 

“Thank you.” She could tell by the expression on her face that Daenerys was afraid to ask whatever was next on her list of questions. She wanted her to, this would only work if they could talk to one another. “Go ahead, it’s okay, just ask.”

“You said my father thought death was too good for yours, does that mean your father’s alive?”

In her mind she pictured the man. She’d mourned him every day since she last saw him as though he was dead, but she wasn’t certain. “He was alive when I got on the ship,” she stated, not straying from the facts as she knew them, “after that, I have no idea. When he was done torturing him as he did, there was little left to do but kill him. I don’t think he survived much longer.” 

“Could we find out?!” Daenerys asked almost immediately upon hearing Arya’s reply. 

In her early years as a foster Arya worked tirelessly to try and learn the fate of Sansa, Bran and their father, but she never discovered anything beyond rumor. Oberyn inquired too and had only marginally more success. It was tempting to think Daenerys might be able to help her find answers, but it was also incredibly dangerous. Every person they asked, every inquiry they made, increased the likelihood that someone would put the pieces together. If that happened, it was potentially hazardous for not only Arya and her remaining kin but also Daenerys now too. How would the Mad King respond if he learned his daughter knew he had a Stark in his castle and said nothing? “We can’t risk anyone else finding out,” she said, hearing the undercurrent of disappointment in her words. No one wanted the truth about her family more than her, but the price was too high. “Every person that knows is a danger.”

With red cheeks and guilt all over her face, Daenerys spoke quietly. “I told Missandei.” For three heartbeats Arya tried to process this new detail before Daenerys looked up, returned to her natural volume and tone and justified her choice. “I needed to talk to someone last night, and she helped me see things from your point of view.”

“It’s okay,” Arya said, hoping it was true. It wasn’t surprising that Daenerys would confide in Missandei, and if someone else had to know her secret, the handmaiden would have been Arya’s choice. “It’s okay,” she repeated, a little more confidently, “as long as she understands she can’t speak of it to anyone.”

“I swore her to secrecy this morning while I was getting dressed,” Daenerys promised, “and last night before I went looking for you.” 

Since they were getting everything out in the open, she decided to share what little she had left. “Varys knows too. He told me when Lady Musgood was visiting.” 

Daenerys was on her feet. Wild violet eyes swept the room, looking for something only the Princess knew. “You have to run. Varys is loyal and self-serving he’ll sell you out to my father the first chance he gets.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Arya said, standing straight, “but he’s known for days and hasn’t told anyone.” 

“Why would he do that?” Arya couldn’t tell if it was skepticism or disbelief she was hearing. 

“I don’t know, but I think he likes you,” she remembered, recalling her odd conversation with the Spider. 

“What does that have to do with anything? He barely knows me,” Daenerys countered hotly. 

“I can’t explain it, but he said as long as I’m loyal to you, he’d keep my secret.” 

“And you trust him?” the Princess pressed. “You said he was there when…” she trailed off, not wanting to finish. 

“Only a fool would trust the Spymaster, but I think I believe him, and yes he was there.” 

“Why would he care about your loyalty to me?” Daenerys asked herself. “I hardly ever see him.” 

“Maybe,” she allowed, “but with his spies, he sees everything. He discovered my identity by using a spy in Sunspear to search for Prince Doran’s Northern foster. When he couldn’t locate me, he knew his suspicions were right.” 

“What do you want to do?”

“About Varys?” Arya verified. 

She nodded. “I can give you some gold, you can run before he betrays you. With luck and favorable winds, you could be on your way to Sunspear before my father knew who went missing.” 

Before yesterday she would have assumed the offer came from a desire to keep her safe, but now she had doubts. Was this Daenerys’s way of saying she wanted her to go? She needed to check. Her own feelings not withstanding, she wouldn’t force Daenerys to spend all day, everyday with her, if it made the Targaryen uncomfortable. “I could, if you want me to.”

Daenerys had been lost in thought, staring off in the direction of the window, until Arya brought her back to the present. “What? No! I don’t want you to go, but just because he agreed to keep your secret doesn’t mean Varys will still feel that way tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“No,” she answered truthfully. 

“Why not?” 

“Do you know what I was thinking, while I was talking to Varys, when it was clear he knew everything, and I thought I was going to die?” 

Daenerys shook her head and only resorted to a verbal reply when Arya wasn’t more forthcoming. “No, what?” she finally asked in a quiet, timid voice. 

She smiled as she looked straight into Daenerys’s gorgeous eyes. “I was thinking, I hope he gives me enough time to go upstairs and tell Daenerys the truth myself.” The Princess gasped, not expecting that. “All I wanted in that moment was to be able to explain it to you, so you’d understand why I lied.”

“I do understand,” Daenerys swore in a rush, “I didn’t at first, but I do.”

“I wanted the chance to tell you that the feelings I had for you were real, and that you made me happy, even in this place I hate. I wasn’t afraid of dying, but I needed you to know that first.” 

Whatever she predicted Daenerys’s reaction would be to that confession, it wasn’t two arms around her neck and soft lips pressing firmly against hers. She froze, waiting for the trick to end, expecting Daenerys would vanish when it did. She remained, clinging to Arya, moving her hands into Arya’s hair and using her mouth and tongue to try and coax the guard into kissing back. Eventually she decided that if this was a dream, she was fine with it, as long as she never had to wake up. She began kissing back hard, matching her intensity. 

R-C

What was she thinking? That was obvious, she wasn’t. One moment she was content to be repairing her friendship with Arya and the next she was kissing her, her body mashed against the soldier’s so forcefully she was confident she was leaving bruises behind the armor. 

It hadn’t been a choice. She hadn’t decided to kiss her, it just happened. Restraint was not one of her virtues. Whether it was her temper or her desires she tended to leap first and look second. She’d done it again and now she had no idea how to fix it. She didn’t even know if she wanted to fix it. She thought she had made up her mind. She’d return to being friends with Arya, take time to absorb the new information and then assess her feelings. It was a reasonable plan, so naturally she had to find a way to fuck it up. As she relived the kiss yet again, she was overrun with emotions, most notable was that her guilt for violating her self- imposed rules was very far down the list. Whatever her head was telling her about their most recent kiss, Daenerys’s body was passing along a whole other message. 

It was a small mercy that the thank you notes she was using to hide didn’t require much of her focus. She could write the familiar words, sign the bottom, mark it with her seal and repeat, without needing to forget how passionately Arya kissed her. It took her a moment, probably to overcome the shock, but then the warrior seized the opportunity, making the most of it. The kiss lasted until the Princess’s lungs burned and Daenerys couldn’t find it in her to complain. If anything, she regretted her need for air, a position not entirely aligned with her decision to just be Arya’s friend. 

Conflicted as she was, she realized she wasn’t actually at fault for this. Yes, she’d kissed Arya, against every warning the logical part of her brain provided, but Arya was truly to blame. She was the one who said one of the sweetest things Daenerys had ever heard, in the midst of a discussion about her presumed death, no less. She told of her encounter with Varys, and how her only wish was that she could see Daenerys one last time, to explain and apologize. It was hard not to be flattered. Judging by Arya’s face, she didn’t know she was being romantic, she was just describing how things happened, but the Princess was still touched by the sentiment. In what Arya believed were the final moments of her life, she was thinking about her. What more could any woman want? 

She tried to give her full attention to the note she was writing, but it didn’t last. Before she finished her insincere thanks, she was leaning back in her chair, licking her lips and tasting Arya. 

Admittedly she had limited experience with lovers or relationships. One thing she was certain of however was that she was usually the one in control. It was Daenerys who rejected suitor after suitor, not the other way around. She politely declined proposals and returned outlandish gifts, she actively worked to ignore Jorah’s growing obsession, and even Daario bowed to her authority. She was a Targaryen after all, a Princess and they were nobles, strangers, a knight and a sell-sword. Arya served her, so why did everything seem different with her. Daenerys should still have the power, still maintain control, yet she wasn’t sure she did, not this time. 

She wanted to blame everything on the fact that Arya was a woman. Daenerys had never been with a woman before, it would have been easy to explain away everything and move on but doing so felt cheap. Dismissing Arya’s uniqueness as nothing more than a result of her gender was a disservice to all of those good qualities Missandei reminded her of the night before. No, the reason things were different with Arya had little to do with her being female and much more to do with her personality. 

It was slightly unsettling to conclude that she may have lost or surrendered some of the control she typically kept over her potential partners, but it was also exciting. Her brain had told her to tread carefully, she went so far as to agree that was what was best and then at the first available opportunity she threw herself into Arya’s arms and savored every second of their heated kiss. It was thrilling, and terrifying. She’d never allowed herself to be vulnerable with someone before, to truly put herself at risk. She hadn’t intended to be this way with Arya either, but she knew her heart would be safe, nonetheless. 

R-C

Dinner was over and Arya was escorting Missandei and Daenerys back to the Princess’s chambers. Although she opened the door for them, she didn’t go in. Daenerys was immediately on edge. “What’s wrong?” 

She fretted over the distance Arya was putting between them, until the guard put her at ease. “I’m fine, we’re fine,” she promised, “I just thought you and Missandei would like to talk without me listening in.” 

“You don’t have to…” Daenerys began. 

Missandei too had the same idea. “That’s unnecessary,” she said. 

“It’s alright,” Arya assured them both. “I was with you all day. I know you’re tired, go and relax, I’ll guard the door.”

Was it her imagination or just a vain hope that she saw a spark in Arya’s eye when she mentioned spending the day together? Daenerys’s mind immediately went to their kiss. It only happened once, but as she was learning, once was enough, when it was that good. “I’m not the only one who’s tired. I’ll be staying in tonight, so you can go.”

“Are you sure?” 

She looked as exhausted as Daenerys felt, but her concern for the Targaryen’s wellbeing dwarfed her need for sleep. If she asked, Arya would stand there all night without complaint. It was generous, sweet and unnecessary. “I’m sure.” For the second time that day her body acted without instruction from her brain. Right there in the public hallway outside her room, she pressed a soft, brief kiss into Arya’s cheek. “Rest, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

With the cheek Daenerys kissed already turning red Arya offered a stiff nod. “Y…yes, thank you. Goodnight Missandei,” she said to the handmaiden. The slave said it back before she slipped into the room, leaving Daenerys and Arya alone. “Sweet dreams Princess.” 

Neither woman moved. Arya had been dismissed and Daenerys had Missandei waiting on her, but she stayed rooted to her spot. This time there was no denying the fire in Arya’s eyes. The way her gaze kept dropping to Daenerys’s lips before adjusting made it pretty clear what was on her mind. She wasn’t the only one. “Tomorrow,” she said softly. It was so much more than just a friendly farewell and they both knew it. It was a promise of things to come. 

R-C

When she arrived at the barracks, Grey Worm was sitting on the same bench where she spent most of the night. His posture was rigid and instead of reviewing his surroundings shrewdly as he commonly did, the Unsullied Commander was staring at the ground, deep in thought. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked her friend. She considered Grey Worm to be the perfect soldier, the perfect warrior, he was unflappable, skilled, determined and loyal, his men respected him with good reason. They may have been slaves, but if they were granted their freedom tomorrow, Arya had no doubt that every one of the seven-thousand-nine-hundred and-ninety-nine other men would choose to stay if Grey Worm did. it was odd to see him looking unsure. 

He turned his head to meet her, surprised by her presence. He stood up. “Can we speak?”

“Of course.” She took a seat on the bench next to where he’d been and tried to quell the worry that was building. What had him so unnerved? He sat again after a moment. 

“I… need your… help.” She guessed it was his emotions and not a limited vocabulary that had him struggling, his accent was also undeniably more pronounced. 

“What can I do?” she asked him, already knowing she’d do anything in her power to aid him. 

“You gave Daenerys a …” he paused to find the right word. Frustrated he threw up his hands, “The ship,” he finished in exasperation. 

“Yes,” she agreed. “I gave Daenerys a gift, plans for her ship.”

He flashed her a smile that was typically reserved for Missandei. “A gift, I want to get for Missandei a gift.” 

It was Arya’s turn to smile. This was what caused the Commander to seek her out? This was why he was anxious and stressed? She could relate, she worried far more over Daenerys’s nameday gift than she did any of the men she faced in combat. “Okay,” Arya said kindly, “how can I help?”

Now that he’d made her understand, he seemed to relax a little. “How do I? I no have gold.” Before she could respond he asked, “How I buy plans for Missandei’s ship with no gold?”

She knew what she wanted to say but wasn’t quite sure how to convey it to Grey Worm. He had come a long way in his lessons, but the language barrier remained in place. She could hardly ask Missandei to translate for them, it would ruin what was obviously a surprise. “You don’t need to buy Missandei plans for a ship to make her happy,” she tried, speaking slower than usual to ensure he could follow. 

“No?” he verified. 

She smiled. “No. I bought Daenerys the plans because I knew that was something she’d like. You don’t need to spend a lot of money to show Missandei you care.”

Only after she’d finished did she realize that Grey Worm probably didn’t understand all of that. “I do care,” he insisted with feeling. 

She put a hand on the shoulder of his armor. “I know you do,” she assured him. “I know, but if you want to give Missandei a gift, it needs to be something she’d like, something special.”

“Special,” he repeated. 

Wow this was harder than she thought it would be. “What sort of things does Missandei like?” she asked, hoping to start at the beginning. He didn’t reply, so Arya went on. “Daenerys likes ships, what does Missandei like?”

He took a moment, but it came to him. “Books,” he announced proudly, “she like books.”

Yes, Missandei definitely did like books. She was constantly reading, usually in a language none of the others understood. “You could get Missandei a book.”

“No gold,” Grey Worm reminded her. She felt for him as his previously pleased expression shifted to something darker. 

Right. The King wasn’t paying any of them. He didn’t have money to buy Missandei anything. He looked defeated but Arya wasn’t. Grey Worm and Missandei were her friends and she wanted to do this for them. She just needed to get more creative. To solve the problem, she asked herself what she would’ve done to celebrate Daenerys’s nameday if Oberyn hadn’t paid her for the venom? If she didn’t have the gold to commission plans for The Princess’s Dream, would she have given up and not gotten Daenerys anything? No, she would have found a way to show her affection that didn’t cost gold dragons. “What do you and Missandei like to do together?”

The look he gave her was almost funny, and she would have laughed if she wasn’t so focused on finding a solution. “You know.” 

She settled for a chuckle. “Before that,” Arya clarified, “what do you do?”

No answer came and she knew she’d need another way to gather information. She scoured her memory for all of the times she saw the lovers together. Their deep love not withstanding they were reserved in public, giving Arya very little to work with. Only one idea remained when she’d dismissed all others, she recalled Missandei and Grey Worm sneaking away for two days when Daenerys and Arya were permitted to go into the city. She jumped on that. “When you and Missandei went away, did she enjoy that?”

“Went away?” Grey Worm asked, with confusion. 

“Remember,” Arya urged, “Daenerys gave you and Missandei two days away from the castle.”

“Yes,” Grey Worm acknowledged, not making the connection. 

“Did Missandei like travelling?”

“Yes,” he said again. 

“What did you do?” Since she wasn’t certain he’d know the right phrases she attempted to give him some examples. “Did she like seeing new places or riding her horse?”

“Yes,” Grey Worm provided unhelpfully, confirming Missandei enjoyed both. 

“Where did you sleep?” 

“Outside.” One word or not, Arya was secretly pleased she’d gotten a reply other than ‘yes.’ “Camp.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “Okay, did you hunt?” 

When all she got was a nod, she moved on. “Did Missandei like it? Sleeping outside, cooking dinner over the fire?”

She expected another concise reply, but Grey Worm gave more. “She say, ‘it is a sh…shame we must go back’.”

Perfect. “That’s great!” She took time to think about her choice of words. “You don’t need gold my friend, you just need to take Missandei away again.” 

He was pleased by their progress until he encountered the next blockade. “Not allowed to go,” he stated flatly. 

He was right, and there wasn’t much Arya could do about that, but she did know someone with the authority. “I will speak to Daenerys,” she said, “maybe she will let you go.” 

“You think?”

Personally, Arya thought Daenerys would be thrilled by the prospect, but she tried to be realistic. “I think she’ll agree. Let me worry about that, you need to decide where you’re going to take her and what you’re going to do.” 

“What you mean?”

She did her best to break it down into easy to comprehend pieces. “Where would you go?”

“West,” he answered after consideration. 

“Why West?” she asked, to satisfy her own curiosity more than anything else. 

“Went East last time,” Grey Worm informed her. “Maybe West better.” 

“What would make it better?” she inquired, unsure of how he was scoring their success. 

“Pretty,” he responded, “leaves, trees, water…” he stopped talking and made a gesture with his hand, like it was raining. 

“Waterfall,” she guessed, assuming Missandei wouldn’t enjoy getting caught in a storm. 

“Yes, waterfall. Missandei likes that.” 

Arya got the message loud and clear. She popped up onto her feet, causing Grey Worm to do the same. “Come with me,” she told him. “Let’s look at a map and see if we can find a good place.” 

R-C

“Is that why you avoided the Prince at dinner?” Missandei asked when Daenerys had finished spilling the secrets Arya shared about the past. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I wanted to confront him as soon as I heard, but every time I try, something stops me.” 

“Do you think he’d hurt you?”

“No,” she said at once, “Rhaegar would never.”

“Then what?” Missandei pressed. 

After a sigh she told the truth. “I’m afraid he’ll tell me it’s all true,” she confessed. “I love my brother and admire him.” She sighed. “I look up to him, and if what Arya said is true, if he kidnapped an innocent woman and started a war, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Do you think Arya was lying?” the handmaiden asked gently. 

“No!” she replied emphatically. She didn’t think Arya was lying, but the events did happen before she was born, so it was possible they weren’t entirely accurate. “She believes them.”

“Do you?”

She took a moment or three to debate that question within herself. “The parts about my father, I do.” She took a deep breath. “The way she described him, I could picture it, all of it. I’ve seen him do many of the same things. I don’t’ doubt he did every horrible thing Arya accused him of.” 

“But not the Prince?”

“It’s different,” she explained, knowing Missandei would understand her point. Her relationship with Aerys and her relationship with Rhaegar were barely comparable. Aerys ignored her, while Rhaegar loved her. Her father demeaned her, her brother supported her. 

“What will you do?” 

“I need to ask him,” she said definitively, “I’ll never be able to forget what Arya told me, nor the haunted look in her eyes when she said it. I can’t just pretend I don’t know.” She was growing frustrated when one massive issue rose above the rest. “Then there is Aemon, how do I look at him knowing who his mother is and not tell him?”

“You promised to keep Arya’s secret,” Missandei reminded her. “Can you talk to Rhaegar about this, or Aemon and not break your word?”

That was a reasonable question. Aemon or Rhaegar they were going to ask where she got her information, and she’d need to have an answer ready that didn’t implicate Arya. “I don’t know.” 

“Then perhaps you should wait until you do,” Missandei advised. “Unless telling Aemon and confronting Rhaegar are more important than…”

Daenerys didn’t let her finish. “They aren’t.” Nothing was more important than Arya’s safety, not even Aemon’s pain. If anyone other than Missandei learned Arya Sand was really Arya Stark, it would be a death sentence. She loved Aemon but she wouldn’t condemn Arya just to lay to rest his questions. “Aemon waited years, he can wait a few more weeks until Arya is safely back in Dorne,” she ruled. 

“And the Prince?” Missandei prompted. 

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I might be able to ask him without exposing Arya, but I’d need a good story.”

“A story?”

She nodded. “Some way to explain how I learned the truth, that doesn’t involve Arya.”

It was quiet while they both sought a believable lie. Missandei had one first. “When I was in the library today researching the dragon eggs,” she paused to glance toward the shelf where they sat, “I saw many books about the war. I could find one, and you could say you read it.” 

That was better than anything Daenerys had come up with. “That’s perfect.” She wouldn’t be able to avoid Rhaegar forever, dodging him for one meal was hard enough. She needed to resolve this, one way or the other. Either Arya was mistaken, or her brother wasn’t the man she thought he was. 

Missandei changed topics by putting her small hand on the hilt of Arya’s sword. The Valyrian steel blade was expensive and expertly crafted, a welcome addition to any number of men in the Targaryen armies, but Daenerys didn’t lie when she told Arya it was hers alone. If she wouldn’t accept it, no one would use the sword. “She wouldn’t take it?”

“We didn’t really talk about it today,” Daenerys explained. Feeling the need to justify her inaction she went on. “Compared to everything else, the sword doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to you,” Missandei contended. “She matters to you.” 

“I can’t stop my feelings just because she has a different name,” Daenerys erupted needing to get it out. “I told myself we would just be friends, but then she was her usual, sweet, considerate self and I couldn’t help it, I kissed her.” 

“You kissed her in the hall too,” Missandei noted, wearing a smirk. 

“That was not the same,” Daenerys claimed, “that was a peck on the cheek.”

“The other kiss wasn’t?” she asked knowingly. 

It flashed through her mind. “No, it definitely wasn’t.” 

“Are you not upset anymore?” 

She took stock of her emotions to speak the truth. “I’m sad that we built so much of our friendship on a lie,” Daenerys started, “but I understand why she did it. She wasn’t wrong, my father would’ve killed her if she told him who she was that day.” 

“Then why isn’t she here?”

“You heard her, she wanted to give us time to talk alone.”

“Yes, and you didn’t try very hard to dissuade her from leaving. I thought maybe you didn’t feel the same as you did last week, but if you kissed her then it seems you do,” Missandei wisely pointed out. 

With a huff Daenerys threw up her hands. When she was finished, she reached for a glass of wine that wasn’t there. Immediately she stood and went to get some. She’d need a drink for this. “I still want her,” she admitted to her friend, “I do, even if I shouldn’t, I do.” 

“Why shouldn’t you?” Missandei inquired, arriving at Daenerys’s side and looking none too impressed with her logic. 

“Because we still need to sort all of this out. We’re nowhere near finished talking about it.” 

Missandei was undeterred. “You can’t be with Arya and continue learning more about her?”

“Can I?” she asked, seeking reassurance. 

“You can, just learn a little bit more everyday, as she learns more about you.”

She knew Missandei was right, but it seemed too easy. Shouldn’t it be hard? Arya being a Stark should change everything, shouldn’t it? Why wasn’t there a wall between them that Daenerys felt it impossible to overcome? She kept waiting for it, for Arya to say or do something that reminded the Princess she was different, but after a day together that moment never came. How could Arya’s family being hated and destroyed by her father not affect them? She thought of the King. What was done to Arya and her family was horrible and inexcusable, but Daenerys felt bad for thinking so. She acknowledged her father’s evil deeds freely, but still felt guilt for not living up to what he believed his daughter and a Targaryen should be. She was a disappointment to him, and mad or not, that stung. He would be disgusted by her willingness to tolerate and accept Arya’s origins. He’d want Fire and Blood and he’d expect her to feel the same. This was just the most recent in a long line of occasions where she and her father were going to stand on opposite sides. She could never punish Arya for who her father was, and not just because she had feelings for her. it was wrong. What was worse was that Arya had already suffered so much. Her whole family had been victimized by Aerys, and then they rode into Sunspear and did it again. It was past time a Targaryen defended Arya and fought for what was right. If it had to be her, then so be it. 

The more she thought about it, the more confident she became. Her day with Arya was like all the ones before it. She was kind, considerate, and friendly. She was sweet, unintentionally romantic and beautiful. Daenerys thought it was only a matter of time before her knowledge about Arya altered her feelings, but maybe she was trying too hard. Why did Arya’s secret need to change anything? Why couldn’t it be like it was?

“What are you thinking about?” Missandei prodded gently as she carried the Princess’s wine back to the table. 

“Just wondering if it needs to be as difficult as I’m making it.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be.” When it was clear she hadn’t swayed the Princess, Missandei’s gentle voice turned blunt. “Do you still care for Arya?”

“Yes.” She did, and she probably always would, but that didn’t mean they should be together, did it?

“And you wish to kiss her again, and have her kiss you?”

Missandei might be her best friend and the most loyal woman she’d ever met, but it didn’t stop Daenerys’s cheeks from filling with blood as she responded. “Yes.”

“And if she were here and I wasn’t, would you give her this sword and invite her to bed?” Slow down! They were getting ahead of themselves. “The sword is hers, but I don’t want to rush…”

Missandei adjusted her question slightly and fired again. “Okay then, you’d want to invite her to bed?”

She might not be sure if she was ready to make love to Arya, despite her body’s very clear signals, but she could at least acknowledge that she wanted to. “Fine, yes, I want to,” she huffed, glaring at Missandei the entire time. For her part the handmaiden didn’t flinch or wilt, wearing the same knowing smile without fail. 

“If you want to, and she wants to, why does it need to be complicated? Don’t let the King’s opinion or your brother’s change yours. You know Arya far better than either of them ever will.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “I know.”

“So,” Missandei forged ahead, “doesn’t that make your opinion more valuable than theirs? She’s been with us all this time, and you spent all day with her today. Your father and your brother are basing their views on ancient history that Arya had no hand in.” 

Again, Daenerys couldn’t deny it. “You’re right.” 

Satisfied Missandei rose from her chair. “Glad to hear we agree.”

Daenerys laughed, “Don’t you mean, you’re glad you are getting your way?.”

Missandei smirked, her eyes shining with a rare moment of mischief. “Those are the same thing, aren’t they?” she teased walking to the door. 

Daenerys laughed lightly, appreciating her friend’s efforts to lighten the mood. “Where are you going?” 

“To find Grey Worm. If I see Arya, should I send her up?” 

More mischief. That was why she was leaving, she was giving Daenerys some privacy and not so subtly hinting that she should make use of it with Arya. Her mind raced as she calculated the best course. She wanted Arya, but it didn’t have to be tonight. On one hand the idea of catching up on the sleep she didn’t get the night before was tempting, on the other, she waited long enough to be with Arya and she’d run out of excuses to delay. 

As she reviewed recent history in an attempt to understand how she got into this mess, she was struck by Arya’s steadfast resolve to stay out of the Princess’s bed until she revealed her secret. It would have been easy and forgivable for Arya to claim Daenerys while she was still known as a Sand, she’d certainly had plenty of chances, but she hadn’t taken them. Her stubbornness had been infuriating at the time, when Daenerys was incapable of comprehending the depth of the truth Arya had to tell, but now that same stubbornness was admirable, proof of Arya’s affection. If all she wanted was sex, she could have taken it as Arya Sand and never said a word, but she didn’t, because she hoped there was more for them than that. She hadn’t said so yet, but Daenerys had the same wish. 

“Sure,” she said pleasing Missandei with her decision. “If you see her, you can send her this way. If not, I’ll go and find her.” 

They were both aware she shouldn’t be going anywhere without a guard, those were the well-established rules, but neither woman said anything about this particular breach of protocol. The barracks weren’t that far, and with luck she’d have a guard accompanying her on the return trip. It was bold and risky, but perhaps this was a night for such things. 

R-C

Apparently, the Gods didn’t think she deserved sleep. By the time Grey Worm had decided where to take Missandei on their next outing, Aemon was standing nearby, sword in hand, ready for another lesson. Stifling a yawn, she agreed to assist him. He was family and more training was never a bad thing. 

As she ran him through a series of exercises she awakened more fully. Her limbs were still sluggish from a lack of rest, and her eyelids heavy but discussing combat, critiquing Aemon’s strikes and passing along advice gave her something else to focus on. Aemon’s probing questions and eagerness helped her find a second wind, or perhaps she was on her third or fourth by now. 

“Slow down,” she instructed as she spotted Missandei walking across the yard. Arya immediately thought of Daenerys, assuming the Princess had retired early to catch up on her sleep. 

“I’m already too slow,” Aemon bickered. 

Arya smiled. She’d said something similar to her Dornish instructor once. She recited his response back to Aemon. “Speed comes later, for now worry about accuracy. Once every swing is deadly, then you can increase the speed.”

The Prince clearly disagreed but held his tongue. He went back to the starting position, readied his sword and then moved toward the first training dummy. He was slower than last time, and more methodical in his attacks. “Neck,” Arya called out as he neared the third target. Aemon, who had been about to slide the bulk of his thick sword through the torso of the shaped hay adjusted quickly and delivered a precise cut to the neck instead. “Good!” she praised as she walked down the line, making certain she was always in position to assess his form. 

After the killing blow on the final target Arya clapped her hands. “Understand now? It took a little longer, but you made up for it with accuracy.” She used two fingers to emphasize the opening he carved into the dummy’s chest. “Ten exact strikes, ten kills. Good work.” 

Aemon smiled brightly as he caught his breath. It was impressive how much he’d improved in recent weeks. “I understand,” he guaranteed, “speed isn’t everything.”

“If I had a choice between fighting a man who was fast and inaccurate or slow and exact, I’d take the fast swordsman every time,” Arya advised. “There is nothing more dangerous than a man who will kill you the first time you make the smallest mistake.” 

Aemon had clearly taken the lesson to heart. “Can we do another one?” 

She nodded. “Go get some water, I’ll move the targets.” 

“Thanks Arya,” he yelled as he went to do as he was told. “You’re the best.”

As she worked Missandei passed. The handmaiden offered a wave and Arya returned it. She could guess she was searching for Grey Worm and since Arya knew where he was, she saved Missandei the trouble of checking the barracks. “He’s not there.” She bit her tongue to keep from explaining that Grey Worm was busy planning a day with his lover. 

Missandei turned back and looked concerned. It was the same expression Arya was sure would be on her face if someone informed her that Daenerys wasn’t where the Stark thought she’d be. “He’s not?”

She pointed to the building Grey Worm was in. “Last I saw him he was in there.”

Her near constant smile returned. “Thank you, Arya.” She took a step away from the training area and then looked over her shoulder, “Are you going to be out here a while yet?”

“I’m not sure, why?” Did Missandei need something? If so, Aemon could wait a few minutes before they continued. 

“No reason,” Missandei chirped casually. “It’s a nice night is all, I think you should stay out here and enjoy it.” 

She didn’t need anything after all, that was a relief. “You might be right,” Arya yelled, to compensate for the growing distance between them. “Goodnight Missandei.”

“You too!” she shouted back. “Have fun.” 

About the time the woman from Naath left her view, Aemon appeared, ready for more. Recognizing the fire in his familiar eyes she arranged the targets in a more challenging formation. When everything was set and Aemon was prepared, Arya strived to make it even harder on him. “Put the sword away,” she directed. 

There was a delay before he pulled his gaze from the course to question her. “Why?” 

Rather than expand on her instruction she went to the weapons and picked up the least threatening blade in the bunch. She held the small dagger out for the Prince to take. “Use this.”

“I can’t!” he resisted, “I’m not very good with daggers, I’m not quick enough and…”

Arya didn’t want to hear it. If he wasn’t as proficient with daggers, it was all the more reason to practice. “You won’t always have your sword.”

Since he had yet to take the dagger Arya stepped back and gave him a few tips. “With a blade this small, it’s all about precision, make every strike count. I don’t care what weapon he’s swinging, if you bury this in his ear or slash his throat with it, he’ll never stand a chance.” She paused and then pressed on a nerve she knew would lead to the desired outcome. “If you don’t think you can do it though, just say so.” 

Aemon’s competitive spirit won out and he took the dagger to attempt the course. He did well. Better than Arya would’ve if the roles were reversed. When he got to the end, she summoned him back to the starting line. “Again.”

“With the dagger?” he asked, looking at the small tool with contempt. 

Arya smirked. “You can pick any weapon you want,” she decided, “as long as it’s not your sword.”

Thrilled by allowance, he rushed over to the collection of weapons and began looking for something more suited to his tendencies. While he did that Arya began dressing the dummies in armor and helmets, making sure to leave only tiny slits exposed between the steel and leather. She made the openings as small as possible, punishment for Aemon not choosing the dagger. She designed the test to be relatively easy if he was wielding a thin blade, but much harder if he tried to use brute force to thrust bigger, more threatening weapons into the designated areas. 

He turned away from the chest holding a long spear in his right hand. “In honor of your Dornish roots, I thought you’d appreciate me using a spear.” 

“Go on then,” Arya encouraged, aware he hadn’t yet seen the armor she placed. She better than anyone knew how difficult it could be to wield the long Dornish weapon expertly. It would take a lot of skill to get the thin tip where the targets were unprotected. 

She watched his face closely for the moment he realized he’d just made things more difficult rather than easier. The smile he was sporting vanished and he looked to her for verification. “Really?”

“Precise,” she ordered. “Ten targets, I want ten kills.” 

With determination Aemon readied himself. She whistled and sent him off to the first target. He didn’t handle the spear like a Dornish, but it wasn’t his first time either. He had good instincts, the kind that couldn’t be taught. When he followed instruction and remained committed to improving his technique, he was a formidable opponent. It was only when he was excited, angry or overconfident that he’d rely on his natural abilities too heavily and let his guard down. Whether he was going to be fighting Wildlings North of the Wall or enemies in the Crownlands, Arya wanted to rid him of his bad habits, so he’d be safer and deadlier after she was gone. 

When he finished his trial with the spear, he’d managed a respectable eight obvious kills, with two that were more questionable. She could tell Aemon wasn’t happy with what he perceived as a failure. He was on his way to the beginning of the course before she could say, “Do it again.” 

That was what the cousins were doing when Daenerys joined them. “I should have known I’d find you two out here.” 

Arya had been giving all of her attention to Aemon and his spear, but upon hearing Daenerys she turned away from her pupil and missed his last three strikes. “I thought you were sleeping,” she said dumbly. 

Unbothered by her stupidity, Daenerys smiled and saddled up closer to her guard. “Why would you think that?”

“I saw Missandei and…” she trailed off, realizing her incorrect assumptions didn’t matter. 

“No, I’m not as tired as I was earlier,” she confessed, an admission Arya herself could understand. Training had done wonders to keep her awake. “Are you?”

“I’m okay,” she said as Aemon finished his test. 

“Dany!” he called when he noticed his aunt. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugged. “I wanted to see you both.”

It was unfair just how much those words meant to Arya. She’d spent all day with Daenerys, so it was likely she’d come to see Aemon, but she couldn’t deny her feelings. 

Sticking his spear into the ground Aemon put arm around Daenerys and hugged her to his side. “Aww we missed you too, right Arya?”

She didn’t like being put on the spot like that, but the truth was easy enough to admit. “Yes, we did,” she agreed, staring straight into Daenerys’s eyes. 

“Aren’t you sweet,” she teased, before she shifted to Aemon. “What are you working on?”

“Using a spear,” he explained, motioning toward the abandoned weapon. 

“Run it again,” Arya directed, “and this time try using that big, fancy sword of yours. You know where all the weak spots are, so hit them.” 

Aemon would have welcomed any conditions that granted him permission to use his favorite weapon. He drew his sword and started jogging to the starting line. “This is nice of you,” Daenerys acknowledged when he couldn’t hear. 

“I enjoy it too,” she revealed honestly, “and besides, he’s family.” 

Daenerys was momentarily startled by her words, but she recovered quickly. She reached for and took Arya’s hand. “For both of us,” she responded. 

Aemon stole her focus from Daenerys as he rushed the first target and delivered a strike to the small, uncovered portion of its neck. Although pleased with his accuracy, his form needed work. “Plant your feet,” Arya shouted, “it’s where the power comes from!”

“Is that true?” Daenerys wondered. 

Arya kept her eyes on the action. When he reached the second dummy Aemon’s feet were firm and his posture excellent. He brought his sword in from the side, piercing the target in the side while expertly avoiding the leather. “Much better!” As she waited for Aemon to find the next enemy, she answered Daenerys. “Yes, it’s true, and once he’s done, I’ll prove it.” 

The Princess’s excitement was palpable even without looking. “Oh really? I get a lesson too?”

“Sure,” she replied, “if you want.”

On the field Aemon used his planted feet to load up for a massive swing on the final target. Though he made contact with the armor more than Arya liked, she couldn’t argue with his results. He removed the head from the dummy in a single, even stroke. 

Daenerys chuckled when she saw the hay spray out across the dirt. Arya did too. “I’d say he’s dead!”

Aemon sheathed his sword with a wide grin. “That was fun.” 

She tried to release Daenerys’s hand so she could go to Aemon, but the Princess wouldn’t allow it. She matched Arya step for step, keeping hold of her the whole way. “You did good. Keep working at it and they’ll make you a Ranger for sure.” 

Satisfied with his progress, his smile was nearly as big as his aunt’s. “Want to try? You haven’t had a turn yet.” 

“Nope,” Daenerys chimed in, answering for the guard. “She promised me a lesson next.”

Skeptical, Aemon raised an eyebrow, looking between the women for clarification. “You want to learn?” 

Arya pulled her hand away with force and tried to ignore the hurt expression on Daenerys’s face as she backed up and put space between them. “We’re starting with the basics,” she told them. “Daenerys, I want you to hit me.” 

“Hit you?” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth while she waited for the response. 

Tapping her cheek, she angled it toward the Princess. “Yes, right here. Just run up and swing.” 

“I’m not going to punch you!” she insisted. 

“Do you want to learn?” Arya fired back. 

“Yes, but…”

“Stop thinking about it and do it.”

“Imagine he’s Viserys,” Aemon added helpfully. 

Daenerys was amused by the suggestion briefly before she seemed to understand the benefits of it. With her teeth bared she stepped forward, intent on striking her. Arya smiled and made no attempt to defend herself. 

It wasn’t an accident that Daenerys kept her hand open or that she pulled back just before she made contact with Arya’s cheek. Even so, there was a sharp bite that echoed long after her hand had fallen away. She didn’t really want to hit Arya, that much was clear, but if she meant it, if she was truly angry, Arya had no doubt the blow would hurt. 

“Are you alright?” Daenerys asked as soon as she’d finished. “I’m sorry, I know you said to do it but…”

“Good,” the guard said, bypassing all of Daenerys’s remorse. She held out a hand for Daenerys to take and the Princess seized it immediately. Once they were linked, Arya gave a firm tug on Daenerys’s arm and moved her into the appropriate position. She dropped the hand soon after, and quickly set them on her hips instead, steering them until she was standing directly in front of Arya with one foot behind the other in a fighter’s stance. “Like this,” Daenerys asked, trapping one of Arya’s hands against the silk of her dress, “or this?” 

There was little difference in the two poses, leaving Arya to question if Daenerys had enjoyed her touch, or if she was merely seeking guidance? She applied a bit of pressure to Daenerys’s back leg. “It’s better like that,” she advised, “start on your back foot and then lean forward.”

Breathless, the Princess didn’t make the connection. “Forward into what?” 

She took a full step back, placing herself at the ideal location, an arm’s length away from the Targaryen. “Okay, this time instead of running up and punching me, you’re going to keep your feet under you, let your weight carry you through the punch and just extend your arm.” 

“Are you sure?” Daenerys inquired, looking regretful that she raised the idea of a lesson between them now that she knew what it would entail. 

“You can do it.”

It would have been easy to dodge the punch, but Arya was trying to teach Daenerys something here. If the day ever came when she needed to hit someone to defend herself, Arya wanted her to know how to leave a lasting impression. 

As she knew it would, Daenerys’s second punch was harder. Small as she was, the strike had significant force, and was more controlled, since she wasn’t trying to punch while running. 

“By the Gods!” Daenerys exclaimed when she’d followed the instructions. “Why did I agree to this? My hand hurts, I can only imagine how you’re feeling.” 

“Do you get it now. On your first try, you only swung with your arms, and it wasn’t nearly as strong, but when you planted your feet and used your whole body, you hit much harder.” 

“I get it,” she assured the other woman. “Now are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, taking the time to convey that she was. “I’ve been hit before.” 

Daenerys wasn’t reassured by that knowledge, she threw herself at Arya and hugged her. “I’m sorry, I never should have asked for a lesson. That was horrible, I don’t want to hit you.” 

She rubbed Daenerys’s back for a moment and then let her go. “It’s okay, I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you can defend yourself.” 

Aemon decided he’d let Daenerys steal the instructor’s attention long enough. “Okay, Dany’s lesson’s over. Now do you want to run the course?”

She was tempted, and leaning toward saying yes, but once again Daenerys answered for her. “Sorry Aemon but in addition to wanting to see you, I also came out here because I need Arya’s help with something.”

Training forgotten, she chastised the Princess for not saying so earlier. “Why didn’t you tell me? You shouldn’t have waited.”

“I liked it, I think I’ll have to come and watch you more often.” She said it like a pledge and not a stray idea. Arya didn’t get to dwell on it however because Daenerys grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the castle. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There you go, the immediate aftermath of the reveal. I wanted Daenerys to get past her doubts as badly as the rest of you, but it just didn’t feel natural until she had to work at it a little bit. 
> 
> I tried to get her conversation with Rhaegar in this chapter too, but it would’ve been more than 20,000 words and I didn’t think I could hold anyone’s interest that long. Next time Daenerys will hear Rhaegar’s side of the story, I promise. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you to the people who are commenting, I read and appreciate them all. 
> 
> See you next time,
> 
> RC


	28. Chapter 28

“What was it you need help with?” Arya asked from deeper in the room. Daenerys lingered near the door, gathering her courage. 

Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might crack a rib, and her mind was filled to the brim with questions about the future. She did what she could to manage both by living in the moment. “Over there,” she pointed, “near the shelf with the dragon eggs, I dropped something, and my arms aren’t long enough to reach.”

That wasn’t exactly true, but if things went according to her plan, Daenerys suspected Arya would forgive her. Like the faithful guard, and friend she was Arya went to the shelf and squatted down, looking for items that weren’t there. 

This was it. Her chance. All that remained was deciding if she was brave enough to claim it. She wanted to, but that wasn’t necessarily a deciding factor. For other people it probably was, when they wanted to do something, they did it, but she wasn’t other people, she was Daenerys Targaryen. Her opinions were rarely consulted, her wishes never a priority. She had limited experience in acting against those around her, and even less doing it solely for her own benefit. 

Maybe this was the time!? A nagging voice in the back of her mind was growing rather insistent. As a secret war raged inside her, Daenerys watched Arya feeling around, reaching behind furniture for anything Daenerys had lost. It made her smile, not that she was on a fool’s errand, but that she was willing to try at all. It was further proof of the kind of woman Arya was. What began as a physical attraction initially with a large helping of intrigue thrown in, had developed into something deeper. Arya was more than just the guard who won a match and defied her father, she was also the person who saved Missandei twice, bonded with Aemon and Grey Worm while supporting Daenerys at every turn.

She didn’t know what would happen in the future, after Arya went back to Sunspear, fuck, she couldn’t even say what tomorrow would bring them, but was that uncertainty a good enough reason to deny herself this?

It didn’t take long to reach a conclusion. Nothing she could think of would be worth giving up on this chance, perhaps her only chance to be with Arya. With that lone thought bouncing around in her brain she took a deep breath and moved her shaking hands to her shoulders. She pushed the straps of her dress down her arms and over her hands. Across the room Arya was standing up, dusting herself off as she admitted defeat. “I couldn’t find anything. Are you sure that’s where you dropped it?”

Another deep breath, and then one more. She stepped out of her dress and left it on the floor, not wanting to waste an instant picking it up or kicking it to the side. There would be time for that later. “Don’t worry about it. One of the servants probably picked it up already.” 

Arya wasn’t ready to accept that. She kept her eyes down, searching the floor for anything out of place. Daenerys moved slowly, silently. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to startle Arya who was bound to be shocked by this turn of events, but it was for her too. Afraid she’d back out despite her desire, she moved slow, reminding herself Arya had seen her naked before. As a strategy it didn’t work. The last time Arya saw Daenerys bare, it hadn’t been intentional, in fact the Princess forgot she wasn’t dressed until it was pointed out to her. This couldn’t be more different. This time she definitely knew she was naked, it was utterly intentional and rapidly reaching the point of no return. As soon as Arya turned her way, there would be no going back. 

She didn’t want to go back, but that knowledge did little to calm the panic raging within her. What if Arya didn’t want her anymore? What if she embarrassed herself? The logical part of her knew it was unlikely. If Arya rejected her, she would do so kindly. She wasn’t cruel or vindictive, she wouldn’t add to Daenerys’s pain needlessly. Likewise, if they didn’t spend the night together, she felt relatively certain that Arya wouldn’t bring it up later to shame her or show dominance, that just wasn’t who she was. That left only her biggest concern, rejection. She didn’t know how she’d handle it if Arya left again, after she’d offered herself. Her feelings were deep and real, they couldn’t be blown out like a candle. How could they look at one another, or work together after that? 

While she was busy fretting over all the traps the awaited her on her current path, Arya had finished her task. She faced the Princess again and in a flash her annoyance at her perceived failing shifted into something else. “Daenerys,” she whispered, breathlessly. 

To the Princess’s delight Arya’s body told a much more compelling tale than her one-word statement that came from her lips. She was standing rigidly straight, appearing taller. Her cheeks and neck were colored by blush and the relentless thumping of the pulse in Arya’s tight neck was visible. She lost count of the number of beats. Daenerys was no expert, but it appeared her heart was racing. Her hands which usually hung at her sides or were folded neatly behind her back were doing neither. In a pose that looked strange for the composed guard, they were in front, she had her right hand over her left, and Daenerys spotted movement as her fingers twitched. Since saying Daenerys’s name, she hadn’t spoken, choosing instead to close her lips tightly. It was a habit she recognized. Daenerys clamped her mouth closed like that when she was afraid of what she might say. Did Arya have similar motives? 

As always, Arya’s eyes were most telling. Not just the way they looked to be even darker than usual, or the intensity of the stare she was getting, what Daenerys realized and thrived on was when Arya’s gaze would fall. The first time, she thought it was a trick her mind was playing, wishful thinking and nothing else, but now, having seen six occurrences, it gave her hope. 

Although Arya was studying her face for an explanation, she couldn’t keep her gaze from wandering. As their stand off continued Arya’s eyes spent more and more time focusing on what was normally concealed by her dress. Waiting for Arya to say or so do something was painful, but Daenerys suspected it would’ve been unbearable if she didn’t have those eyes to read from. The fact that it was Arya who was staring, Arya who was admiring, made it okay somehow, in a way it wouldn’t be with anyone else. She didn’t know or care why, it just was. 

The last of her doubts faded away when after a particularly long session assessing everything below Daenerys’s neck, Arya forced her eyes back up. She met the gaze willingly and was stunned by the passion she saw. How was it possible that she of all people could illicit such a response out of a woman like Arya? All her life people told her she was beautiful, family, friends, strangers, potential suitors, even Daario, she always believed them, she knew she was blessed, but it never mattered, there were more important things than beauty. Her outlook changed standing naked in front of Arya while the Northern woman tried to memorize every curve, every blemish, and every imperfection. It mattered now. Now she thanked whatever Gods granted her such a gift, to be able to make Arya look at her like that. She was glad they weren’t talking, because she didn’t have words. 

It was Arya who broke the silence, but she did nothing to decrease the tension. “How can you be real?” she wondered. 

Daenerys’s lip curled upward. As far as compliments go, she’d take it. She should have known Arya wouldn’t respond with something predictable. ‘Seven Hells, you’re beautiful,’ or ‘By the Gods look at you.’ No Arya would never allow herself to be so ordinary. “I thought something similar,” Daenerys recalled, “looking at you once.” 

The admission was enough to bring Arya’s eyes back to Daenerys’s face. She loved looking into Arya’s eyes, but she wasn’t opposed to the way Arya was appreciating her body. “When I slept on the floor?” she guessed. “I wasn’t even naked.”

She chuckled. “I hate to tell you,” Daenerys said as she took a tentative step closer and extended her arm to make contact, “but you practically were.” 

A dark eyebrow lifted, wordlessly asking if the Princess was serious. She was, and she told her lover so with a nod. “Alright then, tomorrow I’ll go looking for some new clothes that fit under my armor.”

Daenerys was immediately horrified. That had not been her intention. “No!” she said, coming to stand directly in front of Arya. 

“No?” she repeated back, showing that smirk of hers. “Why not?”

Daenerys had no doubt that Arya knew exactly what motivated her outburst, but she was asking anyway, and putting her on the spot in the process. How should she answer? She could tell the truth and say she quite enjoyed the times she’d seen Arya in those short, tight clothes, or she could lie, saying she should save her money. A third option came to her and she didn’t delay, giving voice to it immediately. “It would be a waste,” she said, doing her best to sound confident when she was anything but. She had no practice with seduction or flirting. Daario was so eager she never needed to learn. Her tongue felt dry and her legs unsteady but she pretended nothing was amiss as she finished. “Anything you wear, I’m probably going to ruin, so no sense spending good gold on new clothes that won’t last.” 

The room was eerily quiet, causing Daenerys to wonder if she’d said the wrong thing. She was busy formulating a plan to take back her blunt, sexual comment when Arya chuckled. It was darker, deeper and huskier than any of the other times Daenerys heard her guard amused and the sound sent a jolt of need through Daenerys’s exposed body. “Is that so?” she tested, “well if you think so, who am I to argue?”

She hadn’t done anything wrong, in fact it appeared Arya handled her teasing well and played along. It felt empowering to the Princess who typically had so little control. She decided to take advantage of the surge of emotions racing through her. “Heed a Princess’s advice,” she instructed with a false seriousness. 

“Any other suggestions for a humble guard, Princess?” While she asked, her eyes went to Daenerys’s breasts and stayed there. If she hadn’t been watching so closely. she might’ve missed the flicker of pink as she wet her lips before she tore away from Daenerys’s chest. That would’ve been a shame. 

She hadn’t been expecting that question. Not only was Arya willing to flirt back, she’d just taken it to another level, leaving Daenerys to decide their next move. Her mind was filled with all the things she could ask for, if only she could find the courage. Would she request Arya get naked too or offer to help her? Would she command Arya to the bed or ask her to stay exactly where she was? The options seemed endless and with no guidelines, she struggled with what to choose. 

“Everything okay?” Arya checked when Daenerys’s thoughts kept her away too long. The sport was done, the lighthearted teasing over, she genuinely wanted to know. 

The last question may have stumped her, but this one she knew. She was okay. She had Arya. “Y…you must be tired,” she tried, sounding confident by the end. “All day in that heavy, hot armor, don’t you want to take it off?”

Arya’s initial reaction was to smirk, but then she was abruptly serious. “Are you sure?” 

There was a lot Daenerys wasn’t sure about, there was a lot they’d need to deal with in the days to come, but none of that made her want to change her mind. She wanted Arya and hadn’t they waited long enough already? 

In place of words Daenerys acted. She pressed a kiss into Arya’s cheek and then whispered near her ear, “Show me how to get this off, I have a feeling I may need to know, in the future.”

The intensity in Arya’s eyes had Daenerys struggling to breathe. Luckily before it became an issue Arya began the lesson, showing the royal where the first of the buckles and straps were located. By the third binding Arya couldn’t or wouldn’t hold her tongue. “Planning to get a lot of soldiers out of their armor Princess?” 

She had been focused, trying to educate herself without becoming distracted by the quick movement of Arya’s nimble fingers. She knew the guard was trying to tease her again, and she knew she wanted to match her, but how could she respond? She busied herself with the armor while her mind tried to craft a clever retort. “I imagine all armor is different,” she finally said. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning in anticipation of what was coming. “As invaluable as your lesson is, it’ll be of little use unless I’m trying to remove Dornish armor, Martell armor to be precise.” Arya said nothing and Daenerys continued on, brushing Arya’s hand away from a strap and undoing it herself now that she’d seen how. “If only there were Martell soldiers in the capital.” She paused while Arya lifted the breastplate away from her body. “I seem to recall hearing that a Dornishwoman was assigned as a guard somewhere in the keep,” she lamented, “I suppose I’ll have no choice but to practice what I learn on her.” 

“Lucky her,” she remarked as she went to work on the rest of her uniform. It was Daenerys’s turn to stare. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said the thin clothes under her armor hid little, but it had been days and she’d forgotten how incredible a sight it was to behold. 

“Lucky me,” she countered, “I do love to learn.” 

Barefoot and substantially shorter Arya flashed her a full smile. “Well we wouldn’t want to let anything stand in the way of your quest for knowledge, would we?” 

As she spoke, she stalked the room, circling Daenerys the way an animal might before it pounced. She secretly hoped that was where this was heading. “It would be wrong to interfere with a noblewoman’s education,” she stated with exaggerated calm as she desperately tried to keep their back and forth going. It was exhilarating. She felt a connection to Arya she never experienced with anyone else. 

“I’m at your service Princess,” Arya quipped, bowing her head as if there was nothing unusual about their situation. She was naked, Arya practically was and if Daenerys got her way, they’d be falling into bed together anytime, yet Arya remained relaxed somehow. 

Her body had a primal reaction to those words, one her brain had to work to catch up with. That’s why she didn’t understand the shiver that rocked her, or the way the muscles in her stomach clenched without warning, she was too busy trying to comprehend her sudden urge to grab Arya and throw her against the nearest hard surface. When her mind helpfully provided vivid images of all the different things she could ask her loyal guard to do, she finally understood why those particular words caused such a visceral response. “Mmm,” she purred, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The time for talk was done. This game they were playing, the teasing, it was fun, and she’d definitely want to do it again, but she couldn’t be expected to keep thinking up things to say, not when Arya was so close. She didn’t know if Arya agreed, but she was willing to take the plunge anyway and hope for the best. She slipped her arms around Arya’s neck and pulled her in for a kiss. Daenerys was beyond pleased to be kissed back from the start this time. There was no delay, no hesitation, she wanted it too and Daenerys would happily give it to her. 

Daenerys could have been persuaded to stand there kissing Arya forever, but the guard had other ideas. She rotated them a bit and then began nudging Daenerys back. She followed her step for step ensuring their mouths never needed to break contact, but it wasn’t enough for the Princess. She lifted her leg up, dragging it against Arya’s as much as possible. Once her bent knee was in the right position, she just held it there, waiting for the soldier to take notice. She didn’t have to wait long. Arya’s rough hand gripped the back of her thigh and lifted her up, causing Daenerys to moan shamelessly into the other woman’s mouth. 

Once Arya had one of her legs, it made no sense to deny her the other. She jumped up and leaned in fully, trusting that Arya would assist her. She did. In short order, Daenerys crossed her ankles behind Arya’s back and let her fingers play in dark hair, while she peppered the younger woman with kisses of varying lengths. Arya held her tightly, leaving Daenerys feeling secure without being smothered. She never worried she might fall, she had absolute faith in Arya. 

When Arya began lowering them toward the bed she knew why, Arya was trying to lay her down, but she wasn’t ready to let go just yet. “I missed you,” she said between pants, refilling her lungs. Again, Arya tried to peel her off, but Daenerys was happy exactly where she was, she held on tighter. “I missed you,” she said again. 

The second time the words got through. She stopped trying to separate them. “It wasn’t that long, you were with Missandei and I was with Grey Worm and Aemon.” 

As she organized a reply, she wondered just how crazy this was going to sound. “No, not that,” she explained, correcting Arya’s initial error. “Well, yes,” she amended, “I missed you then too, but I meant all day.”

“I was with you all day.” 

“Not like this!” She punctuated the difference by giving her another bruising kiss. 

Arya kissed back and they remained like that until they needed air. “We can’t be like this out there,” she said gently, clearly trying to let Daenerys down easy. “They wouldn’t accept it, wouldn’t understand…”

“I know,” she assured her before taking another kiss, this one was soft and short. “I know and it’s fine, it’s none of their business anyway.” 

Slowly she was making sense out of Daenerys’s random, disjointed statements. “So, what did you miss?”

Even as they stopped to talk, there was no sag in Arya’s grip, no fatigue in her muscles. She’d wager if Arya was required to carry the Princess around all day, everyday, her body would be up to the task. The discovery made her yearn to get Arya to bed and test out those muscles personally. 

“I missed knowing we could do this,” she explained, feeling silly. “I don’t care that we can’t hold hands in the throne room, or that I can’t kiss you at dinner, but it bothered me thinking I’d never get to be in your arms like this.” 

She saw the instant Arya understood what had really unsettled the Targaryen. She cured her with a kiss and then said, “I missed you too. I certainly didn’t think this was how my night was going to end.” 

“I’m full of surprises,” she promised, hoping the expression on her face was a reasonable attempt at sultry. 

“Oh, I know,” Arya confirmed with a laugh, “when I turned around saw you naked, I thought I was going to swallow my tongue.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Daenerys said, squirming needlessly in Arya’s arms, she just wanted to feel her body rub against her lover’s. “I have plans for it later.”

Arya was shocked by the comment and she wasn’t alone. What had possessed Daenerys to say that? She wasn’t thinking it, she wasn’t thinking about anything except how good Arya made her feel, and then she heard her own voice saying something she would have bet her last gold coin she’d never utter out loud in ten lifetimes. 

“Full of surprises is right,” she said after a longer laugh. “Alright, ready to lie down?”

She wasn’t opposed to the bed, in fact it was exceptionally comfortable, but she doubted it would compare to Arya. She settled on a compromise. “Only if you come too.” To prove it, she leaned away from Arya and toward the bed, without untangling her arms from around Arya’s neck. When she felt the bed under her, she immediately began pulling Arya down on top of her. 

They rearranged themselves slightly on the bed. Daenerys was flat on her back, Arya was between her legs, with one knee under her to give her height and leverage. Daenerys didn’t mind the position nor the view. Since she no longer needed to hang on, she was free to let her hands roam. She started by grabbing the fragment of shirt Arya wore and lifting it over her head. Accommodating to Daenerys’s wordless request she stopped what she was doing and allowed herself to be stripped. As soon as she was topless however she was leaning in again, pressing her bare breasts to Daenerys’s, while they shared a passionate kiss. 

Nothing else mattered to her then, not the King down the hall, the Prince or the countless people of varying importance who occupied different corners of her home. Arya’s past and the part her family played in her suffering was a problem for later, tonight all there was, was Arya. Just when she thought everything was perfect Arya rolled them over and Daenerys went from being underneath her lover to being on top. She wasn’t going to waste a second. 

“Are you sure… you… fuc… mmm… want to do…this?” Arya stammered adorably as Daenerys sucked on her neck. She never would have guessed there was anything that could make the soldier stumble over a simple sentence like that. It thrilled her to have been wrong and that feeling multiplied knowing she was the cause. 

She smiled as she left a playful bite on Arya’s soft skin. “Does it look like I’m having second thoughts?” she inquired, using two fingers to trap and tease one of Arya’s hard nipples. 

“What about…”

She pressed her lips to Arya almost violently. She held her mouth there, stifling whatever she was trying to say, until she was confident the urge to speak had passed. In truth she didn’t know what Arya was going to ask about, it could’ve been anything, they had no shortage of obstacles laid out before them, her father, her brothers, the history between the Targaryens and the Starks, Arya’s eventual return to Dorne and the unlikely romance of a Princess and a foster just to name a few. It wasn’t that Arya’s concerns weren’t valid, they absolutely were, and Daenerys shared many of them, she just didn’t think now was the best time to discuss them. Their problems would be there in the morning, so why couldn’t they take a few hours and just forget them? “Later,” she insisted quietly as she lifted her mouth off Arya’s. “tonight’s ours.”

She wasn’t certain Arya would agree. She had refused to join Daenerys in bed while the Princess believed she was a bastard, and this might be more of the same. While she waited anxiously to see if whatever was on Arya’s mind would ruin them, she grew dizzy. 

When Arya moved, it wasn’t to pull away or lift Daenerys off of her, instead it was the opposite. With a hand in Daenerys’s silver hair she pulled her in for a kiss and then she rolled them again, reclaiming her original position on top of the royal. “Tonight’s ours,” she agreed, as she slid down the bed and Daenerys’s body.

R-C

She got as far as the doorway before she doubted her course. After an incredible, memorable night with Arya, Daenerys had woken up early. She laid perfectly still in her lover’s arms and wondered why she’d never felt so content when she was sharing her bed with Daario? Was it because they were different people, or did it have more to do with the wide disparity in Daenerys’s feelings for each of them? It felt wrong to compare the two, not because she spent months with Daario and only one night with Arya, but rather because in one night Arya managed to show her that she never should have been with Daario in the first place. 

She would’ve gladly stayed in Arya’s embrace forever, but there was somewhere else she had to be. Knowing what became of the Starks exposed her to how ignorant she’d been. She’d never learn the truth if she sat quietly waiting for someone to volunteer the information. She needed to seek it out and that’s what she was doing. She had no reason to discount Arya’s version of the past, and nothing anyone could say would alter her feelings, but it still felt like she was missing half the story. Only one person could give her the missing pieces. That’s why she left Arya alone and dressed in the dark. Why she was sneaking out of her own bedchamber to go down the hall. She needed to talk to her brother and see how he’d answer for his part in the tragedy done to Arya’s family. 

Determined as she was to finally hear everything, she couldn’t go quite yet. She returned to Arya and left her with one final kiss. “I’ll be back,” she vowed, hoping the message reached her in her dreams. 

She closed the door behind her and went toward Rhaegar’s room. The walk was short, but long enough for her anger to build. She’d been lied to her entire life, by Rhaegar, by her father, by Jorah and everybody else. How could they let her believe Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark were responsible for the war when in fact it was her brother and father who actually started it? She didn’t want to believe the brother she loved was capable of kidnapping and raping an innocent woman, but she’d yet to find another reasonable explanation. Beyond her frustration for the deception, her heart went out to Aemon. He was going to be devastated when he found out. It had always bothered her that Rhaegar wouldn’t tell him who his mother was. She didn’t understand how he could be so heartless and ignore his son’s pain, but she didn’t wonder anymore. She understood his reasons, but it didn’t excuse the hurt he caused. Arya’s family, Aemon, even Daenerys, had all suffered because her brother was selfish and greedy. She wanted to hear what he had to say, but she didn’t think anything he offered would be sufficient justification. 

The wait while Rhaegar got up to answer the door was substantial, but she stayed where she was, having come too far to back out now. Her brother revealed himself slowly, opening the door with his empty hand while he leaned heavily on his cane. It was clear she’d woken him, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his eyes were barely open. “Dany?” he said when he recognized her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He stood up a little straighter, his worry helping him brush off the sleep. 

“I’m fine,” she said upfront, “I just needed to talk to you.”

“What time is it?” 

“Early,” she answered, even though it was likely rhetorical. “I’m sorry for waking you, but it’s important.”

He had looked posed to tease her, or comment about her timing, but her ascertain that it was important stopped him short. “Come in.”

She waited until he turned away from the door and walked deeper into the room and then she joined him. She closed the door behind her, going so far as to contemplate locking it. She ultimately decided it wasn’t necessary, he wasn’t capable of running from her anyway, no matter how uncomfortable her questions made him. 

“Take a seat,” Rhaegar encouraged. “Would you like anything?”

“Just the truth,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. 

About to drop his cane and lower himself into a chair, he hesitated and assessed his sister carefully. “What’s going on Dany?” he asked with a grimace. 

“There are just some things I need to know, questions I need answered.” 

It was obvious he wasn’t satisfied by her vague response, but he did postpone any additional questions until he was seated comfortably. His handsome face looked a little less strained now that he was off his weak limbs. “And you thought showing up here before dawn was the best time?” he clarified. 

“It couldn’t wait,” she said simply. This really couldn’t. She couldn’t lie next to Arya, kiss her, hold her and be held until she knew. 

Sensing the seriousness of the moment, he only nodded, a silent signal that she could proceed with whatever had brought her. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it. Could she do this? Was she ready to know? Could she return to Arya without learning more? How could she face Aemon? 

“I found a book in the library,” she said, making use of the lie she and Missandei had concocted to keep Arya out of it. “It said a lot of things I didn’t know, things I don’t want to believe, about you.”

She knew her brother well, and she knew a single comment about an unknown book wouldn’t get him to admit such a closely guarded secret. By the look on his face she guessed he was arranging his defense, either by defaming the author or dismissing the information as outdated and unimportant. He prefaced what he said with a warm smile. It gave her no relief. “What things? Dany, whatever it is…”

She didn’t want to hear him lie to her again, he’d been doing that far too long already. “There were things about Aemon too, about his mother.” 

Just like that the feeling in the room changed. Suddenly he didn’t need to wonder what she’d read or why it had brought her to his door, he understood. His smile was gone, miles away from the poorly concealed pain she saw now. Rhaegar’s teeth came together hard, and his face contorted the way it did when he stood too long. He gripped the arm of his chair so aggressively the muscles twitched, and he stared at Daenerys as if he was trying to make her vanish with only his eyes. When he broke the awkward silence, it wasn’t the anger Daenerys had been bracing for. “Does he know?”

Enraged she took a step forward. “That’s what you want to ask me!?” she shouted harshly. “I find out you’ve been lying to me for years, lying to Aemon, and the only thing you have to say for yourself is, ‘Does he know?’” 

After a moment or two of consideration Rhaegar answered his own inquiry. “You didn’t tell him,” he realized. 

He wasn’t wrong, but Daenerys wasn’t ready to set his mind at ease. If only for a few more seconds, she wanted him to worry. “What makes you say that?”

He smiled again, as he had before he comprehended how meaningful this conversation was going to be for the both of them. This time it lacked real sincerity and he accompanied it with a humorless chuckle. “If Aemon knew what you do, he’d be the one here instead of you,” he reasoned. 

Sound as his logic was, Daenerys didn’t feel like relinquishing the upper hand. “I thought you deserved the chance to explain it, before I told him everything.” She stressed the last word for effect, and it worked. 

“You can’t!” he countered, rising out of his seat slightly before he sank back in. 

“You don’t get to decide that,” she told him bluntly, “not anymore. You know how much this matters to him, you know how much it hurts him not knowing, and you lie to him anyway.”

“I never lied,” Rhaegar insisted. The words were strong, but Daenerys wasn’t buying it. To her it seemed he was making a desperate attempt to explain his behavior. “I may not have told him everything, but I never lied.” 

That distinction didn’t dull her anger one bit and she was confident it wouldn’t work on Aemon either. “You told us you loved his mother and that she loved you!” Daenerys reminded him hotly. “Not exactly the truth is it?”

“It is the truth!” he fired back. 

She scoffed. “The woman you kidnapped and raped loved you?” she asked with a heavy layer of sarcasm. 

She’d been watching his face, reading his reactions and up until that moment, he hadn’t been angry. She saw pain, she saw confusion, she saw hurt and annoyance, but Rhaegar hadn’t been angry, until she named his crimes directly. The fire she saw in his eyes was something she associated with Viserys, not him. “That’s what you read?” he asked, not waiting for a reply. “You found some book that says I kidnapped and raped Lyanna and that’s what started the rebellion?”

It didn’t make sense. He’d been furious one instant and then the next it was gone, replaced by something different. How had he contained his fury so quickly and why? She sought to identify the new emotion he wore. It was an odd mix of frustration, disbelief and understanding. 

When he spoke again, he wasn’t looking at her anymore, he was staring off to his left, as if she wasn’t the only person in the room with him any longer. “I didn’t kidnap Lyanna Stark, I’ve never kidnapped anyone. I loved Lyanna and she loved me, that’s the truth, no matter what your book says.” 

On any other day she would have declared her brother honest and trustworthy, hearing what seemed like sincerity in his voice, but she’d recently learned he’d been lying to her all her life, so she was reluctant to take him at his word. “How is that possible?”

“I loved Lyanna from the first moment I laid eyes on her,” he remembered. “It was at Harrenhal, at a tourney. When I won I was given flowers to commemorate my victory. Even though Elia was there, I rode past her straight to Lyanna.” He paused to collect himself. “She felt the same way. It didn’t matter to us that I was already married or that she was promised to another.”

“Robert Baratheon?” Daenerys verified. It was a challenge making the pieces fit, the things she’d been told, the things Arya said, and now Rhaegar’s recollections. 

“Lyanna didn’t love him, and she didn’t want to marry him, but her father insisted. The date had been set.” 

Mentioning Lyanna’s father, Arya’s grandfather reminded Daenerys of his fate. If Arya was right, he died downstairs in the throne room. “Is that why father killed him?”

Recoiling as though she’d struck him, he shook his head, wiping a band of light hair away from his face before he pushed the words out. “No, but what happened to him was our fault.”

Ours, who did he mean? Daenerys wasn’t sure exactly when the elder Stark was murdered, but if she had been born, she wasn’t old enough to be complicit in his death. “Our fault? What did we do?” 

“Not us,” he said gesturing between the siblings, “Mine and Lyanna’s.”

Afraid to ask, she forced herself to. She needed to know. “How?”

“We ran away,” he summarized. “It was childish and thoughtless, but we didn’t know what it would cause, we didn’t see all that would come later, only that we wanted to be together.” 

“You ran away?” she repeated incredulously. “You’re the Crown Prince of Westeros!”

He sighed. “Believe me, I know.” He took a moment and then expanded on his muttered admission. “I loved her and knew I couldn’t live without her, so I sent Elia and the children back to Sunspear and I planned to take Lyanna as my wife.” 

It obviously didn’t happen, and she was sure he’d provide more if she just waited, but she couldn’t stay quiet. “What happened?”

“Our fathers happened,” Rhaegar recalled bitterly. “Rickard refused to call off her wedding to Robert and our father became enraged when he learned I sent Elia away.” 

It wasn’t difficult for Daenerys to imagine their father growing angry at the news. She had plenty of experience with her father’s rage and disapproval and it usually ended in Fire and Blood. 

Rhaegar seemed to understand where her mind had gone. “He was different then,” he noted, “before the war. He still heard the whispers, still feared betrayal, but it didn’t consume him. He was still a good King, a good father, until Lyanna and I disappeared.”

She wanted to say something, but no words would come. This wasn’t the story she’d thought she’d hear when she knocked on her brother’s door, but she was riveted by it, nonetheless. 

“I didn’t care that Father was angry, I didn’t care that I offended the Martells or abandoned my children, I didn’t care that choosing Lyanna might cost me the Iron Throne, nothing mattered more to me than her.” 

Daenerys struggled to work out the implications. “So, you didn’t kidnap her, but you two did run away together?”

“Yes, we were going to leave for Essos, get away from our families and live our lives together.” As he said that he flashed Daenerys a smile. The happy moment was tainted by the unshed tears she also saw. “Maybe if we made it there, things could have been different,” he opined weakly. 

“What stopped you?”

After another abrupt change of expression, she couldn’t help but feel his pain, it was written all over his face. “We were reckless, we were stupid, blinded by our love and oblivious to all the trouble we were causing.” It was as if Rhaegar wasn’t talking to her anymore, staring off to the side reliving the past and suffering it a second time. “I had a contact in Dorne who could have gotten us on a ship. We were nearly there when we received word.”

She was sick with dread as she asked the natural question. “Word of what?”

“Robert Baratheon went to Winterfell as soon as he realized she was gone,” Rhaegar explained. “Ned Stark was his best friend, and he knew he’d find allies there. He told them I kidnapped her, and the Starks had no reason not to believe him.” 

Daenerys had to jump in. “She didn’t leave a note!? She didn’t tell anyone where she was going, not the man she was to marry, or her family? She just left?” 

“It was stupid and selfish,” Rhaegar agreed, “but we were only thinking of ourselves.” He swallowed hard and picked up the story where he’d left off. “Lyanna’s father and eldest brother rode for King’s Landing immediately and sought an audience with Father and I.” 

Daenerys could see how the rest would unfold. Rather than mention the executions or the consequences of his mistakes, Daenerys chose to seize on the least offensive detail. “But you weren’t here.” 

“No,” he acknowledged, “Lyanna and I were passing through Dorne, on our way to the ship when word reached us that her father and brother had been killed.”

“The book I saw said Father had them killed.” She clung to her earlier lie, using the non-existent book to cover Arya’s involvement. 

“He did,” the Prince confessed sadly. “I hated Lyanna’s father for forcing her to marry Robert when she didn’t want to, I hated her brothers for not siding with her, but they didn’t deserve what happened to them.”

It was hard, hearing him talk about Arya’s family. With every word, Daenerys was struck with flashes of the night before, when she’d been in the arms of the niece of her brother’s lost love. 

“Before that, father’s illness didn’t own him, didn’t control him, but after, after Lyanna, after Rickard and Brandon…” he trailed off. 

“Why though?” she pressed. “Father knew you loved Lyanna, you said you told him so, so what happened to make him kill them?” It didn’t make sense. 

“I don’t know exactly,” he admitted, “I just know that when I came back, he was a whole other man. I found him in his chambers, unwashed, naked, sitting in the corner, scribbling illogical, incoherent notes about the rebirth of dragons and his role as King of the World.” He must’ve guessed Daenerys wouldn’t just accept that, so he offered more. “He was gone, raving about betrayal, talking about how they’d come to steal his son, and how he had to stop them.” He paused again. “Everything he is now, started then.” 

She wanted to reiterate her earlier point that it didn’t make sense, but Daenerys had known for a long time that her father’s actions couldn’t be understood by the sane. His unique form of illness needed only make sense to him, in the clouded privacy of his mind. Trying to assess it from the outside was as infuriating as it was futile. It was astonishing however for the King’s daughter to learn where her father’s madness took root. It was something she’d always been curious about, but she’d never been brave enough to ask someone.

“It wasn’t until later,” Rhaegar said, “that I realized Father believed it.”

Lost in her thoughts, she feared she missed a relevant detail. She backtracked. “Believed what?”

“Everything,” he answered unhelpfully. “For some reason Father believed that I kidnapped Lyanna, believed that I’d stolen her away from her family and the man she wanted to marry.” 

“You told him about her,” Daenerys said emphatically. Was it really so simple? Could everything that followed have been avoided, if her father wasn’t sick? 

“I did, we fought about Lyanna before I left for Dorne. Whether he forgot that, or just chooses not to remember, I don’t know.” 

It was so tragic. Everything Arya’s family endured could have been prevented. It occurred to her that if Arya hadn’t been banished to Dorne to be Prince Doran’s foster, she and Daenerys never would have met, but she chose not to dwell on that, not now at least, there were other things she needed to focus on. “You told Lyanna about her family?”

“Yes, and most days I wish I’d just lied.” He sighed and scrubbed a big hand down his tired face. “It was bad enough learning her father and brother were dead, but when she found out who killed them and why, it broke her. She refused to go to Essos as we planned, saying she needed to return to Winterfell instead.” 

Arya hadn’t mentioned her aunt returning home, but that didn’t mean it never happened. “Why would she want to go there?”

“She wanted to honor her kin and apologize to her surviving brothers.” As she listened Daenerys immediately understood that one brother had to be Arya’s father. “Like her, Brandon was due to marry, and she wanted to express her condolences to the Tully as well.”

“You agreed to take her to Winterfell, even after everything?” Surely a man as smart as her brother had to know he wouldn’t be welcome in the North. 

He surprised her by smiling. “You didn’t know Lyanna but if you did, you’d understand, once she set her mind to something, there was nothing that could stop her.” 

She may not have known Lyanna Stark, but she did have a pretty good idea of what Rhaegar was talking about. Not for the first time, she thought about the woman sleeping in her bed a few rooms away. “You didn’t make it.” 

“No, just days into our ride, Lyanna fell ill. I found a Dornish Maester who told us she was pregnant.” 

Daenerys gasped. Aemon. One more time he was aware of her thinking. He nodded in silent confirmation. So that’s how her nephew came to be? “Wow,” she stated dumbly. 

“Aemon saved her,” he proclaimed passionately. “She still mourned her family, but we agreed we’d wait to return until after the baby was born.” 

That explained almost everything, except… “If that’s true, how did the war start? Why wouldn’t Lyanna just come forward and admit the truth?”

“She feared Robert,” he said in justification, as his anger flared again. “He believed Lyanna was his, he wasn’t going to let her go.” 

“So, your solution was to wage a war?” Daenerys accused rudely. “Do you know how many people died, how many more were injured, and it was all because of a lie!?” 

Rhaegar had a defense ready. “It didn’t happen like that,” he assured her. “I left Lyanna in Dorne with some of my best men, and I returned here. I came back to speak with Father, to try and fix things.” 

“It didn’t work,” Daenerys pointed out bitterly. 

He had the good sense to look ashamed. “No, it didn’t. By the time I got here it was too late to stop it. Robert and Ned were rallying support and Varys’s spies were telling Father of the coming war, he was raising an army too, prone to longer and longer stretches of madness.” 

“You could have stopped it!” Daenerys snapped hotly. Even if every word he said about Lyanna was accurate, her brother still led an army that slaughtered tens of the thousands of men needlessly. 

“I tried, I spent weeks urging Father to reconsider. When it was clear he wouldn’t, I spoke to Tywin and our commanders. Though some agreed that the war was a mistake, none were willing to openly defy the King.” 

Daenerys didn’t want excuses. “You gave up and let your men be butchered.”

“No! I didn’t. When I couldn’t stop our armies, I tried to stop theirs, I sent multiple letters and couriers to Robert and his brothers, but they refused to listen.” 

“What about Ned Stark?” Not only was he Arya’s father, which intrigued her, she’d also been told repeatedly, he was the true power behind the rebellion.

“My first letter went to him, and many more after it,” Rhaegar alleged, “but after what happened to his father and brother, he wasn’t inclined to hear anything I had to say. I can’t blame him, but I didn’t want this Dany, I swear. I tried to stop it.” 

She could understand why Arya’s father would be less than receptive to a Targaryen’s offer of peace. He tried, but he didn’t succeed. Was trying enough when he’d set things in motion to begin with? “You tried, does that comfort you when you think of all the dead, of all the pain? If you’d told the truth, if Lyanna told the truth…”

“Robert Baratheon had an army,” he reminded her. “Even if Lyanna and I came forward, it wouldn’t have changed anything.” Daenerys was going to contend that Rhaegar couldn’t know that, but he was quicker. “Our father killed Rickard and Brandon Stark, if they learned Lyanna was alive and loved me, do you really think they would have disbanded and gone home or would they have rode on King’s Landing to avenge their deaths.”

“You were trying to save Father?” she verified in disbelief. 

Rhaegar corrected her misconception. “I couldn’t let Robert take the throne, if he had it, he’d use every coin in the treasury, every banner and all his power to hunt Lyanna down.”

He hadn’t done it for their father at all. He was protecting Lyanna. “She was safe, she was in Dorne…”

Cutting her off Rhaegar made his opinion clear. “If Robert was King, nowhere would have been safe. He would have hunted us to the ends of the world.” 

“That’s how you rationalize the war?” He’d lied and waged war to keep his enemy from ascending to power and putting his lover at risk? 

“No matter how angry he was, how stricken with grief, Ned loved his sister. He would never harm her. If he were leading the army, I would have met with him and taken my chances. I’m confident I could have made him understand.” 

“But you didn’t do that,” Daenerys accused. 

“Because Ned wasn’t in charge!” Rhaegar erupted. “Robert Baratheon didn’t care if Lyanna was happy or safe, all he wanted was her with him. The war, everything that happened, I just wanted to protect her. That’s why I took my place at the head of the army, why I met Robert on the field at the Trident.” 

She couldn’t help it, her eyes dropped to his battered and broken legs. She had to wonder if he regretted that choice. 

“I didn’t want a war,” Rhaegar claimed, “but Lyanna wouldn’t be safe until Robert was dead, so I took the army and tried to kill him.” 

That was a self-serving version of history, if ever she heard one. “Robert wasn’t the only one who died Rhaegar. Thousands were killed before and after him!”

“No,” he disagreed, “thousands died yes, and I mourn each and every one, on both sides, but there wasn’t another death after Robert’s.”

How could that be true? “What?”

“I thought I was dying,” he said, running his hand over a weak leg, likely remembering the day. “The pain was unbearable, and I couldn’t move, but I kept thinking of Lyanna, of the child she was carrying that I’d never get to see and I knew what I had to do.” He balled his hand into a fist and brought it down lightly on his thigh three times. “As soon as I saw Robert’s corpse, I yelled for Barristan and ordered a full retreat.” 

Though rarely spoken of, Rhaegar’s injury was something she knew a bit about. “Barristan carried you to the Maester.”

He shook his head, not to refute Daenerys’s claim but the larger suggestion. “Everyone thinks I called the retreat to save my own life, but I didn’t care about that. I ordered the withdrawal because there was no reason to keep fighting. Robert was dead, so as far as I was concerned the war was over.” It was quiet for a few long moments before he added, “Robert Baratheon was the final casualty of the war his pride started. No one was harmed after him.” 

She thought of Arya again and didn’t think she could agree with her brother on that. “What else?”

Rhaegar said nothing for a time and then set his eyes on Daenerys again, seemingly returning to the present. “Why, what else did your book say?”

Mention of the book made her feel guilty, no matter how necessary the lie. “N…nothing,” she stammered, “I just… that’s not everything, is it?”

“It’s almost everything,” her brother claimed. “I recovered here in the capital and Father was satisfied with Robert’s head, he called for an end to the fighting.” 

If that was all there was, there wouldn’t be a traumatized Wolf in her bedchambers, still haunted by events that came years later. If that’s all, Aemon would know who his mother was. “That’s not everything, what about Lyanna? Why don’t you tell Aemon about…?”

Rhaegar didn’t let her finish. “I recovered from my injuries, but Father never did. To this day, he believes I kidnapped Lyanna and killed Robert when he tried to rescue her.” 

Daenerys was having trouble keeping up. “What!?”

“I know,” Rhaegar swore, “I know, and I’ve corrected him countless times, but he doesn’t hear it. To him, the fact that Robert and Ned raised an army is proof of everything those voices whisper to him, that enemies and traitors plot against us. He thinks that even if I did kidnap and rape her, I’m entitled to do so, because I’m his son.”

Oh, how she wished she didn’t believe that. Unfortunately, Rhaegar’s memories match too well with her own. As far back as she could go, she recalled her father telling her that the rules didn’t apply to Targaryens. His eldest son, his heir would be even more immune to oversight. “That explains Father but what about everyone else? No one speaks of it.”

“No, they don’t.” His expression softened. “Do you remember a man named Jamison? He was an advisor to the King.”

She thought back but couldn’t recall anyone by that name. “No.”

“He was a commoner with a head for numbers,” Rhaegar remembered. “From a poor family, Tywin found him in the West and brought him along to King’s Landing when he came.” 

“Okay, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“In addition to being an advisor, Jamison was also a father. His son Garrick died in the war, killed in one of the battles before the Trident.” 

Beginning to see the relevance, she just waited for her brother to add more. “One night, not long after Aemon and I moved to Dragonstone, Jamison got drunk and started talking too loudly about how I kidnapped Lyanna and got his son killed.”

Her heart sank and she closed her eyes in an attempt to block out where this was going. “No,” she pleaded. 

“Father heard him, and had him burned before the whole court,” Rhaegar confirmed. “Since then the cause of the rebellion became one of those things we just don’t talk about.” 

“What about Lyanna? You told me she died.”

“That was unfortunately true,” he said, visibly pained. “By the time I recovered from my injuries and was able to travel, she was ready to give birth. I made it just days before Aemon was born.” 

This time his tears actually fell. “She was sick, unable to eat, weak, and somehow still defiant. Every time I fretted over her, she’d assure me she could hang on until the baby came.” He smiled against his tears. “She did. She gave me Aemon, made me promise to tell him that she loved him, and then whispered his name to me before she died.” 

Her relationship with Rhaegar may have been complicated, but she felt for him as he recounted Lyanna’s death. “I’m sorry,” she said, going to him and putting one of her small hands on his. “I’m so sorry.” 

With a grateful smile for his little sister’s comfort, he continued, “If I didn’t have Aemon, I wouldn’t have survived it. Losing her almost killed me, but I had to take care of our son, of her son. I know that’s what she’d want me to do, and I’ve tried my best everyday since.” 

“I think she’d be proud of you,” Daenerys predicted, applying more pressure to his hand with hers. “You’re a good father.” 

“You remind me of her sometimes.”

That was unexpected. “Really? She sounds remarkable, and not at all like me.”

“Lyanna was a strong woman trapped in a life she didn’t want. She had lots to contribute and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, but more often than not, she was forced to hold her tongue.”

Daenerys smiled, more than a little flattered by the comparison. “I’m sorry I never got to meet her.”

“Me too.” 

“Why not tell Aemon this? Not knowing who his mother is, it’s killing him.” 

“I know, and I hate seeing him like that, but it’s the best option.”

The sympathy she felt for Rhaegar disappeared in an instant. How could he say that torturing his own son was preferable? “You can’t believe that! Just tell him!” 

“I can’t.” With his eyes he begged her to let it go. “Daenerys think about it, half the Realm thinks I kidnapped and raped Lyanna. Even most of those fighting beside me at the Trident thought I was guilty. Would Aemon believe them or me?”

“He’d believe you,” she said confidently. “You’re his father…”

“His grandfather believes I raped his mother,” Rhaegar reminded her. “I’m just trying to spare him the pain of knowing the whole story. I don’t want him plagued by uncertainty, unsure of if he can trust me. He has it hard enough here already.”

When he put it like that, she could see his point. Aemon would struggle with what to believe, the same way Daenerys herself was doing. “Is that why Father hates him?” 

Although he winced at the word ‘hate’ Rhaegar didn’t correct her. “In his mind, I’m allowed to kidnap and rape a woman, I’m allowed to go to war against her family, I’m allowed to do almost anything, except raise a bastard and give him the name Targaryen.” 

That was it? All Aemon’s hardships and pain stemmed from the fact that Aerys didn’t like that his parents weren’t married? Again, it was entirely too believable. “He hates it here and I don’t blame him.”

“Me either,” he admitted quietly. 

“Are you going to send him North then, to the Wall?” She promised Aemon she’d talk to Rhaegar about him leaving, and although this wasn’t the ideal time, she took it. 

“I’m trying to avoid it,” he admitted. “I was hoping that things would be different by now.”

“They aren’t different,” Daenerys objected, “and they won’t be changing anytime soon. Father gave Dragonstone to Viserys, he refuses to acknowledge Aemon exists. It’s cruel to keep him here.” 

Not willing to relent he bargained. “Let me see if I can find a better place for him,” he proposed, “one where he’ll be happy?” 

“Can you do that?”

“I have to try,” he replied, “before I send my son to the Night’s Watch forever, I need to know I tried everything.” 

“It’s what he wants.” 

“I know, but he’s my son and he’s all I’ve got left.”

Daenerys knew she couldn’t push anymore. “Okay, I’ll tell him you’re still considering it.”

“Are you going to tell him about Lyanna too?”

Daenerys was conflicted. “I don’t know, but he should hear it from you. He deserves that much.” 

“After Father,” Rhaegar began. 

Another attempt to barter for more time. Daenerys was unmoved. “By the time Father is no longer King Aemon will either be gone or miserable.”

Although he looked like he wanted to refute the idea, he didn’t. “I’ll think about it.”

She nodded, sensing that was the best she was going to get. “Thank you, and Aemon isn’t all you have left either.” 

He rewarded her with a kind smile, the sort she was used to receiving from him. “I know and I’m grateful, but no matter what, Aemon will always be the most important person in my life.” 

Understanding now what Aemon represented for him she didn’t dispute that. Still, she felt obligated to clarify one thing. “You don’t have to be alone. It’s been a long time.”

“It has been a long time,” he confirmed, “and in some ways it feels like only yesterday. I’ll never marry again, or be with anyone, because I still love Lyanna.” 

The depth of his affection was obvious, but it didn’t mean he had to spend the remainder of his life alone. “No one is asking you to stop loving Lyanna,” she tried, “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy, I have Aemon, I have you and my memories. That’s enough.” 

She thought about bringing up Elia and the family he still had in Dorne, but she didn’t think it would be well received. With no other topic to hide behind, she tiptoed around the question she’d been dying to ask since the beginning. “What became of the Starks?” Her words brought Rhaegar’s eyes off the floor and back to her. He sat up a little straighter in response. She hurried to try and justify her curiosity. “I remember them being Wardens to the North when I was young, but now the Boltons rule Winterfell.” 

“They do,” Rhaegar contributed unhelpfully. 

Daenerys felt around for a foothold. “Where is Ned Stark now?” She’d hoped that by confronting her brother about the past, she’d be able to scrounge up some information about the surviving members of Arya’s family. If she could learn anything it would be a gift more valuable to her lover than one thousand Valyrian steel swords. 

“Dead,” her brother told her grimly. 

“He’s dead?” She felt sick. She was going to need to tell Arya her father was dead. 

“Yes.”

“How? When? What happened?” She fired the questions one after the other, needing more. 

“It doesn’t matter, it was a long time ago.” 

It mattered to Arya and therefore it mattered to Daenerys. Was he trying to spare her, unaware that she already knew most of what happened? The only remaining mysteries were the fate of Arya’s father and one of her brothers. “Was it Father?” she prodded, hoping he’d realize his silence was pointless and provide more information. 

“A few years ago, Father summoned the Starks here,” Rhaegar explained. 

Ignoring the sick feeling in her gut she forged ahead. “And Ned Stark was killed?”

Rhaegar shook his head and looked away. “He killed them all,” he confessed, “after he stripped them of their titles.” 

“What!?” she shouted. She knew for a fact that wasn’t true. Arya wasn’t dead. She was sleeping two doors down. Was he lying to her intentionally or did he believe that? 

Rhaegar gave her a quizzical look as he tried to make sense of her outburst. “He never forgave Ned for his part in the rebellion. His hate boiled over, and he killed the whole family.”

She wanted to dispute that, she had proof after all, but she couldn’t. She swore to protect Arya’s identity and she would, even if it meant letting her brother lie to her again. “That’s horrible,” she said, not needing to work very hard to sound offended. “Were you there?”

“Of course not. I was away on business and didn’t hear about any of it until after I returned.” 

She loved her brother, but his indignation and his assurance that he didn’t know sounded hollow. She put him to the test. “Would you have stopped it if you’d been there?” 

He flinched as her question sunk in and Daenerys had the only answer she needed. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You know how Father gets, he doesn’t listen to anyone.” 

That excuse would have been pathetic under any circumstances, now that she knew how he felt about Lyanna it counted even less. She reached her limit with self-serving half truths. “That was Lyanna’s family, Aemon’s family, our father killed them, and you act like it’s not worth getting upset about!” 

“It’s done,” Rhaegar snapped, nearing a limit of his own. “I wasn’t there, and I’m sorry they’re gone, but there is nothing I could’ve done for them.” 

It wasn’t done, it wasn’t over, and they weren’t all dead. Afraid she might reveal more than she wanted to, she chose to stomp out and take her leave, but before she did, she left her brother with one final message. “You’re a coward,” she told him plainly. “I didn’t know Lyanna, but I bet she’d be appalled to hear there is nothing you, the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms could do for her family.” 

She marched out with purpose, slamming the door for emphasis. Her brother yelled for her to wait, but she ignored him. She couldn’t even say what had her so angry. She knew Rhaegar wasn’t there when Arya’s family went before the King, so there really was nothing he could do to change it, but even so, she hated the way he minimized what happened, and how he dodged any sort of responsibility. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to say that he would have tried to protect Arya’s family, if he’d been there, but he couldn’t, because it wasn’t true. 

He may not have kidnapped and raped Lyanna Stark, but Rhaegar did have a hand in the events that ruined Arya’s family and that was undeniable. 

R-C

Alone in a bed that wasn’t hers Arya couldn’t fall back asleep. She stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, trying to clear her mind but ultimately she gave up. Sleep was less appealing than wondering where Daenerys had run off to. 

How long had Daenerys been gone? Where was she now? Was she having second thoughts about being with a Stark, or with Arya specifically? She could be forgiven if she was, but the sting Arya felt was real all the same. She would never admit it to anyone, including Daenerys, but she’d been looking forward to waking up with the Princess in her arms. 

She considered going back to the barracks and her own bed but decided against it. She didn’t want Daenerys to return to her room later and be struck with the same feelings surging through Arya, the doubt, the worry, the general unease. It occurred to her that if Daenerys was regretting their night together, then maybe she would prefer finding her bed empty. With no clear course she decided to find middle ground. She’d wait for Daenerys to join her and then make up an excuse to leave. If Daenerys wanted her gone, she’d take advantage of Arya’s offer, and the guard would have her answer. 

To pass the time she left the warm, soft bed and retrieved the armor she removed the night before. Regardless of where Daenerys was or why, morning would be upon them soon enough and when it came, Arya’s breastplate needed to shine. Preparing her gear for the next day was usually the last thing she did before climbing into bed at night, but for obvious reasons she didn’t adhere to the pattern last night. Better late than never, she carried the armor to the bed and got comfortable. 

She looked up from the steel in her hands when the door creaked to announce it was moving. Daenerys had her head down, but enough of her face was exposed for Arya to see she winced slightly when she heard the noise she was making. Arya stopped polishing and waited for Daenerys to realize her efforts weren’t required. 

The startled expression Daenerys wore when she glanced at the bed and saw not only Arya awake, but watching her was nearly enough to settle the guard’s anxiety. “Arya!” she gasped, taking a large stride toward the bed. “What are you doing awake?”

She took one last look at her armor, confirming it was satisfactory, then she lifted it off her lap and set it on the floor beside the bed. “I couldn’t sleep, and I wasn’t the only one apparently.” 

To her relief, Daenerys’s smile didn’t seem even the slightest bit forced or fake. “No, you weren’t. There was something I had to do.” Well that was incredibly vague and noncommittal. Just when she thought Daenerys intended to share her secret errand, her posture changed, and her smile vanished. “Did you have another nightmare?” she asked, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” 

Her concern was evident, and it made it easier to think around the doubts she was overrun with. “No, no nightmares at all,” she declared honestly. “I just woke up and noticed you missing…” 

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys said for the second time. “I didn’t think I’d be gone that long.” 

Remembering the plan she’d come up with, she endeavored to give Daenerys an escape. “It’s okay, I should probably go and get myself ready for the day.” 

As she spoke, she pushed back the covers but that’s as far as she got before Daenerys’s hurt voice reached her ears. “You’re leaving?” 

She hesitated before she set her feet on the floor. “If you want me to,” Arya offered, trying hard not to sound disappointed. “When I woke up and you weren’t here. I figured it was because you were having second thoughts.” 

The bed dipped as Daenerys added her weight, narrowly missing one of Arya’s legs. She took the foster’s face in her hands and locked their eyes together. “No, that wasn’t it at all.” 

As badly as she wanted to believe that, she gave Daenerys one more chance to get out of this. “No regrets?”

“None,” she insisted before she brought them together for a kiss. Arya savored it. While she waited, she liked to pretend she wasn’t worried, but in a panic she’d all but concluded she’d never get the chance to kiss the beautiful Princess again. “I woke up, and I watched you sleep for a few minutes,” she said after their breathing was normal again, “you looked so peaceful, but I couldn’t stop thinking about everything you said. I went to see my brother, to hear his side of things.”

From the moment she told Daenerys her true name, she knew she was setting the siblings on a treacherous path. Her secret had the potential to permanently upset one of Daenerys’s best relationships. She hated Rhaegar but didn’t wish Daenerys any pain and she knew the truth hurt. Learning the brother she idolized wasn’t perfect couldn’t be easy. Since their talk, Daenerys had been steadfastly avoiding Rhaegar as much as possible and minimizing their interactions when they had no choice but to be near one another. She expected Daenerys would confront him eventually, but she didn’t think it would happen so soon. She assumed the Princess would need days or weeks to make sense of all the new information she’d been given, but in practically no time at all, she went straight to the Prince and demanded answers. Arya couldn’t help but admire her fearlessness. 

“Do you want to talk about it,” Arya asked, reaching for her lover. 

She pulled away, far enough to stand up and slip off her dress, leaving her as naked as Arya was. Then she joined the Northerner in bed, choosing to climb over Arya instead of going around to the other side. As she crossed Arya’s body, she stopped for a deep, kiss, the sort that erased all of Arya’s gnawing doubts about Daenerys’s feelings. 

Neither woman spoke until Daenerys was once again in Arya’s arms, with her head on the guard’s chest, exactly as she’d been when they fell asleep. “I do want to talk about it,” Daenerys finally said, “but not now. Right now, I want to spend as much time as I can, exactly like this.” 

Arya wasn’t going to argue with that. Her father was the biggest traitor in recent memory, and his daughter was little more than an insignificant, tiny fragment of a scattered family. She was a foster with fewer friends than she had fingers and somehow lying there with Daenerys, she still managed to feel lucky.

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I’m not sure what to say actually. I hope it didn’t disappoint anyone. I originally had this idea for a story a couple of years ago, but I never got very far, because I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do with Rhaegar’s character. It was only when I started from the beginning and reworked a few different things that I came up with this version of the Prince. I’m a firm believer that if you hear two sides of the same story the truth is probably in the middle somewhere, and that’s kind of where I came down on Rhaegar. He didn’t kidnap anyone but still deserves some of the blame. I also thought that given her affection for Arya, Daenerys would have little tolerance for his excuses. 
> 
> Feel free to let me know what you think of Rhaegar’s truth and Daenerys’s reaction to it. 
> 
> Russell Craig


	29. Chapter 29

She should have been at breakfast. There would be questions about her absence, but she just couldn’t do it. To sit there, surrounded by people who infuriated her. How could she share a table with her father and brother, how could she make nice with the King’s advisors now that she knew the role they played in Arya’s misfortune? 

She had a moment to herself. Missandei was taking her clothes to be cleaned and Arya was gone to see if Tyrion had meetings that required her attention. While she waited, Daenerys was struggling to find space in her body for all the emotions she was feeling. It was difficult to look at Arya and see the smart, beautiful, talented woman she was, because Daenerys was tormented by the scared, lonely girl she must have been. How could these people call themselves men, call themselves leaders when they did nothing to protect innocent children? It was despicable. Some things were just inexcusable. If Aerys really felt the Starks needed to be punished, he could’ve punished Arya’s father alone. There was no need to involve the man’s wife and children in their personal dispute. When Arya told her story, Daenerys asked why her father would wait so long to exact revenge. At the time she wasn’t thinking clearly, if she had been, she would have seen his motive straight away. He’d told Ned Stark directly, he wanted him to suffer. Killing him would have been easy and justifiable to many, but her father preferred it when his vengeance took a while. For years he let Ned Stark believe he’d been granted mercy and then when the King was able to inflict maximum damage, he acted on his murderous desires. It was sickening. 

She had no doubt the beating Arya’s father received from the Clegane was severe and unpleasant, but she’d wager he’d take it again and again over what came next. When he was bloodied and weak, unable to resist, he was forced to watch as his family was slaughtered. Aerys could have killed him within days of the Battle at the Trident, but instead he chose to wait patiently. She shivered as she imagined his glee each time word reached him that the Starks had added another child to their growing family. How many were enough? Five apparently. He could have hurt Ned Stark by summoned them when he had one child, two, three, or four, but her father waited until there were five, one of them still a babe. It wasn’t justice and it wasn’t right, it was murder and torture. 

She wasn’t only obsessing over her father’s vile deeds, she was holding many others accountable too. The lies were too numerous to list. Stacked one atop the next, they’d be too tall to see over. All her life she’d been fed lies about the Starks, and she believed them. She blamed them for Rhaegar’s injury, she hated them and was glad when they were no longer Wardens in the North. Daenerys had been pleased by their downfall, but she was just a stupid girl. She didn’t know anything. The truth was heavy, and it changed everything. How many people knew what really happened? How many lies were told to keep it hidden? How many lives lost? Doing nothing when Arya and the other Starks were judged was reprehensible, but then to demean the family name afterward, to spread lies and tear down a legacy it took generations to build, that was especially spiteful. She always believed the Starks fled in disgrace, a fitting end for the traitors she believed then they were. She tried to think back, to recall which of the men around her were part of the conspiracy, her father of course, Tywin and Varys definitely. The next face that popped into her mind brought anger with it, Jorah Mormont. He had the nerve to disparage the Starks after betraying them. She recalled asking him about the war once. He said, ‘Your father did the right thing, a rebellion against the Crown cannot be allowed to take root, grow and thrive.’ ‘They got what they deserved,’ he said of the rebels another time. Dumbly she agreed with him then, oblivious about the true horrors that had taken place. Not even Rhaegar was safe from her scorn. It may have been true that her brother didn’t discuss the Starks, just as he never spoke of Aemon’s mother, but that didn’t make him innocent. He knew others were spreading lies on his behalf and for his benefit and he allowed it. In Daenerys’s mind that made him just as guilty. Everything she thought she knew about the Starks and Robert’s Rebellion was slanted half-truths, gross misrepresentation or entirely inaccurate. The people in her life, her own family, no one valued her enough to tell her the truth. 

She was stewing in her rage, reliving distant memories, as she tried to make a list of all those who wronged her, it was going to be a long one. She hadn’t sought it out, wasn’t looking for it, but her eyes landed on it, there on the shelf. Instantly she was on her feet. She hurried over to it and tore it from its place with enough force that she unsettled two other unrelated books as well. “Histories of the Seven Kingdoms,” she read aloud. It was the book Rhaegar gave her for her nameday. Surely when he bought it for her, he didn’t expect she’d be using it for this purpose. The text claimed it carried information about all houses, big and small, so it stood to reason that there would be a segment on the Starks. 

She flipped through the pages eagerly, before she realized aimless searching was futile. She went back to the beginning and tried to discover how the information was organized. She was anxious and the time she spent learning to navigate the large book felt longer than it was, but it was well worth it. When she finished, she knew exactly where to go for information about Arya’s kin. 

“The Starks,” she read, feeling a nervous excitement. What would the book tell her? Would it validate Arya’s recollections, or spew more Targaryen nonsense? 

“Seated in Winterfell in the North of Westeros the Starks were a storied family that went back to a time before Aegon and his dragons. Before the land was united, a Stark ruled from Winterfell as King in the North. They were known by their grey banners with a direwolf, and the words ‘Winter is Coming.’ After bending the knee, the Starks served the Targaryen Kings, fulfilling their duties as Wardens of the North faithfully for many peaceful and prosperous centuries.” 

Daenerys skimmed over pages about the first Stark King to bend the knee to one of her ancestors, and past a Stark’s important role in building the Wall. She kept flipping and flipping, past a dozen detailed sections dedicated to various Starks of note. Daenerys would read the ancient history later, for now she was much more interested in recent events. 

She lost count of the number of pages she turned before she landed on Rickard Stark. Daenerys put her finger on the spot to ensure she didn’t lose her place and then she steeled herself for what was to come. She needed to do this. She had to know. 

“Warden in the North after his father, Rickard had and raised the children that would severe the allegiance between the Targaryens and the Starks forever.” 

Daenerys read through a list of names and was surprised to see one Arya hadn’t mentioned. Had she told Daenerys of Benjen? If so, she couldn’t recall what was said. She kept reading. 

“One would like to think that if Rickard Stark knew what harm his children would do to the Realm, he would have smothered them in their sleep as infants.”

Daenerys slammed the book closed with force. By the Gods, please tell her she didn’t read what she thought she did. Tentatively, carefully she found the right page and checked again. The words were unchanged. “Fuck!” she spat, as she closed the book again. It was useless, it just reinforced the lies. Reading it wouldn’t provide any clarity that was for certain. If the author was going to mention Rickard’s unfortunate death while seeking information about his missing daughter, he surely wouldn’t have needed that particular passage. 

Desperate to look anywhere other than the book that offended her, her eyes landed on the crackling fire. She watched the licking, leaping flames for a few moments and felt the weight of the book in her lap. It was a gift, but not much of one. Her brother had given her a book filled with someone else’s lies, as if she hadn’t heard enough already. She stood, intending to drop it in the fire and be done with it. She was close enough feel the warmth when it occurred to her that she should probably finish what she’d started. If she was committed to burning it, this would be her one and only chance to see what the author said about Arya and her family. 

Daenerys didn’t have high expectations for the section on Ned Stark and his children, not after what was written about the man’s father, but she looked, nonetheless. She skipped over the parts about his young life and physical appearance finding instead what she really wanted. 

“Eddard Stark was named Lord of Winterfell after the executions of his father and brother in King’s Landing for crimes against the Crown. Not even being uplifted to Warden in the North was enough to lessen his rage. He held a deep and widely known hate for all Targaryens after the executions and rallied the North in opposition. He joined forces with Robert Baratheon of Storm’s End and together they attempted to remove the Targaryens from power.” 

Daenerys was stunned. Somehow the author managed to implicate Arya’s father and Robert Baratheon without mentioning Lyanna, the whole reason they were fighting. Bypassing the portion dedicated to the war, she landed on a page which spoke about the children of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully. 

“Robb – Firstborn, named after the traitor Robert Baratheon, who was slayed in the Battle of the Trident. Robb was raised to be heir of Winterfell until King Aerys the Second stripped the Starks of their authority replaced them with House Bolton. What little is known about Robb says he was loyal to his father and likely would have taken up arms against the throne if given the chance.” 

“Brandon – Named after the traitor executed by King Aerys the Second for crimes against the throne. Young when his family fell from grace, it was said Bran was gentle, kind and like Robb before him looked adored his father.” 

“Rickon – In keeping with the tradition of naming his sons after traitors the third-born boy was named Rickon after Eddard’s father. Most of the Starks are a mystery, but Rickon even more so. He was but a babe when Eddard and his family.” 

Daenerys stopped reading and wondered again why she bothered. She should have tossed it in the fireplace and not let her curiosity get the better of her. She knew the author wasn’t going to treat the Starks fairly, but still it hurt to read the exact ways he tried to dishonor them. The author claimed the Starks simply ran away never to be seen again. The book makes no mention of Aerys summoning them, or about the murders carried out when they arrived. It was sad and predictable that the book would align with the King’s preferences. She knew the truth now, but she was in the minority. How many who read this book believed it? They were misjudging Arya, misjudging the whole of her family, and it was wrong. 

“Sansa – the first of two daughters born to her parents. Sansa was more Tully than Stark, with her mother’s eyes and temperament. Though young when the Starks left Westeros, Sansa was rumored to have many interested suitors, both in the North and beyond.”

Reading about Sansa, and knowing she was the only survivor apart from Arya, Daenerys was more motivated than ever to travel to Highgarden and reunite the sisters. She’d decide for herself who Sansa Stark was.

“Arya - Unlike her sister, Arya took after her father, not only in appearance but in deed. Spirited, unruly and wild, she was every inch a she-wolf. It’s been said her mother couldn’t control her, that she did as she pleased, answering only to her father and the wolf that followed her everywhere. As it had been in previous generations Stark daughters were particularly vulnerable to this sort of uncontrollable behavior. Like Lyanna before her, Arya couldn’t be tamed. Unlike Lyanna, who had the good sense to leave Winterfell, Arya remained there causing problems until she and the rest of her family moved on.”

“As is the case with any of the Starks, we can’t say what became of Arya, but one can only imagine a negative fate for one so destined for destruction. Those of us who still reside in the Realm should consider ourselves lucky that Arya and her kin have had the good sense to leave us in peace. They belong in a place far less civilized than ours.” 

Daenerys didn’t have words. What was several steps beyond furious? She couldn’t believe it. They made Arya and her family sound like savages! She couldn’t help wondering if the author wrote each word in the King’s presence. Did her father dictate the lies or just review them afterward, granting his approval? How pathetic that the only mention of Lyanna was not as a missing woman whose disappearance sparked the rebellion, not as Aemon’s mother, but as an unruly woman who couldn’t be controlled. It was distasteful to say the least. 

She was holding the book over the fire when Missandei came in. “What are you doing?” she asked as she rushed to the Princess’s side. A soft, but firm hand snared her wrist and tried to guide it away from the flames. 

“They’re lies!” she explained, unaware she was yelling until she heard herself. “All of it. It’s all shit.” 

Missandei took the book from between Daenerys’s fingers and read the cover. “This is…” she paused. “The Prince gave you this, for your nameday.” 

“Some gift,” she spat bitterly. “It’s filled with lies and he knows it.” 

“You were going to burn it?” 

“It isn’t worth the ink wasted to write it, but it could still be of use warming my chambers,” she justified. 

“Come, let’s sit.” Daenerys didn’t budge, she continued staring into the fire, even though she was no longer holding the item she wanted to burn. “Tell me which are lies,” Missandei instructed. 

“All of them probably.”

“Is this about Arya, about her family?” she guessed accurately. 

“They wrote vile things about her. It keeps getting worse.” 

“What does?”

“What my family did to hers!” Daenerys erupted. 

“Come sit,” Missandei encouraged, making room next to her. When Daenerys remained unmoving, the handmaiden resorted to a bribe. “Show me the lies and when we’re done, I’ll help you burn it.” 

She and Missandei had only spoken briefly about what Arya told her. There hadn’t been time since. She deserved to know. If she was going to understand, she needed to hear everything. Maybe the wise woman from Naath would know how Daenerys was supposed to contend with the sick feeling that had been plaguing her since Arya told her tale. She was a Targaryen, that made her responsible and although she wanted to make amends, she wanted to fix things, she didn’t even know where to begin. How could you right something so wrong? Was it even possible? Should she try even if it was unlikely, she’d be successful? She trusted Missandei would know how to help her live with this new information, but first she needed to tell her what she knew. “What happened to Arya’s family was terrible,” she said as she approached her friend, “and it’s all my father’s fault.” 

R-C

It wasn’t one thing, it was everything. Things piled on Arya one after the other until doing nothing was impossible. 

It started when she got back from seeing Tyrion. Daenerys was in a foul mood. She hadn’t been, but when she returned, everything was different. What caused the change was a mystery. Was she angry the dwarf had nothing for them? 

Arya was still trying to solve the riddle when Daenerys announced her reasons. “I’m tired and I still have a lot of notes to write, so I think that’s what I’ll do today.” 

Just like that, Arya didn’t have to wonder anymore. She felt guilty for being at least part of the reason Daenerys was up late, but it was impossible to regret their night together. Tired was a small price to pay. She actually agreed with the Princess, this was the perfect day to hide away. 

Both Arya and Missandei offered to help, but Daenerys refused, apparently protocol dictated that each note be in the Princess’s own hand. With little else to contribute, Missandei brought snacks, Arya stole kisses and they combined to keep Daenerys entertained while she wrote the same words over and over. Originally, she thought they were having success, Daenerys put a considerable dent in the number of notes she had pending, and all was well. Frequently, usually right before she readied the seal to finish another letter, violet eyes would leave the desktop and seek her out. No words were exchanged, but then again, they weren’t needed, Arya understood perfectly. From the spark in her eye she guessed Daenerys was thinking about the night before. If the mischievous smile was any indication, she was also planning for later, and the possibility of a repeat performance. Arya certainly wouldn’t complain if that’s what her future held. 

Anywhere else in the castle and Arya would need to be cautious. She’d have to hide behind a mask, so their feelings weren’t obvious to anyone who saw them together. She didn’t like it, but it couldn’t be helped. It was unavoidable. She wasn’t a suitable partner for Daenerys and therefore no one could ever know the extent of their relationship. Whether at dinner tomorrow and walking the hall a week from now, she’d need to be the stoic guard everyone expected her to be. Out there she had a role to play and lies to tell, but in here with these people, she could be honest. It was safe to be herself. 

For almost three hours they fell into an easy pattern. Daenerys would write, the others would talk, and when she was becoming frustrated, Arya would distract her with a kiss or two. It was all rather productive. 

She couldn’t say when it changed, not exactly. She just noticed that Daenerys was glancing in her direction less. Arya didn’t think much of it, not at first. As time passed Daenerys contributed less and less to the conversation, until she was practically silent. The handmaiden and the guard shared a loaded look as they tried to understand what was happening. The answer came when Arya saw how Daenerys was spending the valuable seconds between the end of one note and the start of the next. Instead of joking with Missandei or flirting with Arya, Daenerys eyed the master list, the one that tracked the total number of notes that remained unwritten. That would be enough to dampen even the brightest day. 

Since her nameday Daenerys had told her more than once how important the notes were. To Arya they were meaningless scrolls, ink and wax, but Daenerys described them as ‘vital tools’ used to strengthen the relationships between the Crown and the many people who flocked to King’s Landing to celebrate the Princess’s birth. She wanted to object, to say that if the notes were so important to the King then he should write them, but she knew voicing that particular feeling would only add to Daenerys’s stress. Complaining might make Arya feel better, but it wouldn’t ease Daenerys’s burden. 

They lasted another hour and a half before Arya reached her limit. She’d been willing to endure the torture and offer support in whatever small way she could, but that was before, before her lover’s shoulders slumped in defeat and her smile disappeared. She couldn’t do nothing while Daenerys suffered. 

“Missandei,” she said pushing off the wall and approaching the desk, “can you find Daenerys’s cloak please?”

She was sure the handmaiden had questions, but she kept them to herself and went to the closet. Arya arrived next to Daenerys’s chair just in time to see her add one more note to the ‘completed’ group. When her hand reached for the next blank page Arya grabbed her wrist and held it in place. “Wh…what are you doing Arya?” 

“No more letters today,” she decreed. “You’ve done enough. Let’s go have some fun.” 

It was there, a momentary flicker of joy before the Princess’s conscience won out. “I can’t. I have to finish.”

Arya couldn’t disagree with that. Daenerys would eventually need to write to even the most insignificant Lord who decided to visit, but it didn’t have to be today. She tried unsuccessfully to free her hand from Arya’s grip. “Just a few minutes. You can do a bunch more tomorrow but…”

Again, Arya watched as Daenerys struggled between what she clearly wanted and her obligations. It took longer than the last time, but her duty still came out on top. “I can’t, and we can’t. We can’t leave the keep today, unless you spoke to my brother and didn’t tell me.”

She was making this so much harder than it needed to be. Luckily, Arya quite liked a challenge, especially in the form of the beautiful Dragon Princess. “All the more reason to get up and come outside, I think it’s past time you learned you can have fun inside these walls.” 

For the first time in far too long Arya saw her lover and not the formal, proper Princess she became when fulfilling her official duties as Aerys’s daughter. She stopped trying to claim her arm back and leaned toward Arya instead. There was an unspoken question on her lips and the guard knew she was intrigued. “Trust me.” Afraid Daenerys’s manners would undo their progress she struck a pre-emptive bargain. “Ten minutes, if you aren’t having fun, I’ll personally escort you back up here to your chambers and your letters.” 

“A little fresh air would be nice for all of us, I think,” Missandei added helpfully. The reaction from Daenerys was instantaneous. Missandei was brilliant. By claiming it would benefit all of them, Daenerys was less likely to refuse. Even if she didn’t want to go outside, she was too good to deny her friends the chance to take a break. 

“Ten minutes,” Daenerys announced firmly, earning nods from her companions. 

She stood from her chair and arched her weary back, groaning as she did. Arya released her and stepped back, giving her space while Missandei held out the cloak she located. 

As the trio left the room, Arya fell in step beside Missandei. She wasn’t ashamed to admit it was her and not Arya that got Daenerys to agree. She was so grateful she might have rewarded the handmaiden with a kiss, if doing so wouldn’t enrage Daenerys and earn her a sword in the gut from Grey Worm. Since physical acts of gratitude were not an option, she chose to use her words. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

“She needs this,” Missandei noted, echoing Arya’s opinion. 

R-C

It would have been a lie to say the cool breeze didn’t feel nice after being cooped up indoors. As tempted as she was to attach herself to Arya and give in to the desire to have a little fun, the long list of notes she still had to write haunted her. She’d gotten a lot done and was actually enjoying the time with her friends, regardless of the task, until she made the mistake of glancing at the list as a whole instead of just the next name. Seeing how much work remained was daunting and demoralizing, ruining her mood. The last place she wanted to be was back upstairs writing more notes, but she knew that is where she belonged, it was what was expected of her, no matter how badly she wanted to be anywhere else. 

She agreed to ten minutes because she couldn’t bring herself to disappoint her lover. The smile Arya aimed at her after she agreed was breathtaking. 

“I need a favor,” Arya said from Daenerys’s left. When had she gotten there? Last she looked Missandei and Arya were whispering together a few paces back. 

The intensity in Arya’s expression spoke to her, informing her that whatever the guard was about to ask for, it was important. The nonsense with the notes notwithstanding Daenerys found herself giving Arya her undivided attention. If it was in her power to give, she would. “Okay?”

Before she elaborated Arya peeked over her shoulder, locating the woman from Naath who was trailing behind, giving them privacy. “I need you to think up an excuse so Missandei can have the day off tomorrow.”

That was the favor Arya wanted? Was that what she and Missandei had been discussing on the walk through the castle? Like Arya had, Daenerys looked back at her friend. If Missandei wanted another day for herself, why hadn’t she come to Daenerys directly? Irrational as it was, her best friend’s choice to use Arya as a messenger hurt and Daenerys responded more harshly than was fair. “Fine, I’ll come up with something. All she had to do was ask.” 

As was fast becoming habit, Arya understood her. She stopped walking and used a hand on Daenerys’s forearm to still her too. “No,” Arya whispered, “Missandei didn’t ask me for anything.”

“What?” That made even less sense than when she thought Missandei was afraid to ask herself. 

“Grey Worm,” Arya said, lowering her voice even further and checking to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard. 

“What?” she said again, still not making the connection. 

Arya’s whisper was so quiet Daenerys had to strain her ears to hear it while standing right next to her. “He wants to do something nice for her. Seems she had a nice time while they were away, and he wants to do it again.”

Relief surged through her as she finally understood what all of this was about. Daenerys smiled, partially because the mystery had been solved, but mainly because she was impressed. Grey Worm loved Missandei unconditionally, but he wasn’t the most romantic man to ever walk. It was as surprising as it was touching to learn he was searching for ways to show his love to Missandei. “She loved it,” Daenerys confirmed, recalling what her friend told her about their two days away from the castle. “I don’t think she wanted to come back.”

“He asked for my help, so can you go without her tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Daenerys promised. “If anyone asks, I’ll say I sent her on another errand. No one will miss her.” 

“That’s great, Grey Worm was very excited about it,” Arya confessed with a chuckle. “I had to help him scout out the best locations.” 

Although she thought it was sweet that Grey Worm and Arya were working together to surprise Missandei, Daenerys quickly pushed that thought aside. She imagined Arya hunched over a map, studying it for the most romantic spots, only this time it wasn’t for Grey Worm and Missandei’s benefit. “Did you find any? We could always go for a ride together the next time Rhaegar let’s me leave.” 

She had no idea when that would be, or what manner of destinations Arya helped the Unsullied find, but she didn’t care. Daenerys was suddenly excited by the prospect of getting to experience what Missandei and Grey Worm had. The hope that she’d be doing it with Arya made it all the more appealing. 

“One or two,” she responded cryptically. Her smile warned that her thinking was in line with Daenerys’s. “I couldn’t let Grey Worm outdo me, could I?” she asked rhetorically. 

More than once Daenerys had been fought over. As recently as a few months before they left for Dorne, a pair of suitors from different kingdoms arrived at the Red Keep on the same day to seek her hand in marriage. Undeterred by her lack of interest, each man made it his mission to prove his worth by demeaning the other. The weeklong spectacle had infuriated her. What the men failed to understand was that she wasn’t a prize to be won. They got the message when she called them together and sent them away, having had her fill of their games. 

She may have hated when those men fought over her like a piece of meat, but it was a whole other set of emotions she was overrun with when Arya spoke. She felt loved, cherished and valued, knowing that Arya cared enough to put time and energy into planning things for them. She would be happy with Arya regardless of where they were and what they were doing, but she couldn’t deny it felt good to be worthy of the Northern woman’s efforts. “It’s a date,” she said, already looking forward to it. 

R-C

Daenerys’s mood improved with every step they took toward their destination. While she wanted to be the sole reason for the shift, Arya wasn’t delusional enough to take all the credit. After being trapped inside for so long she imagined the fresh air and warm sun were doing much more for Daenerys than Arya’s presence. They were walking a worn path that led to the yard where the Unsullied trained. Arya couldn’t tell if they were going for Missandei’s benefit or if Daenerys intended to speak to Grey Worm about his plans. 

“I need a favor from you too,” Daenerys said when they were just steps from the Unsullied. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Daenerys replied with a real smile. “Nothing, I just need you to run back to my chambers and grab a few things.”

“Really? Can’t it wait?” Whether Daenerys was going to adhere to the ten-minute limit or stay longer, Arya couldn’t imagine what was urgent enough to send her back early. 

“Please Arya, I’ll distract Missandei, but you’re the only one who can do this.” 

She didn’t understand why Missandei needed distracting or why now was the best time for whatever this was, but Daenerys was asking, so she’d go. “Just tell me what you need.” 

The Princess was immensely relieved, so much so it made Arya question if she really thought the guard would refuse. “In the pile of notes I’ve finished, about twenty or so from the top you’ll find one addressed to the Musgoods thanking them for visiting. Can you bring it to me?” Before Arya could ask why, Daenerys was moving on to the next item she needed. “In one of the desk drawers you’ll find purses of gold. Pick one of the biggest ones and bring as well.” 

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something important. She’d do as Daenerys requested, but first she needed to verify one detail. “You’ll be here when I get back?” 

“Right over there,” she swore, pointing to a specific spot. With a gleam in her eye she leaned closer to the Northern woman. “If I ran away, I wouldn’t get anymore kisses from you.”

Fighting a smirk, she raised an eyebrow. “And that’s worth staying for?” 

“Definitely. Hurry back and I’ll prove it.” 

All the way to the castle she told herself it was her duty as a guard and not the potential of more kisses that propelled her to run and not walk, but deep inside Arya knew better. 

R-C

Armed with the note for Lady Musgood and a large purse of gold dragons Daenerys summoned Missandei and her lover from where they’d been talking together. 

“Is everything alright?” Missandei fretted. 

“It is,” Daenerys insisted, “but I require aid from the two of you.” 

Her loyal friend was immediately willing. “Of course, anything you need.” 

“I wrote this important letter to Lady Musgood of Storm’s End, but I fear sending a standard courier will take too long.”

“Too long?”

She nodded to emphasize her point. “I know it’s an inconvenience, but I was hoping you might be willing to hand deliver my correspondence.” She let that sink in before she added, “The contents are personal and there is no one else I could trust.” 

“Are you sure?”

She was sure. She turned her gaze to the soldier. “Can I trust you to ensure Missandei reaches the Stormlands safely?”

“I swear it, Princess,” Grey Worm pledged, bringing a hand up to his chest to show the seriousness of his vow. 

“You’ll need this,” Daenerys said, holding the sealed letter out to Missandei. She appraised it for a long moment before taking it. “This too,” she finished, passing her the gold too, “for any expenses you incur.” 

Missandei was suspicious. “Can you give us a moment alone?” she asked Grey Worm in Valyrian. He complied without delay and Missandei’s features hardened a bit. “What are you doing?” she asked Daenerys without switching back to the common tongue. 

“Asking a lot of you,” she responded, not breaking character. “Please Missandei, do this for me.”

Her words erased the disapproval she saw in Missandei. “It’s not that, I just…” she stopped to collect herself. “I just returned from a trip. I do not need another. I’m happy here.” 

“This wasn’t my idea.”

The admission nearly caused the composed handmaiden to drop what she was carrying. “It wasn’t?”

She shook her head and looked to where Grey Worm and Arya were. “He wanted to do something nice for you, he even enlisted Arya to help.” 

Tears shined in her eyes once she understood. “He did?” 

“Yes, so if you don’t want to do this for me, do it for him.” It was a dirty trick playing on Missandei’s honor and loyalty, but it was all for a good cause. 

“I don’t need it,” Missandei insisted without any real frustration. “He shows me he cares all the time. I don’t need this.” 

Daenerys put a hand on her friend’s arm. “Go and enjoy yourself. Walk slow, stop in every town, see every sight, consider it practice for when you have your freedom and can go anywhere you wish.” 

“Thank you, for all you’ve done for me,” Missandei whispered, “for us.” 

“That’s my line,” she retorted playfully. “You best get on your way, Grey Worm’s waiting. I’ll see you in a few days.” 

True to her character, Missandei spent more time worrying over Daenerys than anything else. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’ll be gone a lot longer than I was last time.” 

Daenerys smiled. “Yes, you will, and I hope you enjoy every second.” 

“What about you?” 

“I’ll be fine,” she assured her. As she spoke her eyes drifted to Arya. She’d miss Missandei but she’d have Arya to fill the void. 

Missandei caught on and chuckled. “There are other ways to get time alone with Arya. You don’t need to send me to another kingdom.” 

Daenerys felt her face heat but was otherwise unrepentant. “I was just thinking that since you’re going to be spending the coming days with your lover, I should probably do the same.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll worry about you less if I know Arya is with you.” 

Despite being said with an undercurrent of humor, Daenerys knew there was some truth in the statement also. She chose to let it pass. “Come on,” she encouraged, sliding her hand down Missandei’s arm to her hand. “Let’s go before they decide to start sparring, it would delay your leaving by hours.” 

They laughed together as they made their way over to their partners. Having finished her heartfelt talk with Missandei, Daenerys left her to prepare and went to Grey Worm. “Ready to go?” she asked him. 

He nodded. “Yes, thank you. I know you do this for me.”

“I’m doing this for both of you,” she corrected. “It was a good idea, Missandei is very lucky.” 

His stoic expression cracked a bit. “I want her happy,” he declared. She’d always known they were a good pair, but Daenerys could think of nothing better for Missandei than a man who knew what she deserved. Grey Worm clearly did. 

“You make her happy,” Daenerys remarked. “She’ll want to rush, but it’s your job to go slow.”

“Slow?”

“Slow,” she repeated. “I want you and Missandei to take your time, do you understand?” 

He took a moment to contemplate the words he heard. “More time,” he said in Valyrian, confirming he got the message. 

“That’s right,” she said. “There is no hurry, just make her happy and keep her safe.” She knew she didn’t need to tell him either of those things, he’d do them regardless, but it never hurt to repeat the important parts. 

“I will.” Aware of how seriously the Unsullied took their words, she knew she didn’t need to worry. Grey Worm would guard Missandei against anything that might threatened her. 

R-C

“Still have your knife?” Arya asked as Missandei tucked away the letter she’d been tasked with carrying. 

When her hand was empty and the letter secure, she retrieved the weapon Arya gave her. “I carry it always.” She returned the blade to its hiding place and then said, “Thank you, I understand you helped arrange this.” 

“I don’t deserve any of the credit,” she explained honestly, “this was entirely Grey Worm’s idea. He loves you and wanted to show you.” 

“He shows it all the time. I don’t need…”

“Let him do this for you,” Arya suggested, “it means a lot to him.” 

Satisfied, Missandei shifted their conversation to Daenerys. “She told me to go, but can I really leave her for so long?” Arya didn’t get a chance to answer before Missandei was going again. “I know I’m replaceable but it’s a long trip and…”

Two hands gripped her shoulders and steered her away from the approaching panic. “The castle may have other servants but there is only one of you. You’re as irreplaceable as they come.” 

“Will she be okay?” she asked, sounding vulnerable. 

“I’ll take care of her,” Arya swore. “I won’t do as good a job as you, but we’ll be fine.” 

“I’m glad she has you.” 

“Don’t worry about us,” Arya instructed as her hands dropped to her sides. “Enjoy the ride, enjoy the company, enjoy yourself. Daenerys, Grey Worm, me, that’s all we want for you.” 

R-C

They saw the lovers turned couriers to the stables and said goodbye before heading back in the direction of the castle. Arya chose then to end the peaceful quiet. “I know it’s been longer than ten minutes, but can you spare a few more?”

She really should get back to her notes, but she was curious to see what Arya had dragged her outside for. “A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.”

They ended up where they started, in front of the barracks where Arya lived, surrounded by training Unsullied. She assumed they’d come to see Grey Worm last time, but he was on his way to the Stormlands with Missandei so why were they back? 

She followed Arya through the tightly packed clusters of armored men. They stopped in front of a large table lined with weapons, some Daenerys recognized, others she couldn’t even begin to guess at their purpose. Why had Arya brought her here? “What are we doing?” 

She responded by picking up a bow. Her next stop was to retrieve a quiver of arrows from the ground nearby. Arya slung the projectiles over her shoulder but handed the well-crafted bow to the Princess. “Hold this,” she directed. 

Daenerys did, taking it dumbly. She’d been around guards and soldiers her whole life and this was the first time she’d ever touched a bow. “What going on Arya?”

“Just a second,” she said, flashing Daenerys a smile that made her forget to breathe. She was powerless to resist it. Even if she wanted to ask one of the numerous, reasonable questions she had, her mouth was too dry to form words. 

Arya led her away from the Unsullied to a less populated area. A row of hay targets had been set up. A handful of Unsullied were practicing their technique on the stationary figures using swords and spears. Two more were standing further back, using bows to perfect long-range strikes. Was this why they’d come, so Arya could shoot arrows? 

When they were standing directly in front of an unused target Arya stopped and shrugged the quiver down her arm, letting it drop to the dirt. “Arya what…”

She was behind the Princess in a blink, gripping her under the arms and moving her. “Have you shot a bow before?

“N…no…” she stammered. It wasn’t the admission that had her tripping over her words, it was Arya’s touch. It was easier to think when her hands dropped, so why was Daenerys disappointed? This was for her? Was Arya mad? She didn’t know the first thing about weapons. 

“When I was a girl and I was overwhelmed,” she remembered, “I’d sneak away, grab a bow and some arrows and try and stick them in a target just like this one. It never failed to make me forget my troubles.” 

She’d been wrong to assume Arya lost her mind. She was being her usual thoughtful self. Still, Daenerys had her doubts. “It’s sweet of you to think this might help, but I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I’ll teach you,” she proposed. Arya raised her hands again, to adjust her pose and Daenerys was struck by memories of the night before, when those same hands touched her far more intimately. If all of the foster’s lessons involved physical contact, then maybe Daenerys could grow to appreciate them. 

“Okay, what’s first?”

Visible pleased with Daenerys’s willingness to try she returned to her place behind the Princess. “With a bow, it’s all about you’re your breathing, your stance and trust,” she explained. 

Daenerys was skeptical. “Trust what?”

“Breathing first,” Arya reminded her while resisting the urge to smile. “Slow, even breathes. Then, your stance, plant your feet under you, keep your back straight.” 

She did as she was told, and her instructor bathed her with praise. “Good, just like that. Your breathing and stance are good.” 

“Who am I trusting again?” she quipped. 

Although she scowled Daenerys could tell her lover was amused. “Trust the bow will do the hard part and trust your eye to guide the arrow to the target. Can you do that?”

She looked over her shoulder at her lover. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”

Daenerys thought she was ready, but she didn’t realize that turning to look at Arya, undid most of the adjustments she made. When was facing the target again Arya informed her, “Okay, straighten up a bit, like you were before.” Daenerys felt warm inside as Arya complimented her again. “Now open your feet a bit, it’ll make it easier to keep your balance.” 

She made the adjustment as Arya requested, but evidently it was not enough. Instead of a compliment she felt Arya’s hands on her hips, holding her in place. Her mind was far from pure as she felt Arya’s boot against the inside of one foot and then the other, widening her stance by spreading her legs. “I think I prefer the hands on method,” she joked. What possessed her to say that? What was she thinking? She wasn’t very good at flirting, she probably just embarrassed herself and ruined the moment. 

Arya’s reply came with her mouth right over Daenerys’s ear. “Whatever it takes,” she breathed, “I’ll do it.” 

Her worries were needless, and it emboldened her to try again. “Anything?” Her mind was already filling with possibilities. Was this what a relationship was supposed to feel like? Alternating between exhilarating and terrifying? Obsessing over her misstep one moment and then eagerly anticipating what awaited them next?

“Mmhmm,” Arya hummed. Daenerys didn’t know if she was being intentionally seductive or if it was just second nature, but either way it was working. “Hit the target and I’ll happily give you anything you want.”

She had been content to stand there and continue flirting without ever actually firing an arrow, but now she had proper incentive. “Continue with the lesson,” she all but demanded. 

Arya chuckled. Daenerys smiled, loving that sound. Calloused hands took her upper arms and manipulated them. When she finished the hand holding the bow was out in front, while her right was slightly behind. “Line the bow up with the target,” Arya advised, “remember to keep your feet firm and your back straight.”

She briefly considered ruining her form, just so Arya could modify it again, but she restrained herself, wanting to prove she was a good pupil. “Like this?” 

“Perfect.” Even though Arya was just being polite, she felt proud of herself. “Now I want you to practice, pulling the string back.” Pull the string? She didn’t even have an arrow yet. She was going to mention it but decided to go along without complaint for the time being, maybe Arya would praise her discipline next. 

The bow string was a lot harder to move than Daenerys expected. Her first attempt was an absolute failure. Her cheeks burned, very aware of the fact that Arya was watching, standing close enough that Daenerys could feel her warm breath on her skin. It would have been distracting, if her mind wasn’t already dedicated to the bow. With a grunt of effort, she pulled more vigorously and got the string to bend in the way she’d seen archers do. Arya was ready with encouragement. “Great, now release it and do it again, and this time try to keep your breathing steady.” 

Arya had a way about her. Even as she was giving direction to correct Daenerys’s many mistakes, she managed to make the Princess feel as if she was doing everything right. She pulled the bow string back again, relieved to find it easier to manipulate. 

They continued on that way until Arya had sufficient proof that Daenerys could control the bow, then she finally produced a single arrow. With her hands over Daenerys’s she showed the novice how to load the bow and prepare it for firing. The gentle touching lit a fire in Daenerys that left her aching when it was time for Arya to step back. 

While she was in the midst of raising the bow to its proper position Arya decided to adjust her posture by applying pressure to the small of her back. It worked, Daenerys straightened, but she straightened too much. As she jumped, she lost hold of the arrow and it fell to the dirt. 

Arya was on the ground to get it before Daenerys could even locate where it went. Kneeling in front of Daenerys, she took the blame for the delay. “I’m sorry,” she said, holding out the arrow so it’d be easier for Daenerys to reclaim. “You’ll want to close one eye, you think it’ll make it easier to aim, but that’s a trick your mind plays. Keep both eyes open.” 

With an unsteady hand Daenerys took the arrow. She tried to focus but it was difficult with Arya kneeling in front of her. How was she supposed to concentrate on the target and Arya’s instructions when she was looking at her like that? “Ar…Are you going to… stay down there?”

“Don’t mind me,” Arya answered dismissively. “Just load the arrow like I taught you, raise the bow and shoot.” 

She managed to lift the bow without dropping the arrow, but while she tried to aim, she caught sight of Arya from the corner of her eye and it gave her pause. She sighed. “I won’t be able to do this with you down there,” she hissed. 

Initially it was as if Arya didn’t understand. Then she did and a smug smile spread across her face. She said nothing, she just popped up and retreated to her post behind the Princess. 

With a deep breath she tried to ready herself. She took stock of her body, her back, her feet, her hands. She tightened her grip on the string but took care not to upset the arrow balanced there. 

Exactly as Arya predicted when she tried to see the target from behind the bow, her instinct was to close one eye. She resisted it, trusting in Arya’s guidance. Her heart was racing as she drew the string back. She was so pleased with herself that she almost released the arrow early in excitement. Determined to impress Arya she reigned in her emotions and closed her eyes to gather her wits. When she opened them, the target was a little easier to see in the distance and her heartbeat, although fast wasn’t pounding hard enough to shake her entire body anymore. She felt more confident than she thought she would when she released the arrow. After holding the bow taut for so long she was surprised by the sudden slack once the arrow was gone. Her whole body slumped, and she lost track of the arrow on its way to the target. 

Arya’s touch was a comfort on the back of her shoulder. “Close, very close.”

Daenerys lifted her eyes. Sure enough, the target was devoid of any arrows, there wasn’t a mark on him. Damn! She missed! She really thought she could do it. “I missed,” she acknowledged, dejected by her failure. 

“It was a good first try,” Arya insisted, “and it was probably my fault.”

Daenerys scoffed, looking at the woman behind her. “You did everything you could to try and help me, I’m the one who couldn’t hit the stupid target.”

Arya wasn’t in the mood for Daenerys’s self-pity. “It was your first try. No one hits a target on their first try, and it was my fault, I should have warned you to keep your arms steady until after the arrow is gone.”

She didn’t follow. “What?”

“The reason you missed the target is because once you released the arrow you flinched, it knocked the arrow off course.”

“It did?”

“I should have warned you, if I had, you probably would’ve hit it.”

Her opinion of this whole experience was improving rapidly. She hadn’t wanted to try again, certain she’d just fail, but Arya disagreed. “Another one?” Daenerys wanted to see which of them was right.

Arya bent down and came back with a second arrow. “You can do it, Daenerys, I know you can. Clear your mind, it’s just you, your arrow, the bow and the target. Nothing else matters.” 

She almost insisted Arya be included in the list but held her tongue. There would be time to ensure she knew how important she was after Daenerys had successfully completed the trial before her. Arya promised a reward, and while she was receiving it, she could show the other woman just how much she mattered. 

She took her time, hoping her attention to detail would lead to a different result. She fussed over her stance, over her breathing and how the arrow rested against the string. She made three deliberate attempts to empty her mind and focus before she could see clearly enough to choose the ideal place to deposit her arrow. 

She aimed for the center of the target’s body, hoping the widest area would give her the greatest chance of success but to Daenerys’s horror the arrow dropped faster than she thought possible. A crude Valyrian curse left her lips before the arrow struck the ground beneath the target. 

“That was really close.” Arya said. 

This time her reassurance was not needed. Daenerys knew she had almost done it. She was so close she could taste it. She didn’t debate whether or not to try again. She could do this. She would. “Can I have another arrow please?” she asked, reaching back. 

Arya set the arrow onto her palm and Daenerys thanked her with a smile. While she went through her routine of checks, she was remembering her last arrow and where it had landed. It missed because it dropped too quickly. How could she remedy that? She’d seen archers shoot arrows in arcs that travelled hundreds of yards, but that likely took years to master. Daenerys needed a faster solution. She scoured her limited knowledge of warfare for any strategy but was at a loss. As she reviewed military schemes and tactics, it occurred to her that it needn’t be so complicated. It was common sense. She aimed the last arrow at the target’s chest, so maybe this time she should aim even higher. If the arrow dropped as sharply as the last one had, she’d still have a chance of hitting something. 

She had a plan right about the time she was ready to implement it. Although not particularly devout she offered up a prayer to the God who handled archery lessons. 

She held her breath as she watched the arrow move. She couldn’t believe how desperately she wanted to hit a stupid target. She’d never cared about such things before and she suspected they’d lose much of their appeal when Arya wasn’t there to provide lessons, but today it was of the upmost importance. She couldn’t imagine going through all of this to impress Daario, or anybody else, but Arya was special. She made the Targaryen see things in a different way, made Daenerys see herself differently too. 

A strong pair of hands turned her and pulled her into a hug. The bow was trapped awkwardly between them, but Arya didn’t seem to mind, and Daenerys knew she didn’t. “You did it!” the guard exclaimed. “I knew you could. I’m so proud of you.”

She heard a gasp that surely came from her. She’d done it, she hit the target!? She tugged free to check for herself and sure enough, saw a single arrow lodged in the lower torso of the target. Daenerys’s face ached she was smiling so wide. She did it! Dropping the bow, she twisted and wrapped Arya in a proper, appreciative embrace. “I did it! I can’t believe it!” 

Arya was smiling when she stepped back. “Good work, if being a Princess doesn’t work out, you’ll earn a fine wage as an archer.” 

She felt like screaming. This was so much better than her victory at Harvest Time. Throwing a ball was something anybody was capable of. Shooting an arrow required actual skill. Since she couldn’t scream without interrupting the training going on around her, she settled for a joke. “It’s a shame the people of Westeros won’t let women fight for them, that was fun.”

“I know some people in Dorne if you ever decide to pursue your new dream.” She knew Arya was teasing her, but her heart wasn’t listening. The subtle invitation to join her in Dorne raised Daenerys’s spirits even higher than they already were. 

There with her lover, the world faded away. All Daenerys could think about was how badly she wanted to kiss her. Hadn’t Arya said something about a reward? If so, Daenerys was eager to collect it, right here in the yard. 

She likely would have acted on her desires had it not been for the applause she heard from behind them. She leaned away from Arya to trace the source of the sound. She found Aemon, Jaime Lannister and Arthur Dayne watching her. Aemon was the only one clapping however. Further back she saw Jorah too, coming to investigate no doubt. “What are you doing here?” she asked her nephew. 

“I was training when I heard you were over here. I decided to come see my favorite aunt. I thought you were just watching Arya, I didn’t know you’d be the one practicing.” 

How long had they been watching? She didn’t realize anybody was there. She was glad she hadn’t kissed Arya in the heat of the moment, it would’ve exposed them to their audience. “You shouldn’t stop your lessons to watch me. There isn’t much to see.” 

Arya was there to set her straight. “Don’t do that,” she cautioned, “you did great. You hit the target with only your third arrow.”

“Is that true?” Dayne inquired. “This was your first time, Princess?”

She blushed but nodded. “Yes, I’d never even held a bow before today.” 

She noticed all three men looked surprised, including the Lannister. “You did well then Princess.” 

Jorah chose that moment to arrive and involve himself. “Hello Princess,” he said kindly, knowing she wouldn’t be able to ignore him with so many witnesses. 

She paused to see if he’d address Arya. It was a test the knight didn’t know he was undertaking. Daenerys was giving him a chance to treat Arya with respect, to show he’d moved past their differences. He didn’t take it, keeping his eyes on her. “Hello Ser,” she answered stiffly. 

He noticed her tone and his smile dimmed slightly. “What’s going on here?”

“Daenerys is learning the bow,” Aemon contributed. 

Jorah looked at the Princess, then sought out the target, his eyes settling on the arrow sticking out. “Really?” he asked, moving closer to her. “I didn’t know you were interested in archery.”

“I wasn’t really,” she admitted. 

“If you did that,” he said pointing to the target, “then I’d say keep practicing because you’re doing great.” 

“Arya deserves most of the credit,” Daenerys insisted, forcing Jorah to acknowledge her, “she’s the one who brought me out here to clear my head. Without her I never would have known how to load the arrow let alone shoot it.”

“It’s nice to see another Dornish here in the capital,” Arthur said to Arya. “You’re from Sunspear yes?”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Oberyn Martell trained her personally,” Daenerys supplied when Arya didn’t seem inclined to share more. 

Dayne chuckled. “The Viper himself huh? You’re very lucky, few can match him, in Dorne or elsewhere.” 

“He said something similar once while speaking of you,” Arya recalled. 

“That is too kind,” the knight said, brushing aside the compliment. 

Arya wasn’t having it. “If you know Oberyn then you know ‘too kind’ is not his way. He is honest to a fault and he says you’re one of the best.” 

Jaime had apparently tired of the mutual back-patting. “Can you do more than teach?” he asked Arya plainly. 

Daenerys was angered on her guard’s behalf, but Arya was the embodiment of calm. “Ser?”

“Can you shoot a bow or just tell others how?”

“I’m okay,” Arya replied, “not as good as some, but better than others.”

“Show us! I’ve seen you wield that sword,” he said nodding to Arya’s belt, “now show us what you can do with that,” he finished by gesturing to the bow Daenerys dropped. 

For the final decision Arya looked to Daenerys for approval. Should she make up an excuse so they could leave? She wasn’t Arya’s keeper, and she didn’t like telling her what to do, but in this case, she’d make an exception, if only to wipe the smirk off Jaime’s face. “Go ahead, we’ve got time until my next appointment. Show them.” 

Arya pinned her with a stare, likely questioning what appointment they had. Daenerys smiled and tilted her chin toward the target. She could explain later that she invented an appointment to appease the men. 

Arya went to the quiver first and plucked out three arrows. She set them on the ground next to the bow Daenerys discarded and then got to work. It was informative watching Arya. Not only did she move with a graceful purpose. She did all of the things she advised Daenerys to do, beginning with her breathing, right through to straightening her back and widening her stance. She reached the end much quicker than Daenerys would’ve and didn’t hesitate before releasing the first arrow. Before it landed, Arya was kneeling to grab the next. Rather than standing to fire she took aim from one knee and loosed the arrow with more force than Daenerys could fathom. For the final arrow Arya took two large strides back, until she was standing next to Aemon. She turned her back to the target, leaving Daenerys at a loss for how she intended to strike. There was a beautiful elegance to it when she pivoted. Before coming to a complete stop, she raised the bow and fired. Daenerys was impressed and she wasn’t alone. A glance at the others showed they too had taken notice of her ability. Even Jorah’s face lacked the contempt she was used to seeing when he was forced to interact with Arya. 

With a confidence that made Daenerys ache to claim her lover in front of everyone, consequences be damned, Arya marched to a stand in front of Jaime. “How did I do, Ser?”

Daenerys, Jaime and everyone else looked to the target. In addition to Daenerys’s poorly aimed arrow, the dummy now had three more that were all tightly grouped together in the center of his chest. With a new appreciation for how hard it was to aim a bow, Daenerys could only marvel at Arya’s accuracy. 

“Nicely done Arya,” Aemon congratulated. 

“Yes,” Dayne agreed, “impressive work.”

The Lannister was harder to please. “Not bad, how about you try your luck with a target who can actually fight back?”

She waited again, to see if Jorah would say something to Arya. At this point she would have taken anything, including a comment about her choice of weapon or grudging respect for her talent. He bothered with neither. 

When it looked like Arya was about to accept Jaime’s proposal and begin a match, Daenerys had to intervene. “I’m sorry Ser,” she told the Kingsguard, “but I have an appointment and I require my guard, perhaps you can spar another time.” 

True to form, Jorah couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try and reclaim the position he felt entitled to. “Let Arya train,” he said, “I can escort you to any appointments you have.” 

Oh no, that was never going to happen, no matter how politely he dressed it up. Daenerys refused to replace Arya with Jorah. Until she was on a ship bound for Dorne, Daenerys wouldn’t allow Jorah to guard her again. “That’s a generous offer Ser,” Daenerys countered falsely, “but I’m afraid Arya is a necessary part of the meeting. Her opinions would be missed if she didn’t attend.” 

That hit a mark harder than any arrow Arya fired. Jorah’s smile was gone, and he glared at Arya briefly before he caught himself. “Well then, we wouldn’t want you to be late.” 

Jaime took the news much better. “Another time Sand,” he said, an open invitation to try her hand against one of the best swordsmen in the Realm. 

“I’d pay to see that,” the Dorishman noted. “I’ll gladly fight the winner.” 

“I look forward to it,” Arya told them before she moved on to Aemon. “You,” she said pointing at his chest, “keep that sword ready, if I have any energy after your aunt releases me for the evening, I’ll meet you here to train.” 

“I’ll be here.” 

It was sweet to see the developing bond between Arya and Aemon. Before she knew their true relation, Daenerys liked that two of the people she cared about the most were getting along. Now as she watched them interact it meant more, knowing they were both getting what they needed from it. Aemon was spending time with a member of his mother’s family, even if he didn’t know it yet, and Arya was being reminded that not all her family was lost. 

Once she’d finished with Aemon Arya picked up the bow and quiver and ran them back to their original places. It took less than a minute. “Ready for your appointment Princess?”

She smiled. “Definitely. We’ll need to hurry however.” 

They said goodbye to the men and excused themselves. As soon as they were a sufficient distance away to keep anyone from listening, Arya spoke. “What appointment did I forget about? I thought you were free this afternoon.”

“I am,” Daenerys chirped happily, pleased she’d been able to fool not only Jorah and the others but Arya as well. “I just didn’t want to waste the rest of the day watching you spar with Jaime Lannister. You’d win, hurt his pride and he’d insist on fighting until he reclaimed his honor, it would take forever. We have better things to do.”

“Like writing more thank you notes?” 

“Actually, I believe I was promised a reward if I hit the target,” Daenerys reminded her pointedly. “I don’t remember, did I hit the target?”

Arya laughed, a carefree, happy laugh. “That’s where we’re going?”

She nodded seriously. “We’re going to go upstairs, lock the door and I’m going to get the reward I earned.”

Rather than shock Arya with her brashness, it was Daenerys who was knocked off balance, literally when Arya grabbed her hand and tried to pull her up the staircase with increased speed. It was Daenerys’s turn to laugh, deeply, like she hadn’t in years. 

R-C

After the archery lesson Arya and Daenerys retired to the Princess’s chambers, but not one more moment was wasted on those fucking thank you notes. Daenerys didn’t even look in the direction of the desk for the remainder of the afternoon. She was much more focused on receiving her reward. 

As the left the dining hall, Daenerys mentioned wanting to relax in a hot bath. Arya prepared the water and took her leave. Daenerys told her she didn’t need to go, and she was definitely tempted to stay, but she thought the older woman might enjoy some privacy. Before she left, Daenerys secured a promise that Arya would return later that night. 

Now she was walking across the yard, seeking out Aemon. She promised she’d train with him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t her cousin she ran into, but Jorah. It was a little too convenient to be random, had he been waiting for her? “Pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

She knew he was talking to her, but she looked at her surroundings anyway. “Excuse me?”

He came to a stop right in front of her. When he raised his hand, she was temped to remove it at the wrist. He may have been a skilled warrior once, but the years in the capital had made him soft and lazy. “You think you’re so special, but I’ll let you in on a little secret, Daenerys likes everybody. She’ll forget about you long before you make it back to Sunspear and I’ll go back to being the guard she trusts, the one she relies on.” 

This guy didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. He didn’t know the first thing about Daenerys. He certainly didn’t have the right to speak about her feelings. “If I’m insignificant why are you so worried?”

“You think I’m worried about you?” he spat, working hard to appear unbothered. 

“I don’t think you’d be out here if you weren’t,” she commented. She could have left it there, but they were alone, and she was tired of this crap. He needed to learn that she could push back too. “I think you’re jealous because your precious Princess prefers me to you. You see how quickly I was able to replace you and now you just want me gone so you can feel important again.” 

“I’m a knight and the Princess’s guard,” he said after a scoff, “you think I’m jealous of a bastard girl barely finished her training?” 

“You were the Princess’s guard, you aren’t anymore. How many times has she told you to leave her alone? How many more before it sinks in?”

“You just don’t get it! You’ll be gone soon, and she’ll forget all about you.” Given how they spent the hours before dinner Arya sincerely doubted that. She was tempted to tell him and shatter his delusions about Daenerys, but she couldn’t betray the Princess like that, even if it would destroy Mormont. 

“If that’s true, why don’t you just wait until the wedding? Why do you insist on trying to get me out of the way every chance you get?”

“I do nothing of the kind,” he insisted weakly. If she was dumb enough to believe the words, the blush on his neck still would have given him away. 

“Really?” she spat sarcastically. “So, it wasn’t you who ran to the King to tell him I’d left Daenerys unprotected?” She enjoyed watching him squirm. 

“I didn’t…”

“Yes, you did,” Arya declared. She’d known since the day it happened that someone had to tell the King, and there were few who knew, fewer still who would care. Jorah was the only one that made sense. “I bet you couldn’t wait to tell him. Did you check on Daenerys first or did you run straight to him after I left your room?”

Already on edge the current topic made him visibly uncomfortable. When he responded it wasn’t the denial Arya thought she’d get. “It’s your fault for leaving her.”

He wasn’t the only one who could be arrogant. She tried to match his tone. “It was totally worth it,” she proclaimed, “seeing how happy she was when she opened her present, makes almost dying well worth it.” 

“Enjoy it while you can,” Jorah remarked bitterly. “The wedding is coming up and then your time in King’s Landing will be over.”

“You’re right, I should make the most of it. I guess I’ll go back upstairs and spend more of my limited time with Daenerys, she’s probably lonely without Missandei around.” 

“Where’s the handmaiden?” Jorah wanted to know. 

“Just think if you succeeded in getting me killed, it could be you who gets to spend tonight with her.” 

She’d apologize to Aemon later, she couldn’t be within a hundred feet of Jorah without wanting to kill him, and she really wanted to see Daenerys. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: First, I want to apologize for the delay posting this chapter. My health is problematic at times and can be unpredictable. Lately it’s left little time for writing and editing. To anybody who is wondering, this story will get done, no matter how long it takes. 
> 
> Now on to important things – I know most people probably assumed Jorah was behind Arya’s troubles, now you have confirmation, and you know what was in the book Daenerys got. I just couldn’t imagine Rhaegar giving her a gift that was anything less than one hundred percent pro-Targaryen. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	30. Chapter 30

She happily closed her book when Arya knocked. She’d been out of the bath for twenty minutes doing her best not to count the seconds until her lover returned. The book wasn’t particularly well-written, but it was one of the few she could find that dedicated to the North. She chose it in hopes she’d gain a better understanding of the kingdom Arya came from. She remembered little more than the basics from her lessons as a girl. She hid the book away before inviting her in. “Took you long enough.” 

In addition to bringing herself, Arya came armed with a bottle of wine and a plate of treats. “Need some company?”

“Definitely.” She got up from the bed slowly, acutely aware that they didn’t need to rush. She gave Arya a kiss as she passed and went to lock the door. 

Once she was sure they wouldn’t be bothered she worried a little less about if the tie to her robe was coming loose or if she bent over far enough to give Arya a peek at her breasts. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back,” she acknowledged. 

Arya set the food down and went to work pouring the wine. “I told you I would. I just wanted to give you some time alone, I didn’t want to crowd you.”

Arya could never crowd her. She would gladly take any of the woman’s time she could get. “That’s sweet, but I would’ve preferred you join me in the bath.” 

With red cheeks Arya swallowed her mouthful of wine a little harder than usual. “I thought you might appreciate some privacy.” 

She finished chewing and then leaned in for a kiss. It started slow but grew quickly. “You’re here now,” Daenerys said after they separated, “that’s what counts.” 

“I am here,” Arya agreed, picking up a pastry and holding it near Daenerys’s mouth. She took a bite and moaned. How was it that food tasted better when Arya fed it to her? It didn’t seem possible and yet she’d experienced it. Another of life’s many mysteries she supposed. “I’ll stay until you want to sleep.”

Daenerys had every intention of finishing off the treat Arya was holding but that stopped her short. “You’re leaving?!” she asked, hoping she heard it incorrectly. 

Arya seemed to sense she was on uneven ground. “Um, I was planning to,” she admitted. 

“Why?” She hadn’t meant to sound so angry, but she couldn’t control it. She’d been looking forward to falling asleep in Arya’s arms since they exited the bed that morning. It hurt to know Arya wasn’t as eager. 

“I can stay if you want,” she offered, trying to calm the Dragon. 

Somehow that made everything worse. She didn’t want Arya to remain out of pity, guilt or obligation, she wanted her to want to. “I won’t force you,” she said, hating how irritable she sounded. 

Suddenly Arya was on the floor in front of her chair, angling her face so she could look up at Daenerys, who was keeping her eyes down. When she tried to take Daenerys’s hand the Princess wanted to refuse, but Arya was faster and stronger, and she had their fingers laced before Daenerys could object. “Of course, I want to be here. Last night was incredible and I’ll gladly sleep next to you again any night you wish it.”

That was closer to what Daenerys wanted to hear, but it made her wonder, why hadn’t she said that the first time? “Then why would you say you were leaving?”

“I didn’t know if you’d want me here every night,” she explained, “I didn’t know if I’d be in the way or not, so I thought it best to leave, until you asked me to stay.” 

For the first time since Arya mentioned leaving Daenerys felt brave enough to meet her gaze. “You’re an idiot,” Daenerys declared without malice, “I want you here.”

With a squeeze of her hand, Arya confessed her inexperience. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m sure you’ve realized that by now. I’ve never been with someone like you before, never been in a relationship like this, I don’t know the rules. I’ll probably fuck up a lot.”

Somehow Daenerys didn’t think Arya meant ‘a Princess’ when she said, ‘someone like you.’ It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change how she felt. It occurred to her that she’d never been in a relationship like this either. There was Daario, but that had never been serious for her. She summoned him when she wanted him and sent him away when she didn’t. She knew he took other lovers and never once felt jealous. It was different with Arya, right from the start. Daenerys would be disappointed if she returned to the barracks to sleep. “I’m going to fuck up too,” she predicted, “as much, if not more than you, but we’ll figure it out together.” 

Instead of words Arya responded with a kiss. It was hot and intense, and it worked perfectly to erase any doubts the Princess had left. She tugged at Arya and got her to lift up off her knees. Daenerys rose from her chair too, determined not to let their kiss end. As she guided her lover toward the bed, she reached for the first strap holding Arya’s armor in place. It was hard to do without looking, but she was committed. It was unfair. Daenerys had to contend with professionally made armor while all Arya had to do was open a loose-fitting robe and knock it onto the floor. She made her feelings known between kisses after she pushed Arya down onto the bed. “You know if you didn’t insist on wearing such complicated armor, you could be naked already.” 

Unmoved by her whining Arya only smirked. “My mother used to tell me the harder I worked for something, the greater the reward would be when I succeeded.” She gave Daenerys a moment to think about that and all it could lead to. 

Daenerys attacked the remaining bindings with vigor. There was only one way to find out for certain if Catelyn Stark was right, and that was to win her battle with the Martell armor and then decide if what was waiting for her underneath was worth all the effort. 

R-C

They woke together with matching smiles on their faces. They lingered in bed longer than either woman would’ve had they been alone. Gentle touches, tender kisses and quiet words of affection passed back and forth. A more peaceful start to a day, one where she felt so utterly content, Arya could not recall. 

Daenerys told her she was free to go, free to get ready, relax, exercise or do whatever else she needed to, to prepare for the day, but Arya remained. Under the guise of filling in for Missandei, she showed off the skills she developed in the Water Gardens. She fetched Daenerys’s bathwater. While the Princess was washing, Arya disappeared just long enough to go to the kitchen and cut up a tray of fresh fruit. She set it on the table, so the Daenerys could have a snack. 

Arya knew Daenerys wanted her to sit, to stop working so hard. She encouraged her to take a break first with words and then with kisses, but neither had the desired effect. It had been at her suggestion that Daenerys allowed Missandei to leave. Arya didn’t like the idea of the Princess suffering any hardship because of that choice. She’d never be as good a servant, handmaiden or friend as Missandei of Naath, but she was doing all she could to minimize the disruption to Daenerys’s routine. 

“I can do that you know,” Daenerys said when Arya beat her in a race for the towel. 

“I don’t mind,” she understated drastically. In fact, all the things she used to hate about being a servant weren’t quite as offensive anymore. It used to annoy her that the nobles she served couldn’t even be bothered to do the most basic tasks for themselves, be it readying a bath, or cutting up an apple, but with Daenerys it felt different. Was it because she cared and genuinely wanted to help her, or was it because she knew Daenerys actually appreciated the assistance? Unlike all those years in the Water Gardens this time Arya did have a choice. She didn’t doubt that if she was unwilling to assist the Targaryen, Daenerys wouldn’t order her to, she would take care of the issues herself. This time she was serving a noblewoman because she wanted to. 

As her hands skimmed over Daenerys’s perfect body, with only the thin towel between them, she couldn’t hold her tongue. “I’m a little jealous Missandei gets to do this for you everyday.” 

Daenerys said nothing until she was thoroughly dry. “Actually,” she admitted with gleam in her eye, “Missandei doesn’t help with that.”

Arya’s cheeks heated. “She doesn’t?” It seems she made a mess of things already. 

“Usually, I take care of it myself,” Daenerys said taking the towel from Arya and dropping it between them, “but perhaps I was wrong. If I’d known, it could feel like that…”

Underneath her embarrassment, Arya felt a wicked sense of pride, the kind that came from knowing she pleased her lover. “So, what does Missandei typically do while you’re in the bath?” The handmaiden would be gone for several weeks, the sooner she knew what was expected of her, the sooner she could cut down on the number of apologies she needed to give. 

Daenerys chewed on her bottom lip. “She gets things ready,” she responded quietly. 

“What things?”

With pink cheeks she avoided the guard’s eyeline. “My dress and my jewelry.” 

“Missandei chooses what you wear?” she asked in disbelief. 

In Dorne she scrubbed dressed, she carried dresses, she even mended dresses, but she never got to pick which one a person wore. Daenerys squirmed a bit, uncomfortable with the topic. “Not exactly, she just provides recommendations, I pick the one I like best.” 

“Ahh,” Arya sighed, understanding. “Okay, got it.”

She was on her way to the closet when Daenerys grasped her arm. “You don’t have to…”

The guard didn’t let her finish. “I know,” she insisted. “Now I don’t know much about dresses, so let’s keep the simple. What color do you want to wear today? Any color at all.”

Standing naked in the middle of her bedchamber, Daenerys raised a hand to her chin and gave it some serious thought. “Blue today, maybe, what do you think?”

“I think,” Arya said just as seriously, “that you’ll look beautiful.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Daenerys knew she meant it, and then she gave her entire focus to the rows of hanging dresses, as her eyes sought out the blues. 

Daenerys owned more blue dresses than any one woman would ever need. Luckily, she was able to whittle it down quickly. She dismissed any that she couldn’t tell apart, and that disqualify most of them, helping to speed things along. In just minutes she’d settled on two distinctly different dresses, both the required color. In Arya’s novice opinion they stood out from the rest. With a dress in each hand she turned, holding them side by side for the Princess to compare. The darker dress was more formal, with gold accents and a tighter waist. The other was a paler blue, with white trim and was clearly designed to be worn more frequently than just special occasions or feasts. Arya had no doubt Daenerys would look stunning in whichever one she chose. 

“Any recommendation?” While Arya’s eyes were on the dresses, Daenerys’s focus was elsewhere. She pressed herself into Arya without warning, kissing her passionately, while showing a complete disregard for the dresses now trapped between them. When Arya moaned, Daenerys was ready to take advantage, sliding her tongue into her mouth. 

She was seconds away from dropping the dresses and putting her hands to better use when Daenerys pulled back. “Sorry,” she said, far too pleased with herself to truly mean it, “I just couldn’t wait any longer to do that.” She gave Arya moment to ponder that and then guided them back to the original question. “What should I wear?” Daenerys stepped back and finally gave the dresses some of her attention. “Mmm,” she purred seductively, “nicely done, these are two of my favorites.”

“You’d look great in either,” Arya noted honestly. 

With an adorable pout Daenerys shook her head. “You have to help me choose.”

“Either one…”

She groaned. “Come on, please!” 

She didn’t understand why her opinion mattered, but helping an indecisive Princess seemed like exactly the sort of thing a helpful handmaiden might do, and that meant the task now fell to her. “What appointments do you have today?”

She bit down on her lower lip as she thought about it. “Nothing special, why?” When Arya didn’t respond, she took a guess. “Will you choose a dress based on our schedule?”

“Actually,” she clarified, “if there is nothing pressing, I don’t see why you need to wear anything at all.” 

Daenerys’s response was delayed while she recovered from her shock. With a devious smirk on her face, she found her voice. “As much as I’d love that, someone will eventually come looking for me, and when they do, I need to be dressed.” 

The logic in Daenerys’s argument didn’t stop her from being struck by disappointment. The prospect of a whole day with only Daenerys, in her chambers, naked was more than a little appealing, even if it was unrealistic. “You know it really is a shame you’re a Princess,” Arya lamented. 

It was a joke, mostly and yet Daenerys took it seriously. “Yes, it is,” she agreed, pressing another kiss to Arya’s lips before they got back to work. “I know which one I want to wear.” 

Arya was relieved. She felt sympathy for Missandei if the handmaiden had to endure this every morning. When she picked the blue dresses out of the closet, she had no idea the debate she’d be starting. “Great, which one?” She extended her arms and held them out to the Princess. 

“Whichever one you’ll enjoy seeing me in more.”

She tried to swallow it down, but a groan escaped. “Just pick,” she pleaded. 

Daenerys was defiant and unmoved by Arya’s plight. “I just did.” She retreated to the bed and sat down. 

She considered arguing but didn’t see it ending in her favor. Daenerys was stubborn, so the fastest way to resolve this would be to comply. It was also the only solution that didn’t lead to a long, drawn out disagreement about dresses of all things. She appraised her options quickly and realized how inadequate she was. She was not the Stark who knew which dress to wear when, that was Sansa. Arya’s talents lied in other, more violent pursuits. Still, she needed to say something. She went to Daenerys and presented her with the pale blue dress. “This one.”

“Why this one?” Daenerys inquired as she took it. 

Why not that one? Had she chosen wrong? “Would you prefer the other?” She tried to exchange them, but Daenerys was surprisingly quick and snatched the light blue silk before Arya could withdraw it. 

“This one’s perfect,” she ruled, “I was just curious why you chose it?”

She didn’t really have a reason. “You’ll look beautiful in it,” she stated factually, neglecting to mention the same could be said for every other dress too, the one Arya was holding and the countless still hanging in the closet. 

“Well that’s a good enough reason for me,” she announced with a grin. 

While Daenerys put the dress on and adjusted it against her figure Arya carried the dark blue offering back to the closet and returned it to its original place. “What’s next? After you’re bathed and dressed, what else does Missandei help you with?” 

“My hair’s next,” Daenerys informed her. 

She thought she was far enough away to keep her feelings hidden but apparently her expression betrayed her. “What’s wrong?” 

With an apologetic smile she tried to remove her foot from her mouth. “Nothing, it’s just I’m not really good at things like this. I don’t know how to…”

Mercifully Daenerys saved her from having to finish. The list of things she couldn’t do would keep them most of the day. “That’s alright,” she said cheerfully. “No braids today, I just need the ribbon.” 

“The ribbon, okay I’ll find a ribbon.” Arya got busy looking for it and hadn’t had much success until Daenerys pointed her in the right direction literally. 

A thin finger sent her toward the desk. “I think it’s over there.” 

Arya followed the instruction and ended up standing next to the desk, looking around the various piles of loosely organized items. There between the stack of blank pages and the bowl she used to melt the wax for her seal was a band of silver. She picked it up carefully, not wanting to disturb anything in the process. 

Only when she was holding it in her hand did she recognize it. “Is this…” she couldn’t bring herself to say the words, certain it would sound foolish. 

In front of the mirror with her hand out, waiting, Daenerys knew where her mind had gone. “The ribbon you gave me, yes.” 

“You kept it?”

Daenerys smiled at her lover’s dumb expression as she took the silk. “You hadn’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?” Arya asked, as she watched Daenerys’s hands expertly divide up sections of silver hair. 

Daenerys met Arya’s eye in the mirror before she replied. “I’ve worn this ribbon in my hair every day since you gave it to me.”

Really? She definitely hadn’t noticed that. How had she missed it? She thought back, specifically to the times she ran her fingers through Daenerys’s long hair. She couldn’t recall removing the ribbon but then again, her attention was hardly on her hair in those moments. “Why?’

Daenerys’s smile turned indulgent, the way it did when she was explaining something to one of the overzealous orphans, for a second time. “I couldn’t carry the plans with me everywhere, but I wanted something to remind me.”

Was it better or worse knowing how meaningful her gift was to Daenerys? Would the ribbon lose its significance if she knew Arya bought it at the last minute only after she saw all the other gifts? “It’s nothing,” she tried, “I needed something to hold the pages together, and ribbon made sense.” 

Daenerys’s smile disappeared. “It’s not nothing,” she argued, “it’s beautiful and I love it.” To prove her point she finished fussing over her hair. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” she said truthfully, and it had nothing to do with the dress or the ribbon in her hair. 

With slow, deliberate steps she sauntered over to Arya and rewarded her with a kiss. “Thank you for helping me get ready. You didn’t need to.” 

“Is that everything?” 

“Yes, I don’t feel like wearing jewelry today.”

Arya studied those words, searching for a hidden message. Was she saying that to spare Arya the trouble? She’d come this far, she could see it through. “Are you sure? Where do you keep your bracelets and necklaces?” 

As she’d done with the ribbon, Daenerys pointed to the spot Arya should check. “In those drawers there,” she said, “and yes I’m sure. I don’t need gold or jewels today.” 

Despite what the Princess said Arya went to the collection and had a look. “You don’t? If you tell me what you want, I can find it.” 

She was so busy looking at the collection of dragon jewelry that she didn’t notice Daenerys coming up behind her. “I’m sure,” she repeated, more forcefully this time. “I wear that junk to feel pretty, so I can feel like the Princess everyone expects me to be.” 

Arya turned and put her arms around Daenerys’s waist. “You are a Princess, and not because you wear a dragon ring, or a diamond pendant.” 

“I know, but some days it’s harder to convince myself of that than others.” 

Realizing she missed what was probably the most important part of Daenerys’s earlier admission she circled back. “And you’re more than simply ‘pretty,’ with or without the jewels.” 

Daenerys kissed her first and explained herself second. “Thank you. That’s why I don’t need to waste time picking out a ring, a pin or a necklace.” 

Arya didn’t follow. She took time to try and make the pieces fit before she had to admit defeat. “I don’t understand.” 

Daenerys kissed her again, deeper and longer than the last. “I feel beautiful this morning,” she justified, “thanks to you, I feel pretty and happy.”

Unsure of what to say, she stayed silent. It was probably wrong to take credit when she hadn’t really done anything but discussing Daenerys’s statement at length would’ve been worse. “No jewelry then?” she summarized. 

“Nope,” Daenerys confirmed with another peck at Arya’s lips. “I’m ready, now it’s your turn.” 

Although she heard perfectly, she felt the need to verify. “Me?” She looked down at her attire. She was wearing a simple pair of grey pants and a white shirt. The pants had a slight tear and the edges of the shirt were beginning to fray, but it was the only spare clothes she had. She put them on while Daenerys was still lounging in bed, needing to be sufficiently dressed to go and get her bathwater. Since returning, she’d been so busy with Daenerys’s needs that she hadn’t wasted any time on herself. “Oh, I can be ready in just a couple of minutes,” she insisted. “It won’t take me long.” 

When she took her first step toward the chair where her armor waited, Daenerys went with her. Arya eyed her suspiciously wondering what she was up to. Daenerys was only too happy to justify her behavior. “I know how to take it off, now I need you to show me how to help you put it on.” 

“I don’t really need help.”

“Let me anyway.”

She was in the process of pulling her shirt over her head when she heard that, and her hands froze. “That’s kind of you, but…”

She didn’t get to finish declining before Daenerys had taken the bottom of her shirt and picked up where Arya left off, guiding it over her head the rest of the way. Topless she stood rooted to the ground while Daenerys turned away from her and began rummaging through Arya’s things. When she turned back, she was holding the fragment of shirt that she wore beneath her gear. “I’m not sure how this goes,” she admitted, as she held it in front of her. 

She plucked the garment from Daenerys’s hold and tried to ease the sting with a kiss. “Thank you,” she said before she put it over her head and adjusted it down over her breasts. 

“Ahh, so that’s how you do it,” she whispered as she watched. “I’ll know for next time.” 

“Daenerys, you don’t have to…”

She shook her head. “This isn’t the Princess talking,” she clarified, picking up a matching set of Martell bracers. She handed the left one to Arya first. “This is the woman you slept next to last night and she wants to do this for you.” She wanted to insist it wasn’t required, but when Daenerys emphasized the word ‘wants’, Arya knew she couldn’t reject her offer again. She was just trying to do something nice, not unlike way Arya had spent the morning running errands to ensure Daenerys had everything she needed. She could hardly fault her for that, could she?

“Okay,” Arya said, “come stand next to me, it’ll be easier to reach the straps.” 

With a squeal, Daenerys complied. Since she already had one bracer on, she showed it to Daenerys for reference, then held out her bare wrist for her to try. 

Never in her life did she think she’d have anyone helping her put on her armor, least of all a Targaryen, but the world was a complicated place and little about Arya’s life was happening the way she thought it would. 

R-C

She put more effort into helping Arya into her armor than she did any other task she attempted in recent memory. She enjoyed it. After being served all her life, it was nice to be the providing the assistance. It meant even more because it was Arya, and because she wanted Arya to see her as more than the spoiled Princess who couldn’t figure out how to fasten a breastplate. 

When the time came to strap Arya’s belt and the attached sword to her waist Daenerys hesitated. Things with Arya were going well, better than well even, but she hadn’t broached the subject of the sword since their initial argument. She hadn’t been avoiding it exactly, but she also wasn’t in a rush to revisit the worst fight she and Arya ever had. 

After a deep breath where she gathered all her courage, she did her best to sound confident. “Not that sword,” she said, resting a hand on the scabbard. 

Arya’s sword was on the shelf with the dragon eggs, lying across the top of the closed box. Despite its fine craftmanship, she was tentative when she touched it, not wanting to damage it. “I want you to wear this.” 

Arya clearly remembered. She didn’t need to ask what the Princess was talking about. “Daenerys,” she said slowly, drawing the name out longer than was common. 

“I want you to,” she said again. “You should be wearing it already.” Hoping to entice her lover she removed the steel from its sheath, showing it off to the woman who would hopefully wield it. “I had it commissioned just for you. Arya’s grey eyes were on the weapon and nowhere else, causing Daenerys to doubt herself. Was there a problem? Did she see an imperfection that Daenerys, being a novice would never spot? “If there is something wrong with it? We can have it fixed, there were so many options, I had to guess which ones I thought you’d prefer.” 

After what felt like an eternity Arya peeled her gaze away from the steel and looked at the Princess. “Don’t change a thing,” she pleaded sincerely. “It’s flawless.” 

Her heart swelled. Arya complimented her efforts. “Really? Like I said, there were so many details to decide on and…”

Gently Arya lifted the sword out of Daenerys’s hands. She expected the soldier to put it on, maybe even take a few practice swings, but she set the weapon aside. Before Daenerys could inquire about why, Arya filled her empty hands with the Targaryen, hugging her tightly. “It’s perfect,” she promised. “You got everything right.” A kiss dropped onto her head and Daenerys relaxed. She wasn’t being polite or considerate, she really did like it. Daenerys had done good. 

“Are you sure?” she asked when the embrace was done. 

“It’s one of the most incredible swords I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s yours.” Daenerys retrieved it and carried it to Arya.

Now it was Arya’s turn to be uncertain. “Are you sure, a sword like that…”

“Belongs on your hip,” she finished for her. When she realized Arya wasn’t yet convinced Daenerys forged ahead. “On the right?” she guessed, trying to picture the guard in her mind. She wore her sword on her right hip, didn’t she? “On the right?” she repeated a second time when Arya looked to be formulating an objection. 

“Yes,” she verified after a few tense moments. Daenerys opened the belt and took a step. Her intention was to go behind the guard and wrap the belt around her that way, but she didn’t get far. Arya gripped her arm, stopping her. “Thank you!” she said passionately, with grey staring into violet. “Thank you so much.” 

That was all it took. With a few words nothing else mattered, not the obscene amount of gold she spent, not the time it took to have the sword crafted, not her fight with Arya, or the struggle to convince her to accept it. Everything she endured was totally worth it now, in fact Daenerys acknowledged she would have gone through much more, if the prize at the end was Arya looking at her as she was, speaking to her with such reverence. 

She pressed a soft kiss to the side of her lover’s neck as she wound the leather belt around her waist. Arya’s hands which had been out to the sides to allow for room to work came closer, likely to fasten the belt, but Daenerys was enjoying this too much to let Arya take over. “Arm’s up!” she directed. 

Arya’s choice would determine what happened next. In her mind Daenerys thought it was a coinflip. Arya could oblige her, but it was just as probable that she’d wonder why Daenerys was barking orders. To her delight, Arya obeyed without complaint. She didn’t even look back over her shoulder, silently questioning the Targaryen’s sanity. She just raised her arms away from her body, holding them up and out of the way. 

“Thank you.” She left another kiss on Arya’s neck, aiming for the same spot as the last time and then she focused entirely on the belt. She wanted to get this right. The sword was already in the proper position, generally speaking, but Daenerys didn’t want it almost perfect. She gave the belt a little more slack and then made countless tiny adjustments as she tried to situate Arya’s new sword on her hip perfectly. The soldier didn’t whine about the time it was taking, or remark about Daenerys’s uncertainty, she just waited patiently, as if she had no where else to be and nothing else to be doing. 

When she was satisfied Daenerys pressed herself into Arya from behind. She flattened her chest against the protective steel covering Arya’s back. Even without skin to skin contact, the closeness was wonderful. She fidgeted with the clasp on the belt far longer than was necessary, just so she could keep holding Arya exactly as she was. The guard apparently had the same idea, leaning back openly into Daenerys’s embrace. 

“Let’s see,” Daenerys encouraged, reluctantly putting distance between them. 

Arya turned to face her. “Well, what do you think?”

Gorgeous was the first word that came to mind. “Amazing,” she amended, knowing Arya was asking about the sword. “Did I get it in the right place?” she wondered. As fun as it was to help Arya prepare, she didn’t want her incompetence to place Arya in danger. 

“Couldn’t have done it better myself.” That brightened Daenerys’s mood. To prove her point she gripped her new sword and drew it from the scabbard. The speed with which she did unveiled the deadly steel might’ve been unsettling, except Daenerys knew Arya was on her side. 

“Do I look like a proper guard?” Arya asked, turning the sword over in her hand and admiring the elaborate detail. 

“The best I’ve ever had,” she confessed honestly. The sword had nothing to do with that, but Daenerys would keep that to herself for the time being. “Have I ever told you how great you look in your armor?” As soon as the words were out, Daenerys sought to clarify them. “I mean I’m not opposed to seeing you out of the armor either, I just…”

She trailed off hoping Arya would save her from herself, but the guard just smiled and waited for Daenerys to finish embarrassing herself. When it was clear she had nothing more to add, Arya asked, “You wouldn’t rather it be a three headed dragon on my chest?”

Her mind went back to one of their earliest days in the keep, when she tried to persuade Arya to wear Targaryen armor. At the time she didn’t realize what she was asking, her only motive had been convenience. Now, she understood how problematic it must’ve been for her. “I’d never ask you to wear a Targaryen sigil now that I know…”

Arya stopped what was destined to be another ramble, by touching her arm. When their eyes met, she found Arya watching her affectionately. It gave the Princess strength. She hated what her family had done to Arya’s and even though Arya insisted she didn’t hold Daenerys responsible, it was difficult not assign herself some of the blame. She was a Targaryen too. 

“I’ll tell you the same thing today, I did then,” Arya advised, “if you want me to, I’d wear it.”

The last time they had this conversation Daenerys believed Arya to be a Dornish bastard. She didn’t know all the reasons she had to hate Westeros’s royal family. Now she did, and it made her concession all the more significant. “My father won’t always be King,” she noted, trying her best to ignore the hope she heard mixed in with her message, “the Targaryen sigil won’t always mean madness and murder. Maybe one day you’ll be able to wear it proudly.” 

To her credit Arya didn’t dismiss the idea outright or scoff at Daenerys’s assumption. “Unless you’re Queen someday, I don’t see that happening.” 

She hadn’t been anticipating a remark like that. Without prompting her mind began calculating the long list of Targaryens that would need to meet untimely ends in order to put Daenerys on the throne, her father, Rhaegar, Viserys, Aemon too, and Rhaegar’s children with Elia still had a claim as well. She pushed those thoughts away as ridiculous, but not before she considered how many of the nobles in her father’s court would react to serving a woman. Daenerys didn’t know much, but she didn’t think Westeros was ready to be ruled by a woman, even if that was precisely what the Realm needed. “No thank you,” she joked, “the throne looks very uncomfortable, it’s no wonder my father is always in a bad mood.” After a laugh at her lover’s sense of humor Arya came to Daenerys and they shared a slow, intense kiss. “What did I do to deserve that?”

She shrugged casually. “I just thought I’d sneak in one more before we had to join the rest of the world.” 

Oh, how badly she wanted to think of an excuse to hide them away, but she couldn’t. The longer she waited to make her appearance the more questions people would have. She didn’t doubt Arya would be able to fend off any invasive inquires, but she did worry she might slip up and reveal more than she wanted to about the nature of their relationship. She had a lifetime of practice doing things out of a sense of obligation rather than an actual desire and yet few things in her memory felt more difficult than opening the door and passing through the threshold. Out there where people were, she couldn’t hold Arya’s hand or comment on her beauty. She’d have to avoid staring at her guard or others might notice and she definitely couldn’t kiss her. It sounded simply enough in theory, in practice though she had her doubts. Sure she could resist kissing her lover for the time being, but would her willpower be as strong in a few hours, and what about Arya, there was no telling what kissable things she’d say or do during the course of their day together. It was akin to torture to demand she abstain when Arya was so close and so tempting, but what choice did she have? Arya’s life depended on their relationship remaining secret. As strong as her desires were, Daenerys was confident her need to keep Arya safe would prevail. “Okay, let’s go.” 

A quick check to make sure her dress wasn’t wrinkled, another to ensure Arya’s armor looked as it did on any other day and finally one more kiss before they couldn’t anymore. “Now you can open it,” Daenerys advised. While Arya released the lock and turned the knob Daenerys stayed back and watched, licking her lips and savoring the flavor Arya left. She could do this. They could do this. `

R-C

By midmorning Daenerys was proud of herself. She’d somehow managed to interact with a whole host of people without revealing her undying affection for her guard to any of them. 

Their first test came early, when they had to visit Tyrion. While in the Master of the Coin’s office she made a conscious effort to avoid looking at Arya too often. She knew if she admired the unique shade of her eyes or the bow of her kissable lips, she’d undoubtedly forget why she couldn’t shout her affections from the rooftop. She must’ve done an admirable job, because the observant Lannister didn’t say or do anything that led her to believe they’d been discovered. 

Normally Arya saw Tyrion alone. It wasn’t as if Daenerys wasn’t welcome, it was just easier that way. Arya stopped to see him on her way to Daenerys’s chambers, or at least that’s how it used to happen. Now that the guard was sharing Daenerys’s bed, her morning routine wouldn’t take her right past Tyrion’s office. Still Daenerys was committed to continue the work she’d begun, listening to the pleas of the needy and providing aid on behalf of the Crown. 

Tyrion clearly hadn’t expected the Princess to attend, but didn’t appear suspicious or angered by the change. He greeted Daenerys warmly, told her she looked radiant and then got down to business. 

Luckily for everyone Tyrion had several appointments he was only too happy to pass on to her. No one was happier with this than she was, the meetings would keep her occupied for a large portion of the afternoon. 

R-C

“Do you think they’re safe?” Daenerys asked without preamble. 

“Who?” Arya wondered, taking a look at their surroundings and finding no one in distress. 

“Missandei and Grey Worm. It’s quite a ride to the Stormlands, maybe I should have sent more men with them,” Daenerys fretted. 

Arya smiled indulgently. It wasn’t surprising that Daenerys was worrying, she knew how much the Princess cared for Missandei, but in this instance, it was not necessary. “I think,” she said taking Daenerys’s hand gently in hers, “that you should be more worried about the thieves or bandits who happen upon them and think they’re easy targets.” 

It took a moment for what Arya said to really sink in, but when it did most of the concern Daenerys was showing disappeared. “You’re right,” she said giving Arya’s hand a squeeze. “I know it’s silly but from the day she got here, we’ve been together almost everyday.”   
Arya turned to her lover more directly. “It’s not silly,” she assured her, “it’s completely understandable. They are our friends, it’s only natural for you to wonder how they are.” 

“How do I…” Daenerys stopped talking, blushing red as she looked away from Arya’s face. 

“How do you what darling?” She hadn’t meant to call Daenerys ‘darling,’ her only objective had been to make her voice soothing, so she’d feel comfortable sharing what was on her mind. Any embarrassment she felt for her slip of the tongue vanished when she saw Daenerys’s dazzling smile being aimed at the unsuspecting foster. 

“How do I control this twisted feeling in my gut? I know Grey Worm is with her, I know she’s happy so why can’t I just be happy for her? Why am I constantly imagining the worst possible things that might happen?” 

Arya was no expert, but she did understand what the Princess was getting at. “That’s what happens when you care about someone,” she explained. “You worry, irrationally sometimes, because you want what’s best for them.” 

“So, there is nothing I can do to fix it?” Daenerys pressed, sounding defeated. 

She squeezed her lover’s hand. “There is nothing to fix. You care about your friends, that’s not something you should stop doing, or try and correct, it’s…”

“Then how…” Daenerys interrupted before she caught herself. “Sorry,” she mumbled, using her thumb to stroke across Arya’s knuckles. 

“Think back to the last time you saw her,” Arya encouraged, “was Missandei sad to go? Did she seem frightened?” 

“Of course not,” Daenerys insisted hotly. “You were there, she looked excited and happy.”

With a chuckle Arya got to the point. “Exactly, so when you’re worried, I want you to close your eyes and think about that. Remember all the stories she told you about her two days with Grey Worm and imagine how many more she’ll have when she returns from Storm’s End.” 

“That’ll help?” 

She nodded. “And if that doesn’t remember this, there is no one and nothing Grey Worm loves in this world more than Missandei. He’d never let anyone hurt her.” As she tried to give Daenerys insight into the Commander’s thinking she realized how similar it was to her own. Just as Grey Worm would fight to the death for Missandei, Arya knew she’d do the same for Daenerys.

“Thank you,” Daenerys said, already considerably less tense. 

The public location notwithstanding Arya didn’t miss the way Daenerys’s gaze dropped to her lips. It seemed she was thinking of an intimate way to show her gratitude. There were many reasons they couldn’t reveal their relationship to anyone, and they were valid as far as justifications went, but that didn’t mean it was easy to resist a woman like Daenerys. Every minute felt like ten when she had to refrain from touching her, especially when she looked like that. 

Arya was weighing the pros and cons of a quick kiss when a third party announced himself. “There you are,” Rhaegar said. He limped closer, his cane striking the ground with what sounded to Arya like increasing force. 

Daenerys moved in front of Arya, as if she intended to protect the soldier from her brother using only her small body. “You were looking for me?” she asked innocently. “Is something wrong?” 

From behind Arya applied the lightest pressure she could to the small of Daenerys’s back. She hadn’t meant anything by it, except to remind Daenerys she was there. The Princess leaned into the touch, but outwardly kept her focus on the Prince. 

“I was going to ask you that,” Rhaegar fired back. It wasn’t harsh or rude, but there was some hostility mixed in that Arya didn’t like. 

Before Arya had to decide if she should involve herself in the dispute between siblings, Daenerys spoke up, sounding confident, strong and unimpressed with her brother’s comment. “And what is that supposed to mean?” While she waited for his reply, she folded her arms over her chest. Even if they couldn’t hear the words anyone watching would be able to tell the Princess was unhappy. 

Arya tried to calm her by moving her thumb in a rhythmic fashion across Daenerys’s back. She thought her actions were hidden that there was no way Rhaegar could see, but she must’ve been wrong because the Crown Prince’s eyes locked in on her. “I thought perhaps you’d left us,” he said.

Arya was busy crafting an appropriate reply when Daenerys beat her to it. “Why would you think Arya had gone anywhere? You saw her as recently as last night?”

“At dinner yes,” Rhaegar acknowledged, “but for the past several days I haven’t been accosted on the way to any early morning meetings.” His tone hardened significantly. “Do you no longer care if my sister is allowed to leave the castle?” 

“Of course, I…”

Daenerys interrupted taking a step forward and poking at her brother’s chest with her finger. “Don’t blame her!” she demanded with a growl. “I’m the one who wanted to stay in the last few days.” 

There was a subtle decline in Rhaegar’s aggression when his sister took the blame, but it didn’t cure him of it all together. “What? So now you suddenly don’t want to leave the castle anymore? I thought you didn’t like to be cooped up.” 

Arya fully intended to stand up for Daenerys. If the selfish Prince needed someone to take his anger out on ,that was fine, Arya would take every hateful word he could spout, but she refused to stand by and let him berate his sister. “H…”

“I’m sorry I don’t meet your high standards,” Daenerys spat sarcastically. “If you wanted to know you could’ve just asked. You didn’t need to come here with your accusations and rude comments.” She paused to let him think about that, and then she answered what he really wanted to know. “I told Arya not to bother you, because I was tired and had enough things to do here.” 

He looked to the guard for confirmation and although that wasn’t exactly how it happened, she supported Daenerys’s version. “Your sister told me she was busy inside the castle yesterday, so I saw no reason to seek you out.” 

Some of the wind was leaving his sails but Rhaegar wasn’t done. “What did you do yesterday?” 

“Thank you notes,” Daenerys responded with no enthusiasm. “I worked on them for hours and I feel like I barely got anything done.” 

“Really?” While Rhaegar looked at Daenerys in challenge, Arya didn’t know what to say or do. She didn’t even understand what was happening. Something about Daenerys’s account of the day, upset her brother, but what? To her credit, Daenerys wasn’t backing down. 

“Yes really,” she insisted. “Did you see all those people who came for my nameday? Father and Tywin expect me to write a note for every single one of them.” 

“Dany!” Aemon yelled from the opposite end of the hall. Eager to put some distance between the feuding dragons Arya nodded to silently suggest Daenerys go to him. She didn’t need to be told twice. She hurried off toward her nephew, leaving her brother and her guard behind. Arya let her lead but quickly fell in step. “I was looking for you.”

Overwhelmed the Princess complained unfairly. “You too?”

“Me too wha…” Aemon began to ask, before he spotted his father and understood. “What’s going on?”

“Your father came looking for Daenerys,” Arya noted, summarizing the strange encounter. It was still hard to believe their only crime was not asking to leave the castle for a couple of days.

“What did he want?” Aemon wondered. “Does he need you for something?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Daenerys said, peeking at Arya to make sure she agreed. 

The guard shrugged, confirming that she was as clueless as Daenerys about why Rhaegar sought them out. “Did you need something?”

“I was going outside,” he said with a smile, “I thought I’d see if either of you wanted to come.” He looked to Arya first, “I know you wouldn’t mind the chance to spar, and you,” he continued, pivoting to Daenerys, “I thought you might want to shoot at a few more targets.” 

She hadn’t considered that maybe Daenerys would want to continue learning archery, but perhaps she should’ve. The way she lit up at the mere suggestion made it clear that not bringing it up had been an oversight on Arya’s part. “Can we?” she asked, as if it were the foster’s decision to make. 

“We can do whatever you want,” she promised, having to look away to avoid touching or kissing the stunning woman in front of her. 

Aemon is too pleased by their agreement to notice the intense looks passed between them. “Great. I’ll go get things set up and you can join me when you’re ready.” 

One look in Daenerys’s eyes and it was clear she wasn’t thinking about bows or arrows. “We’ll be out in a few minutes.” 

Without permission from her brain Arya leaned a tiny bit closer to the Targaryen. “A few minutes?” she repeated in question. “It shouldn’t take us that long to meet up with Aemon, unless you have something else to do first?”

“It looks cold,” Daenerys said plainly, without sparing a glance toward the window, “we should probably go get my cloak before we venture outside.”

Knowing the real reason Daenerys wanted to make a stop in her bedchamber, Arya chose to make it a little more challenging. “It’s not that cold,” she disagreed, “you won’t need a cloak.” 

She pouted and that did nothing to keep Arya on her best behavior. After a moment she had another reason they needed to go upstairs. “I wore it yesterday.”

Amused, Arya smirked. “So?”

“I hit the target, remember? You can’t expect me to go back out there without my good luck cloak. That would be cruel.” 

“Well, we don’t want that,” she quipped playfully. Although she already knew exactly where the cloak was, she asked anyway. “Where is it?” 

A breathtaking smile settled on Daenerys’s lips. “In my chambers.” 

“Want me to get it?” Arya offered with a straight face. “You can meet Aemon and I’ll run up and grab it. It won’t even…”

“No!” Daenerys snapped, “you can’t.”

Arya raised a dark eyebrow as she fought to keep from laughing. Daenerys adjusted her volume and tried again. “You can’t.” 

“Why can’t I?”

Along with a huff of annoyance. the guard received a glare that made it known how Daenerys felt about her teasing. “You might get the wrong one. It’s too great a risk.” 

Arya’s face finally cracked to reveal the smile she’d been battling. “Well, we wouldn’t want you to master the bow in a second-rate, unlucky cloak, would we?” She shook her head and waved her hand, directing Daenerys back the way they’d come. “Come on, I’m eager to see this famous archery cloak.” 

They were so wrapped up in their game that it took both women longer than it should’ve to realize Rhaegar was still there. He hadn’t moved since Daenerys and then Arya went off to see Aemon. A knot formed in her chest. Had he been watching them? What did he see? She reviewed the last few minutes and although they hadn’t kissed, or even touched, she imagined their connection was obvious. 

Next to her Daenerys was equally surprised when she saw her brother there. For a moment Arya thought she’d wilt and flee but summoning a reserve of strength she closed her mouth, returned her cheeks to their natural color and walked toward the Prince with her head high. “I thought you left,” she told him. 

When she felt him looking at her, Arya met his stare with as much fearlessness as she could. They hadn’t done anything wrong and Rhaegar was hardly in a position to judge anybody. Whatever Daenerys and Arya were guilty of, neither of them were a kidnapper or a raper. 

“We weren’t done talking, so I decided to wait.” 

“I thought we were,” Daenerys retorted sharply. “You wanted to know why Arya hadn’t come to see you and we explained it. Was there something else?” 

“Dany,” he tried, working harder to make himself appealing, “we haven’t really spoken since…”

“I know,” she assured him, not letting him finish. In just a few words Daenerys had seized the upper hand and it was suddenly Rhaegar, the elder, the male who looked uncomfortable. 

“I know you’re upset but I’d like to talk, I’m sure you have questions.” 

“When I want to talk about it, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, we have somewhere to be.” 

Sensing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with his stubborn sister Rhaegar moved on to Arya. “What did Aemon want?”

She told the truth without hesitation. “He asked for us to train with him.” 

Not picking up on the distinction in her words, Rhaegar tried to use them to get his way. “There,” he said, looking to Daenerys, “She can go and train with Aemon and you and I can share a drink.” 

“I would,” Daenerys responded, sounding sincere, “but Aemon invited both of us and I mean to train as well.” 

This caused Rhaegar to pause and collect his thoughts. “You’re teaching my sister the sword?!”

“The bow actually,” Daenerys added in happily. “Maybe I’ll try a sword next. If it’s half as much fun, I’ll probably enjoy it.”

Arya couldn’t say for certain, but she got the distinct impression Daenerys only wanted to learn the sword because she knew it would annoy her brother. If that was her motive, she got her wish. “You can’t be serious!” he roared. “I will not allow it, it’s entirely unsafe!”

“What exactly is dangerous about me shooting arrows at a target made of hay?”. 

“It’s not right,” Rhaegar said weakly. 

Arya glanced at Daenerys and saw a fire in her eyes that was growing more intense rather than burning out. She had to wonder if Rhaegar knew how that statement would be received when he said it? 

“Why, because I’m a woman?” She looked to her guard for support. “You’re a woman, can you fire a bow?” 

“Yes.”

Daenerys wasn’t done. “How many men were in your training group?” 

“Hundreds,” Arya recalled. 

“And you, the only woman finished first?” she verified. 

“Yes.” 

She turned to her brother with a smug expression. “You were saying?”

He seemed to sense it was a losing argument and redirected his efforts. “I just want you to be safe.” 

If he thought that would make Daenerys more amenable, he was sorely mistaken. “I am safe. When I’m outside I’ll be armed with a bow and arrows, I’ll be surrounded by highly trained soldiers and my own personal guard.”

Internally Arya was proud of Daenerys for speaking up so forcefully and defending herself. She could only hope this was the start of a new trend and not a strange, single occurrence. 

“Surely you can learn the bow tomorrow,” Rhaegar said in his final attempt. “I wish to speak with you.” 

Honestly, Arya expected that plea would work. Whether she was embracing her independence or not, Daenerys cared about other people. It would be hard for her to walk away from her brother when he was so blatantly asking for her time. 

“As I said, we have an appointment,” Daenerys said, making it seem much more important than training in the yard with Aemon. 

Reading his expression Arya couldn’t help but ask herself if this was the first time Daenerys ever refused Rhaegar like this? He seemed shocked by her refusal and utterly unsure of his next move. Daenerys had no such reservations. She said a polite goodbye to the Prince and walked away, 

R-C

The walk to Daenerys’s bedchamber was a torturous death march. It was made longer by two different people stopping Daenerys to talk. As her guard Arya had no choice but to stop with her, even though it went against every instinct she had. More than once she wanted to give in to her desires and pin Daenerys to the nearest wall for a bruising kiss, consequences be damned. She tried to rely on her better nature to avoid doing anything irreparable but common sense was in remarkably short supply. It seemed all of Arya desperately needed Daenerys, and nothing else mattered. 

While she fought her urges and tried to keep her hands to herself, Daenerys was no help. Her eyes shined with a passion that matched or exceeded Arya’s. When grey met violet, she’d smile enticingly or lick her lips in a slow, very seductive manner. 

Arya thought she was impatient, but it was Daenerys who broke first. By the time the Northern woman turned away from the closed door, Daenerys was on her, pressing her incredible body against Arya in as many delightful ways as she could. 

She intended to make a witty comment of some kind, but the words were forced back into her mouth by Daenerys’s talented tongue. When one of them finally spoke, it was the Targaryen. “I fucking hate your armor,” she complained as she tried in vain to wedge her small hand between Arya’s skin and the steel. 

“Sorry,” Arya retorted sarcastically as she turned her lover’s head to the side, exposing her neck. She dove in and went to work, aware they had only a short amount of time before they were due in the yard with Aemon. 

She had her eyes open, watching Daenerys squirm in pleasure when the royal tensed. “Well, you know what they say…”

Daenerys stopped there leaving Arya no choice but to lift her mouth off Daenerys’s neck long enough to play along. “What do they say?” As soon as the words were past her lips, she reattached herself to Daenerys, using her teeth to bind them together. 

“That… F…fuck…” she groaned, throwing her head back and making her throat an even more appealing target. 

Arya could feel a wicked smirk curling her busy lips. She loved when she was the reason the reserved, well-spoken, older woman unravelled. “Some people definitely do say that,” she agreed with a laugh. 

The glare she received in reply wasn’t nearly as intimidating as it otherwise might’ve been. Stealing from its power was the moan that proceeded it and the fierce way Daenerys gripped the back of Arya’s head. With an unrelenting hold she made sure that the guard couldn’t abandon her neck before she was satisfied. 

“They do say that,” Daenerys confirmed, sounding amused and breathless, although Arya didn’t stop kissing to check. “You say it too,” she added, “last night in fact you said…”

Arya wasn’t entirely sure how Daenerys was going to finish that sentence, but she could guess it would be embarrassing. There were plenty of moments from her time with Daenerys that she wanted to remember forever, but minor details like what exactly she said in the throes of passion weren’t among them. How could she be expected to remember the words she said at a time when the only thing she could focus on was Daenerys’s touch? “I get it,” she snapped with a growl. 

Giggling, Daenerys ran a hand through Arya’s hair, smoothing it out some. “As I was saying,” she started, pausing to see if Arya would interrupt her again. This time she didn’t. “They say practice makes perfect, and if that’s true, I’ll be an expert at removing Dornish armor in no time.” To prove her proficiency her right hand dropped from Arya’s head and landed on the first strap. 

“As much as I’d love that,” Arya said, moving off Daenerys’s neck and kissing across to her shoulder, “and I really would, we have somewhere to be.” The words tasted bitter as they sounded. The last thing she wanted to do was stop kissing Daenerys, but Aemon was waiting for them. 

With a light groan of disapproval Daenerys tensed under Arya’s mouth. “Do they put the bows away?”

Admittedly it was difficult to focus on their conversation when Daenerys tasted so good, but Arya tried. That said, the question the Princess asked was strange. She left her shoulder with a final nibbling bite. “What?”

“Do they lock the weapons away? Will you not be able to train later? Will I not be able to practice with a bow later?”

In truth she didn’t know if the weapons were locked up at a specific time. She always brought her own and that made it possible for her to train whenever the mood struck. As she considered Daenerys’s points, the Targaryen seized control. She pushed Arya back into the door and then pressed their bodies together, as she’d done immediately after they arrived. Their lips were the last piece to connect and when it happened it was worth the wait. Arya cupped the back of Daenerys’s neck, holding her in place so they could both enjoy the kiss for as long as possible. 

When they separated, Daenerys picked up where she left off. “Will I not be able to practice the bow later?”

Without thinking Arya replied, too distracted by the kiss to realize where she was being led. “Even if the bows are locked up, I’ll get you one,” she promised. 

“Exactly,” Daenerys declared proudly, “so there is no reason we can’t stay here and finish this, is there?” 

Before Arya could answer, Daenerys’s mouth was on hers again. This kiss was heated and rough, a fight for dominance, with warring tongues and mashing teeth, it made her forget everything she intended to say. 

When she felt one of Daenerys’s smooth legs brushing hers, Arya took the hint. She gripped the back of Daenerys’s thigh and used it to bring the Princess impossibly closer. Daenerys moaned into her mouth and Arya knew she’d lost. Training could wait. 

Arya carried her away from the door and laid her down. Standing there, at the foot of the bed, she finished what Daenerys started and removed her breast plate. She had taken off her armor countless times, so why were her hands shaking? Arya put the blame on the intense stare she was receiving. Her want of the soldier was obvious and it was something Arya had never experienced before, to be desired, to be needed so intently. All she wanted to do was to fall onto the bed and stay there, but her mind chose to remind her why she couldn’t. “Aemon,” she said quietly. 

Lifting herself up and resting on an elbow, Daenerys failed to make the connection. With a devious grin she shook her head. “Not the best time to be thinking about someone else.”

Her disappointment aside Arya couldn’t help but chuckle. She bent down to reclaim her armor. “No,” she said, “Aemon is waiting for us. We need to go. He’s probably wondering where we are already.” 

She expected Daenerys’s face to mirror hers, to show disappointment at being thwarted, or surprise at remembering their engagement with her nephew but all Arya saw was anger. “If you put that armor back on,” she threatened, “I swear I’ll toss it in the nearest forge.”

She wasn’t sure she believed Daenerys was sincere, but she hesitated anyway. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, sitting up more completely. They said nothing for a few long moments and then Daenerys held out one of her hands in invitation. “Put that down and come to bed, we’re far from done.” 

Any request from Daenerys was hard to refuse but this one, so closely in line with everything she wanted was especially difficult. She looked from the hand she was supposed to take, to the face of the woman attached and back. “Daenerys, we need to go, Aemon…”

“Will be training for hours,” she noted calmly. 

Was it her imagination or was Daenerys purposefully sitting in a way that afforded Arya a perfect view down the front of her dress? “Daenerys,” she tried again, as her resolve continued to weaken. 

“Arya,” she retorted, matching the guard’s tone perfectly. “Just as the bow will be waiting when we’re finished, so will Aemon.”

“He… is going to wonder where you are,” Arya predicted, “it’s already been too long.”

“He’s busy swinging his sword, he’s likely forgotten all about us. Even if he hasn’t, I’ve got plenty of time to think up a reasonable excuse to explain our delay.”

Aemon was waiting for them. He wasn’t just a Targaryen Prince, he also happened to be a member of her family, and Daenerys’s, and so Arya was reluctant to disappoint him, but she reached her limit. Daenerys’s arguments were valid. They could train later, and she suspected Aemon would still be there when they arrived. She was all out of reasons to refuse. 

Sensing her impending victory Daenerys leaned forward, and in the process made her hand easier to reach. Arya shifted her armor to her right hand and then gave her left to Daenerys. “That’s better,” she said with a smile, “now put the armor down.”

From the day she earned the Martell breastplate she cherished it as one of her most prized possessions, but it was insignificant when compared to what was waiting for her on that bed. She dropped the steel carelessly and allowed herself to be pulled to where she was needed. “Anything else?” she asked. 

Daenerys, who had been busy admiring Arya’s body stopped abruptly, her eyes jumping to the soldier’s. “I’ll think of something,” she promised, those four words dripping with possibility.

R-C

She didn’t regret sneaking away with Arya, in fact she savored every second they spent together, including when at Daenerys’s insistence their brief moment together became not-so-brief. Nevertheless, she did feel a stab of guilt when they arrived in the yard and saw Aemon training without them. He stopped mid-swing and ran to greet them. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Daenerys assured him. As she spoke, she snuck a peek at Arya. The subtle but very present smirk the soldier was trying to hide did little to quell Daenerys’s own memories of what had delayed them. With a deep breath she tried to focus. There would be time for Arya later, lots, but first Aemon deserved her attention. 

“What took you so long?” 

The lovers looked at each other and for a second time Arya’s beauty nearly rendered Daenerys speechless. Luckily, she found her voice before the silence stretched on too long. “It’s my fault,” she said, putting a hand on Arya’s forearm. “We went up to my chambers to get something and I remembered a whole bunch of other things I’d been neglecting.” Not quite the truth, but definitely not a lie either. She had been neglecting Arya and there were a lot of things she had to do before she would let her lover leave. 

Aemon smiled. “Let me guess,” he said to Arya, “she roped you into helping her.” 

Though she was an expert at remaining stoic Daenerys saw a momentary flash of real amusement before Arya responded. “Something like that.” 

Oh no, she wasn’t going to take all the blame for this. She may have instigated it, but she was hardly alone in enjoying it. She kicked the dirt under her feet and folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t recall needing to twist you arm,” she reminded her consort. 

“Of course not,” Arya answered back easily, “I serve you, in whatever manner you wish.” The words sounded right, a guard reaffirming her commitment to complete any task the royal assigned her, but Daenerys heard a much more personal, more intimate message. There was a change in her tone when she said ‘whatever.’ Suddenly Daenerys’s mind was overrun with all the different things she might require of Arya now that they were sharing a bed. It made her smile. 

The knowing look on Arya’s face made it clear she knew exactly where Daenerys’s thoughts had wandered. Before the Princess could act on her reignited desires, Aemon reminded them he was there. “What did you need in your chambers anyway?”

She turned away from Arya deliberately in the hopes that it would make it easier to avoid distractions. “My cloak.” With two fingers she pinched the dark fabric and pulled it away from her body, as if to show it off. 

“It’s not that cold,” Aemon noted accurately. 

“It’s not for the cold, it’s for luck,” she countered, “I was wearing this when I hit the target last time, so I figured it’d be bad luck to practice without it.” 

He thought for a moment and then his face broke into a smile. “A little luck never hurts, but I don’t think you’ll need it. You can do it, cloak or not.” After he was done with Daenerys, he moved on to the guard. “Ready to go?”

“In a minute,” Arya swore, “just let me get Daenerys set up with a bow and some arrows and then I’ll let you beat my ass as many times as you want.”

Aemon laughed and Daenerys smiled, enjoying seeing Arya so relaxed. “I can wait, if you want to test out your new sword,” she proposed. She would gladly practice using the bow again, but she wasn’t opposed to watching from the side as Arya twisted and twirled to avoid Aemon’s strikes. 

“A new sword?” the young Prince repeated eagerly. 

“Yeah,” Arya confirmed, pulling the steel from its sheath. Her composed lover appeared almost shy as she held it out for Aemon to admire. 

“Wow,” he said touching it carefully. Even when his fingers were nowhere near the sharpened edges, he was still gentle. “This is incredible.”

When Arya lifted the sword toward him, Aemon locked their grey eyes together. “Are you sure?”

“Sure, take a few swings, let me know what you think, I trust you.” 

Every second Daenerys watched this heartwarming, familial play a knot in her stomach tightened. It was wrong that Aemon didn’t know who he was, who Arya was to him, and how they were connected. Her knowledge of the truth was almost crippling. She understood why she couldn’t tell him, but the pain she felt was real. 

“This is amazing,” Aemon commented after taking a series of swipes at an imaginary opponent. “The weight is perfect, the craftsmanship is beautiful and,” he paused, “is this Valyrian steel?” 

Her guilt over hiding Aemon’s origin from him was temporarily overshadowed by the pride she felt. Aemon didn’t know she commissioned the sword, so she was hearing his honest opinion, not one tempered by a desire to spare her feelings. She liked the sword when the smith presented it to her, she loved Arya’s reaction to it, but hearing Aemon compliment it and her unknowingly was equally rewarding. 

“Where did you get it?” Aemon asked, sending her chaotic emotions on an abrupt decline. 

“It was a gift,” Arya said calmly, plagued by none of the unease that Daenerys was enduring. 

“I wish someone would give me a gift like that,” he remarked after a chuckle. 

He tried to hand the sword back, but Arya shook her head. “You hang on to it. I’m going to go get your aunt started with a bow and then I’ll join you.” 

More than willing to keep Arya’s sword for a few minutes, Aemon agreed. “Sure, take your time.” 

Once the Prince had turned away Arya claimed Daenerys’s hand. “Shall we?” she asked in an utterly sinful tone. It made Daenerys shiver with anticipation. They just climbed out of bed, and already she was counting the seconds until they could return. 

“Definitely.”

Arya escorted her to the same place she’d been the day before. While Daenerys waited, she darted off to find a bow and quiver. She was gone for less than a minute, but it felt much longer to the Princess. When had she become this sort of woman? She had plenty of practice being by herself, and while she grew lonely at times, she never felt the desperate need to count the seconds or watch the door anxiously that Arya seemed to invoke. When she was Daario he came and went at will, or on command. He had other women and was frequently away from the castle for weeks or even months. She’d miss him from time to time when they were apart, and anticipate when they could be together again, but she never felt compelled to kiss him in public, and she definitely didn’t spend her time thinking up ways they could sneak off to be alone together. She couldn’t get enough. 

“Remember what to do?” Arya asked from beside her, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“Remind me,” Daenerys replied, hoping she managed to sound tempting. 

Arya slipped behind her and Daenerys immediately felt two familiar hands settle on her hips. She bit back a moan and made a futile effort to keep her eyes open. Without permission she leaned back into Arya, stopping only when she felt the steel breastplate against her spine. One hand left her hip and retrieved the bow, passing it to Daenerys. “Remind me again why we couldn’t stay in your room, doing what we were doing?”

As soon as she had the bow, Arya’s hand was on her again. It might have been wishful thinking but to Daenerys it felt as if her grip was firmer than before. She enjoyed the connection she felt, marvelling again and how different it was compared to anything else she’d known. “A…Aemon,” she squeaked, cursing under her breath when her voice cracked. “We’re here for Aemon.” 

Arya bent down to get an arrow and Daenerys instantly missed having her close. She popped back up with her mouth over the Princess’s ear. “Who?”

This time she failed to keep the moan in. The dark, sexy chuckle she not only heard, but felt as it sent vibrations through her entire body was almost too much. It would probably upset and offend a few people if she took her lover in the middle of the yard, but that seemed highly preferable to waiting even another moment. 

“Breathe,” Arya instructed. Only after she had, did Daenerys realize how desperately she needed the help. She inhaled and slowly the burn in her chest dulled, shrinking until it was gone entirely. 

More than a little embarrassed, she chose to ignore her recent missteps and get them back on track. “We’re here for Aemon, because he’s family, mine and yours.” 

Arya turned her eyes to her cousin but didn’t relinquish her hold on Daenerys. “He seems happy,” she noted, though it was so quiet Daenerys couldn’t say with any certainty that she was supposed to hear that. 

“He’s more than that,” she contended, “he’s living proof that your family and mine don’t have to be enemies.”

Once again Arya was giving Daenerys her full attention. “I don’t really think that’s what Aemon proves.”

It was difficult to be around Aemon and not tell him about his mother. That sentiment was doubly true for Arya. She wasn’t intentionally hiding what Rhaegar said about Lyanna from Arya, she fully intended to tell her, she just wasn’t sure when or how. She didn’t know how the news would be received and Daenerys feared it would upset the bliss they’d been sharing. It was selfish to wait, but every time she thought about sitting her down and explaining her brother’s side of the story, something stopped her. It had to happen soon, they couldn’t move forward with this between them. 

Doing what she could to ignore Arya’s touch and her presence, Daenerys sent the first arrow of the day from her bow toward the target. It hit the hay, it was nowhere near the center, but it was closer than last time. “That was very good,” Arya complimented her, “just remember to aim high, the arrow is going to drop some on its way to the target.” She was done before she thought of something else to add. “And aim a little left of center next time.” 

“Why?”

“To compensate for the wind,” she explained. Daenerys could admit she never would have thought of that. Now that Arya had drawn her attention to it however, she could feel the light breeze. “You okay?” Arya checked when Daenerys didn’t respond. 

She turned slightly and gave the woman she adored a smile. “I got this,” she insisted. “You better go get your sword back from Aemon, before he decides he wants to keep it.”

Her obvious joke was met with a very intense reaction. “I’d fight him for it,” she vowed, “that sword has a lot of sentimental value.”

“It’s just a sword,” she said dismissively, trying to incite the guard to reveal her feelings. She knew why the sword was important and although her ego likely didn’t need to be fed, she just couldn’t help herself. 

“It’s not just a sword,” Arya corrected fiercely. “It is so much more than that. It was the most amazing gift I’ve ever been given, from the most wonderful woman.” 

By the time she finished her explanation Daenerys’s cheeks were burning. “I want to kiss you,” she confessed in a whisper. 

Arya’s smirk didn’t help Daenerys’s restraint one bit. “Later,” she promised. She angled her chin toward the target. “Keep practicing, I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.” 

She watched her lover walk across the field to meet Aemon. Words were exchanged and then the Prince handed the foster her sword back. Arya took it, smiling when she held the blade in her hand. It took considerable effort to turn away and focus on her target. Normally it would have annoyed her to have someone say they’d check on her. She was a grown woman who was capable of surviving on her own without difficulty, and although she still felt that way, she knew deep down that if it was Arya who was doing the checking, Daenerys wouldn’t mind quite so much as she would’ve otherwise. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I feel like I should apologize again for the delay. If there is some good news, it’s that I’ve gotten a lot of writing done (editing not so much, hence the late post). By the time you all see the next chapter, I suspect I’ll have this whole story written, then I’ll just need to break it into chapters, edit it and post. If my health permits, that should dramatically speed up how fast we get through the second half. 
> 
> I hope you’ll stick around
> 
> RC


	31. Chapter 31

To everyone else they were the same as they’d always been, the Dragon Princess and her Dornish guard. The change in their relationship was a private matter and a protected secret. 

If an observer watched them on Arya’s first day in King’s Landing and then again today, he’d see little difference. She still walked slightly behind the royal while making certain she was close enough for Daenerys to talk to easily. Daenerys smiled constantly and laughed often but not in a way dissimilar to how she interacted with Missandei or Aemon. Arya paid careful attention, not only to her own actions, but Daenerys’s as well, wary of anything that might expose them. So far Daenerys was an expert actress. She managed to move from lover to friend effortlessly, anytime they left her chambers. In public she avoided doing or saying anything that could be interpreted as romantic. She played the part of an innocent, friendly Princess so well that Arya almost believed. She would have been convinced if she didn’t still have the taste of Daenerys on her lips from earlier that morning. 

“Where to next?” 

Daenerys thought for a moment and then answered. “I need to go to the library,” she decided, “but we’ll have to take the long way.” ‘The long way’ was code for an elaborate route to their destination that kept them away from the throne room and all the people in it. It wasn’t often that Daenerys felt it necessary to avoid that area of the castle, but it had happened a few times since Arya’s arrival, usually when the King was lost to his illness. The precaution was a wise choice, hours earlier when Arya accompanied the Princess to breakfast, they walked in on Aerys ranting about the dragon he spoke to in his dreams. Today would not be one of the King’s good days. 

“The library it is.” When Daenerys glanced back at her, Arya was waiting with a smile. “What manner of book are you looking for?”

She lowered her voice substantially, a clear indication that what she would say next wasn’t something she’d confess to just anyone. “I’ve been trying to learn about my dragon eggs, but so far I haven’t been able to find much information.”

Arya was surprised by this. Not by Daenerys’s interest but by the lack of results. Surely if any place in Westeros had information about dragons it would be the castle occupied by Targaryens. “There must be some records.”

“I’ve gone through some,” Daenerys clarified, “but recent texts only contain old stories and wild speculation. The older books I’ve seen talk extensively about fully mature dragons, about their size and their power, but there is very little about hatchings, and less about eggs.”

By the end of her statement it was obvious that Daenerys was growing tired of a fruitless search for information. If it were anybody else Arya would have let them wallow, but seeing Daenerys upset was painful, so she sought to fix it. “We’ll go look, I’m sure some wrinkled old scholar was fascinated by the eggs, we just need to find him. 

Her words brightened Daenerys’s mood and she rewarded the guard’s efforts with a smile before she claimed Arya’s hand, initiating contact for the first time since they left her bedchamber. Arya was tempted to pull away, if only to avoid being seen but her mind reminded her of all the times Daenerys held her hand before they were lovers. It was a common occurrence with Missandei as well, so she convinced herself there was little harm in letting it continue. 

They were nearly at the library when a soft voice called out to them. “M’lady,” it said. They stopped and Daenerys looked at her in question. Before they could turn the speaker realized his error and corrected it. “I mean Princess.” 

Aidan was there, wearing brown pants and a cream-colored shirt. The clothes were new and well-made, meaning they likely came from Tyrion. He was visibly nervous, so naturally Daenerys wanted to set him at ease. She squatted down. “Aidan, how are you?” she asked, her tone warm and inviting. “I haven’t seen you in too long, I’m glad you came and found me today.”

It took a moment but his hands, which were clasped together in front of him and twisted in a physical manifestation of his anxiety relaxed and slowly separated. Slightly more confident, he took a step forward, and then another. Arya noted how cautious he was, pausing after each advance to make sure the adults didn’t object before risking another. 

“Lord Tyrion re…requests your time,” he paused and then bit his lip, before adjusting his message, “requests a moment of your time, only if you aren’t busy.” The young boy looked more than a little relieved to have gotten it all out. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes Princess,” he told her, nodding to reinforce the words. 

Arya kept one eye on Aidan while she looked to Daenerys to see what she wanted to do. “The library can wait,” she said to her guard. She dropped Arya’s hand and moved until she was standing next to the orphan. She held out her hand for him to take. He considered it, then accepted. Winding their fingers together she gave him an easy grin. “Lead us to Tyrion please Ser Aidan.”

Thrilled with his sudden promotion to knight, the child’s smile rivaled the beautiful Targaryen’s. Aidan turned back the way he’d come, and marched off in that direction, eager to fulfill the Princess’s instruction. He took the lead but kept Daenerys close by maintaining his grip on her hand. As she trailed behind Arya couldn’t rightly say which of them was having more fun. 

R-C

“I liked them,” Daenerys said simply as they finished the task Tyrion gave them. He sent Aidan to find her and requested her presence because a small group of Silent Sisters had come to the Red Keep. Since they didn’t speak, they hadn’t warned anyone of their arrival, leaving Tyrion unable to fit them into his schedule. Rather than turn them away, he asked Daenerys to meet with them and provide the gold he allotted. 

“There a few more devout,” Arya remarked, “and they do good work.” 

She didn’t say anything, but Daenerys suspected Arya preferred the mute women to most of the people the Princess met with. Arya wasn’t the sort to complain, at least not verbally but Daenerys was beginning to understand the Northern woman’s unspoken language. In place of words, Arya revealed her feelings with a rolling of her steel-colored eyes, or a faint clicking of her tongue against the inside of her cheek. She saw no signs Arya was annoyed or bored when she was meeting with the Sisters, not when she carried on a one-sided conversation, or when she provided tea and snacks, not even when she took her guests on a tour of the keep. 

For a second time her plan to go to the library was thwarted, this time by one of the last people she expected to see. “Princess Daenerys,” the Magister said, “how blessed I am to run into you. I am leaving for Pentos tomorrow, but hoped I’d see you and get the chance to take you up on your offer to share a meal, provided it still stands.” 

Though she tried to conceal it, she was sure her emotions bled through before she got a handle on them. What was he talking about? In need of clarification and support she instinctively looked to Arya. 

“Is now a bad time?” Illyrio asked, misinterpreting the reason for the delay.

“No?” she responded without thinking, unintentionally making it sound like a question. “No,” she tried again, “I just wanted to ensure I didn’t have any appointments that couldn’t be postponed.”

The lie gave her cover and bought her precious seconds to think. What was Illyrio talking about? When had she agreed to have dinner with him? Their only conversation had been on her nameday, so that had to be when the bargain was struck, but she didn’t remember it. Truthfully much of that day was a blur of handshakes and insincere comments. Whether she meant it or not, refusing wasn’t really an option. If the Pentoshi Magister wished to dine with her, she’d have to accommodate him. 

It was wrong to shift the focus to Arya to save herself, but just as the guilt started to spread in her belly, Arya spoke up, understanding what Daenerys needed and providing it without hesitation. Somehow, she knew Daenerys would need to accept, and made the obligation seem like a concession. “We should be able to move your appointments around,” she said calmly, “I don’t see any reason we wouldn’t be able to meet the good Magister in ten or fifteen minutes.” 

From the corner of her eye she watched Illyrio’s face split into a grin. She paid him only a fraction of her attention, most of her mind was on Arya and wondering how she knew that Daenerys would need time to collect herself before she sat down with Illyrio? 

“You do me a great kindness Princess. I’m grateful. Please, take all the time you need. I’ll meet you in the dining room and you can tell me what you think of your dragon eggs.” 

She forced a smile for the arrogant man. “I’ll join you as soon as I rearrange my calendar,” she promised. He mentioned the dragon eggs he gave her. Was that what he wished to discuss? Had she agreed to see him as a gesture of thanks? 

She held her tongue until she and Arya were a dozen steps away. “Thank you,” she praised in a whisper. “Join me upstairs, quickly.” She needed to talk to Arya someplace where they could speak freely. Behind the closed door of her bedchamber was the only place that felt safe enough. As an added bonus, she’d be able to sneak in a kiss or two before she had to eat with Illyrio. 

As soon as the door closed, she was in motion. “Thank you!” Daenerys said again as she propelled herself into Arya’s arms. “I had no idea what he was talking about.” It occurred to her that although she didn’t remember, perhaps Arya did. “Did I really agree to have dinner with him?”

“Yes,” she informed the Targaryen without releasing her. “You wanted to know why he was giving you such a valuable gift and he said he wished to get to know you, over a meal.” 

What Arya was describing sounded vaguely familiar. She remembered how Illyrio casually mentioned his business with her father, revealing the real reason he’d crossed the sea. Their embrace ended and she immediately crossed her arms in a show of her annoyance. “I wish I could decline.” 

“We could think up a reason,” Arya proposed. 

That made her smile, albeit briefly. “If only, but if I refuse him, he’ll complain to Varys, who’ll complain to Rhaegar, or Tywin and word will get back to my father. 

Instead of simply accepting her fate as Daenerys was prone to do, Arya considered the problem and offered a solution. “I can invent an excuse for you to leave early.” 

She was touched. Few in her life cared enough to spend so much energy on her feelings. She unwound her arms and returned to Arya. “It’d be better with you there.” 

“I’ll be there,” Arya swore as her fingers moved through Daenerys’s hair. The gentle touch grounded her and brought peace to her chaotic emotions. “I may not be at the table with you, but I’ll be there.” 

“I’d much rather eat with you.” 

Picking up on her lack of excitement Arya found the lone bright spot in a dreary situation. “If anyone has information about your eggs, it’s likely the Magister. He may even be able to point you toward which books have the answers you seek.” 

Fully aware that she didn’t deserve someone as kind as Arya, she pressed a kiss to the base of her neck, right above the edge of the steel. “Thank you,” she said, “I needed to hear that.” 

“Come on,” she advised, backing up slowly and letting her hands drop to her sides, “the sooner we get downstairs, the sooner he’ll be on his way back to Pentos.” 

“That’s very true,” Daenerys acknowledged. Before they got to the door, she connected her lips to Arya’s. If she was going to have to endure an extended meeting with Illyrio, she’d need something to help her focus. A passionate kiss from Arya Stark seemed like the perfect compromise. 

R-C

Remaining silent and in the background was never more difficult than when Daenerys was in obvious discomfort. Her instincts screamed that she should help, that she should do something, but not every battle could be won with her sword. 

Observing as she entertained the Magister, Arya kept an eye out for anything that might expose Daenerys’s true feelings. Gracious and charming she made him believe sitting across from him was the only place in the world she wanted to be. Wealthy beyond measure and egotistical, Illyrio was easy to fool. He trusted in the lies falling from her lips. It didn’t seem to occur to him that she was just telling him what he wanted to hear. Arya was more than a little impressed. The Daenerys eating and chatting with Illyrio was miles away from the girl who couldn’t find her voice when Aerys or Tywin asked her a question. 

“So, you like the gift I gave you?” he asked, fishing for a compliment. 

“I love them, they’re incredible,” she replied with genuine wonder. “Where did they come from?”

Arya had to bite her lip to keep from smirking. She was good. She’d likely been swallowing that question since they sat down but she bided her time and waited until he brought the subject up. Now that he had, she turned things around and was using him as a source of information. “From the Shadowlands,” he told her, “an associate discovered them while handling some business in the area.” 

“Do you know how old they are?”

“No,” he confessed simply. 

Daenerys prodded him for more without being obvious. “They look and feel ancient, don’t you think?”

“Based on where they were found, they’re likely thousands of years old, probably from a time when dragons were widespread.”

“Do you think they belonged to one of my ancestors?”

“Only your family had dragons. Whether a distant relative or someone directly linked to you, I can’t say, but one day long ago those eggs definitely belonged to another Targaryen.”

Although she tried to present a calm exterior, Daenerys’s excitement bubbled over. She fired off her inquiries in rapid succession. “Do you know how big dragons from those eggs would be? Do the colors of the eggs indicate the color of the dragons? How long would it take to turn eggs to stone? Even if they were the last, shouldn’t they have hatched?” 

Illyrio’s constant smile faltered a bit. “I’m sorry Princess, I don’t have the answers. I fear no one does.”

Picking up on the change Daenerys sought to repair his opinion of her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you with so many questions, I’ve just been fascinated since I received them. I can’t help but wonder where and how they came to be here.”

“It’s quite alright,” he promised, smiling wide at her enthusiasm. “I understand I have questions about them myself.” 

“My handmaiden Missandei has been searching for any books or scrolls that make mention of dragon eggs but so far we haven’t learned much that we didn’t already know.” 

Noticing a perceived weak spot Illyrio pressed on it, likely because he assumed he could use Daenerys’s interest to his advantage. Arya wanted to make an example of him, to show the castle and the Realm that no one would be using Daenerys again, but angering the Magister would bring scrutiny she couldn’t afford. Not just because she was a Stark hiding under the name Sand but also because of her intimate relationship to the capital’s only Princess. She clamped her jaw shut so tight the pain radiated out. “Perhaps I could be of assistance. As a Magister I have access to many of the most knowledgeable people in all of Essos. A great number come from storied bloodlines and ancient families that date back to the time of Old Valyria. With your consent I could reach out to them and see what their vaults, libraries and histories say about dragon eggs. Much was lost in the Doom but if anything remains, I’m confident my associates can find it.” 

The proposition was selfless, kind and entirely fake. He was framing it as if it were Daenerys’s choice. It was shit. Illyrio had an angle, some way to profit from all the effort he was putting in. He spent untold sums of gold trying to impress the Princess, he wouldn’t do that without a reason. Contrary to what he told the Targaryen, Arya wasn’t naive enough to believe he sought her out and ate with her just to get to know her better. It bothered her that she couldn’t see his destination. What could he hope to gain by winning Daenerys’s favor? She had little say in policy and even less in trade, which was surely where Illyrio’s interests lay, so what was it all for?

“I would appreciate that more than words could say,” Daenerys gushed. Arya feared her lover was buying what the huckster was selling but close examination of violet eyes told a much different tale. She saw skepticism concealed under the empty thanks and the polite niceties. Her jaw finally unclenched, and she used her tongue to massage the inside of her mouth. Her worry was needless. Illyrio hadn’t fooled Daenerys one bit. 

The remainder of the meal was filled with Daenerys expertly keeping the Magister talking, mostly about himself, a topic he seemed to enjoy. She inquired about his travels, remembering that he left shortly after her nameday and just returned. He confessed his business went well, but that it took longer than he originally estimated. When he appeared poised to change the subject, Daenerys asked if he had met with her father yet. Showing a tremor of discomfort for the first time, he admitted that he had. She inquired about the results, asking outright if the agreement struck was enough to make the trip across the Narrow Sea worthwhile. She didn’t say it directly, but it was heavily implied that Daenerys knew she and her nameday were not the true reason for his visit. He was quick to reassure her, claiming even if the King and he could not reach a consensus, he would not regret his time in the Seven Kingdoms. Arya rolled her eyes as she listened to him try to dance around the truth without implicating himself. If the slight downturn of her very kissable lips was a clue, Daenerys shared her outlook.

Daenerys managed to keep the majority of the conversation directed away from her, but Illyrio was persistent. He waited until she was raising a glass to her lips before commenting. “I imagine it is difficult living here, having your home filled by so many, each with their own interests and priorities.” 

Arya tensed again. This was it, the real reason for this meeting, for everything. Subtly her hand drifted to her sword. She didn’t think Daenerys was in physical danger, but she felt a little better about the situation knowing she could draw her blade and open his throat at a moment’s notice. 

“I suppose,” Daenerys acknowledged carefully. “I actually enjoy all our visitors. People from across the Seven Kingdoms come here and I get to speak to all of them.” Arya knew that was a lie, at least partially, but she told it well and the Magister was ignorant to the deception. 

“Of course,” he continued, undeterred, “but there must be times where you wish you could confide in someone.”

Daenerys, bless her heart refused to make it easy on him. Instead of agreeing and moving on, she resisted his assumption. “I have friends here who are always available to listen when I need them.” 

Arya didn’t miss the way Daenerys found her as she spoke about her friends. The guard replied with a tight, but real smile to show she got the message. 

“I’m sure that’s true, but I’ve learned that sometimes it’s easier to speak openly with someone when they are far away. Especially if they are not involved in the matters being debated.” He paused to sip his wine and then finished his thought. “That is why I value my friendship to Varys so highly, he is the person I rely on when I need to release my feelings or gain insight. Since he has no role in Pentoshi politics, it’s safe for me to tell Varys things I could never admit to the people around me.” 

“That’s nice,” Daenerys declared simply. 

Even as she made him work for it, Illyrio’s smile and calm delivery remained. He was very good at appearing non-threatening, a significant feat for a man as powerful as him. “I try to do the same for him, providing a friendly ear, counsel or in some instances gold, if the situation calls for it.” 

“I’m sure Lord Varys appreciates that.” 

“I’d be willing to fill the same position for you Princess,” he proposed, finally getting to the point. “If you ever find yourself in need of a confidential, unbiased opinion, please do not hesitate to reach out to me. I will gladly aid you in anyway I can.”

Daenerys started with the good news. “That is very generous of you Magister and I thank you. I will keep that in mind going forward, but I must ask, what have I done to deserve such kindness?” He looked ready to respond but Daenerys wasn’t finished. “Surely you have better things to occupy yourself with than listening to a third-born daughter of a distant King whine.”

Illyrio was unbothered by the slight edge Daenerys’s voice took on by the end. “As you are undoubtedly aware Varys and I have known one another for many years, and we are close friends. In the time I’ve known him, I have learned to trust his judgement on most things. He speaks highly of you, so much so that I purposefully rearranged my schedule to ensure my trip to Westeros fell during your nameday celebration.” 

Arya did what she could to memorize every word, wanting to analyze them later. Illyrio was more honest and upfront than she thought he’d be, but that didn’t make his motives pure. Another thing stuck in her mind, Varys. She recalled her last exchange with the Spider and how he agreed to keep her secret in no small part because of Daenerys. She was tempted to assume every word out of Illyrio’s mouth was self-serving, but her gut told her she could trust when he said that Varys spoke highly of Daenerys. Even if everything else was shit, she could believe that. 

“I’m flattered,” Daenerys retorted without much emotion, “but I’m afraid you may have wasted weeks and many, many coins.”

“I didn’t waste anything, I wished to meet you and I have. You were as delightful as advertised and I regret nothing.” 

Arya expected the compliment heavy statement would dull some of Daenerys’s mistrust, at least outwardly. She thought the Princess would back off, to avoid being impolite to the Realm’s newest business partner, but Daenerys wasn’t ready to let Illyrio off the hook. “Why would you go to all that trouble, for me?”

He was silent for a few moments and if Arya was reading him right, he looked pleased that Daenerys had the courage to ask him that. “I just started what I hope will be a long and profitable business relationship with your family and the Crown, it’s logical that I get to know the people involved and provide assistance where I can. Doing so is merely good business.”

If he thought that would satisfy the Targaryen, he was wrong. The more he spoke, the more agitated Daenerys became. “If you truly wish to help my family, perhaps you should have visited for Rhaegar’s nameday instead of mine. He is the heir and the one you’ll be doing your business with, in the years to come.” 

“Your brother is an impressive man and I think he’ll make a fine King, but coming from foreign lands where things are done differently I must confess I think more should go into choosing a successor than the order of birth.” 

“What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing my dear,” he insisted. “Forgive an old man his rambling. I just come from a place where a person is chosen to lead based less on his parentage and more on his abilities. In Pentos, if a majority thought you were the best potential ruler, it wouldn’t matter that you’re,” he paused, “how did you put it? ‘Third-born and a woman.’” 

Where she was standing Arya fumed with barely contained rage. The Magister was telling Daenerys only half the story and misleading her in the process. Oberyn had told her about the Pentoshi Prince and the Magisters who chose him. While it was true he wasn’t always the eldest son from a single family, it was disingenuous to suggest he had any real power. He may rule but he couldn’t spend a copper without the Magister’s approval. Magisters who by the way, always came from the same families, going back centuries. The Prince may be selected by a majority but the Magisters who pulled his strings got their money and titles much the same way Aerys Targaryen did, and how Rhaegar would after him. 

She was contemplating speaking up and reminding Daenerys of a pressing appointment that they couldn’t be late for, but before she got the chance Daenerys was speaking. “That’s fascinating,” she told him. “I wish I had the time to spend the afternoon here with you, learning about the differences between my homeland and yours, but I’m afraid if we don’t leave soon, I’ll be late for my next meeting.” 

“Don’t let me keep you. You’ve indulged a guest too long already,” he remarked. “Please accept my thanks for the lovely company and the fine meal and think about what I said. Sometime in the future, if you have need of me, please send word. Varys knows how to reach me.”

“It is I who should be thanking you Magister,” she said, reverting back to the innocent Princess, “for your incredible gift and your time. I’ve learned much today and it’s a shame you must return home, because I would welcome another meal and conversation like this one.” 

As they said goodbye Illyrio circled back to the beginning, promising to write when he had information about the dragon eggs. She thanked him profusely and sounded convincing. 

The whole experience was an informative lesson for Arya. Politics was a world she’d never feel comfortable in, but she understood enough. She knew that in order to persevere one had to master certain skills, things like concealing how you feel, agreeing with ideas and statements you vehemently opposed and smiling when there was absolutely nothing to be happy about. Arya couldn’t have done it, not convincingly, but Daenerys did. 

Seeing her with Illyrio was a good reminder that long before the Targaryens went to Dorne, before Arya was assigned to protect the Princess, Daenerys had survived. She didn’t need Arya or anyone else to save her, she was capable of taking care of herself. 

R-C

“Fuck that was painful,” Daenerys groaned once they were safely tucked away in her bedchamber. 

“You handled him well,” Arya replied. 

She had her doubts. She tried to discover why he’d come without being too overt about it, but most of the time it felt as if he could see right through her. “Really?”

“Definitely,” Arya said, putting her palm flat on the desk and leaning on it to get her mouth within range of Daenerys’s. The kiss was soft and slow but did wonders for easing the tension and worry that had built up in Illyrio’s company. “He’s likely congratulating himself this very moment for manipulating you, thinking he’s on his way to earning your trust.”

“I’d never trust him,” Daenerys declared. “I knew from the second Varys introduced us that he didn’t come all this way to bring me a nameday gift, and I was right.” 

“He had business with your father,” she noted, recalling what he’d said when Daenerys was peppering him with questions. 

“I don’t know the nature of their dealings, but will he really make enough money to pay for those dragon eggs and turn a profit?”

While Arya considered it, Daenerys did the same. Any business the Realm did was substantial. It was possible that whatever arrangement they’d come to, it would bring Illyrio enough money to compensate him for the millions he spent to acquire the dragon eggs. “Possibly, but for a man like that, I doubt it’s about the gold.”

What?! It was always about coins, wasn’t it? “What else could it be?”

“Illyrio already has money, probably more than he could spend in two lifetimes, I’d be shocked if that still motivates him,” Arya said, providing Daenerys with a whole new perspective. 

“What do you think inspired all this? Why come all this way?”

The answer came without delay. “Power, most likely. I’d wager it’s all about perception. He wants to be able to say he’s in business with the King of the Seven Kingdoms, just as he wants to be able to say, he’s close to the Dragon Princess.”

Arya’s words had the ring of truth and just thinking about it made Daenerys groan again. She was tired and it was still early. She wanted to ask what Arya thought of Illyrio’s strange comments, the ones about that way Westeros chose its King but she feared if they started down that road, she’d spend the remainder of the day exchanging ideas on the subject. She was tempted to curl up on her bed with Arya and sleep until he was on his ship, but there were other things she had to do, even if she didn’t have any formal appointments. 

She kissed Arya, first because she could, and then because it worked miracles at making her forget about everything else. A few minutes with Arya and Illyrio’s actions felt far less important. He didn’t matter. He was just another arrogant, rich man, and she already had her fill of those. She had other things to focus on, like Arya. They still hadn’t talked about what Rhaegar said about Arya’s Aunt Lyanna. They definitely needed to do that, but not now. 

She stole one last kiss and then she stood up, purposefully brushing Arya’s arm with her breasts as she moved out and away from the desk. “Come on, I refuse to give Illyrio Mopatis any more of my day than he’s already taken.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“The library, maybe we’ll actually get there this time,” she joked. 

“I like our chances, if we’re quick,” Arya added, playing along and bringing a smile to the Princess’s face. 

In the hallway Arya asked, “Did you not believe Illyrio when he said he would look for information about the eggs?”

She did in fact believe him, mainly because he clearly wanted something from her. She didn’t need to know precisely what it was, to know he wasn’t behaving selflessly. He’d deliver on his pledge to find documents about the eggs, if for no other reason than to ingratiate himself further to Daenerys. After the eggs, and the books, it’d be hard for her to deny a request if he came to her and asked for a favor. “If he can find me ancient texts, great, but I’m not going to wait around for Illyrio or anybody else to bring me the answers I want.” 

Arya grinned. “Imagine his face when you write to him and tell him you don’t need his documents because you’ve already found what you were looking for.” 

It was a long shot to think she’d discover enough to make Illyrio’s contributions unnecessary, but the idea alone made her laugh. Improbable or not, she’d enjoy writing that note and sending it to Pentos. She increased the speed of her strides, suddenly more eager than ever to get to the library and begin her hunt. With Arya, maybe they had a chance. 

R-C

Her intentions were innocent. She may have been on Daenerys’s bed, but it wasn’t for that purpose. She only wanted to help her find the answers to her many questions. Arya was far from illiterate, and she was plenty intelligent, she just preferred to be moving. She didn’t know how a book, even a good one could compete with the rush she felt swinging her sword. Normally being forced to read words written decades before her father’s father was born would have gnawed on her patience but the truth was, Daenerys wasn’t forcing her to do anything. She hadn’t even asked. Arya simply picked up the top book on the pile and cracked the spine all on her own. She wanted to be the one to help Daenerys solve the mystery of her eggs. She could already imagine the bright smile, the vice-like hug and the searing kiss she’d get as a reward and that prompted her to keep going even after she feared she was going cross-eyed. 

She sat on the edge of the bed opposite Daenerys with a book in her lap. She flipped through the pages, studying one author’s recollections of a time long past. She wasn’t reading exactly, just searching for the relevant words, ‘dragon, eggs, hatch’ and the like. 

Daenerys was more comfortable, clearly settled in for the duration. She had kicked off her shoes and was laid out on her stomach, her feet up near the pillows. She had her chin in one hand and her other was busy turning pages. She hummed to herself quietly each time she learned something new. 

Time lost its meaning. Despite her original ascertain that she was only doing this for Daenerys, the tale immortalized on the pages in front of her drew her in. When she realized the section of the book she was reviewing detailed a battle between dragons, Arya gave it her entire focus. With care she read every word to make certain nothing was missed. She tried to paint it in her mind, the two dragons fighting amongst themselves. One was larger and green while his opponent was a tan color that shifted to gold near the wings. The golden beast was allegedly smaller, but faster. She developed a new appreciation for the author as he made mention of details he couldn’t know unless he was there. This was no mere scholar, he’d have to be more, if he’d been willing to get within a mile of two angry dragons. 

Her thumb moved under the corner of the page she was finishing, preparing to turn it as soon as she’d reached the end of the final line. This wasn’t the information Daenerys was looking for, but Arya couldn’t stop reading. She had to know, which dragon won? With dragons did size rule the day or did other things matter more? With men size often wasn’t the determining factor. It was possible to beat a bigger, stronger man if one was quick enough, smart enough, disciplined enough and skilled. Arya had done it, she was living proof. 

So captivated by the story, she didn’t feel the bed move or sense Daenerys’s warmth inching closer to her. Arya’s whole world consisted of two dead dragons, their strong, snapping jaws and the furious snarls that always proceeded the flames. 

Before she reached the climax of the battle she was brought back to her own time, to a quiet bedchamber in the Red Keep and the wet heat of a mouth attaching itself to her neck. “Good book?” she murmured against Arya’s flesh. 

“Are… “ Arya clamped her lips together to prevent a moan from escaping. She cursed Daenerys for converting her to a bumbling mess. How many times had she seen someone lose their voice or their wits when faced with a pretty girl and how many times had Arya rolled her eyes and swore that it would never happen to her? Daenerys was making a liar out of her and yet, with the sensation of her tongue skimming over her pulse, it was damn hard to care. “Shouldn’t you… be reading?” she managed to say. 

She subtly turned her head away, to give Daenerys more room to work. Even with her eyes pointed a different direction she could feel the smile on Daenerys’s lips as she increased her efforts. “The,” kiss “books,” kiss “can,” kiss “wait.” At the end of her statement she punctuated it by sinking her teeth down into the side of Arya’s throat. Pain and pleasure mixed together so thoroughly it was impossible to separate one from the other. 

“Fuck!” she groaned as she surrendered to her lover. The book in her lap closed with a resounding thud and Arya tossed it in the general direction of the pillows. 

Daenerys leaned back, resting on her heels as she knelt next to the younger woman. “I’m sorry,” she said with absolutely no contrition. It wasn’t in her eyes, in her tone, or on her face. “Did that hurt?”

The fire Arya saw in Daenerys reminded her there was more than one type of dragon. She could find out which beast lived to kill another day later, for the time being she had Daenerys. She tried to match the false innocence Daenerys used so perfectly when she responded. “What? Did you bite me?” She raised two fingers to the spot on her neck that was still burning and felt the indentations left by Daenerys’s teeth. “I didn’t feel a thing,” she lied, “perhaps you should try again.” 

With a growl Arya’s old direwolf would have envied, Daenerys threw herself back on Arya and reconnected her mouth to the sensitive skin she’d already abused. While she was busy Arya’s thin fingers found the knot in the ribbon binding Daenerys’s hair and released it. The ribbon she’d originally given Daenerys as a gift was balled up in one of her hands while the other curled around strands of silver. Daenerys bit her again, and no amount of training could hide Arya’s reaction. She jumped when Daenerys set her mouth directly over the mark she already left. “Felt that one,” she noted before she kissed her way to Arya’s mouth. 

Their lips collided with force and the ribbon she was holding was suddenly a burden she couldn’t tolerate. Her left hand was already in Daenerys’s hair, and her she had plans for her right if she could only get rid of the ribbon. She couldn’t say what made her toss it rather than merely dropping it, but she did. For a few blissful seconds her hand roamed Daenerys’s back, until the Princess leaned away, and Arya was met with a severe expression. “What was that?”

“A kiss,” she retorted playfully. “Want another?”

She leaned in but was halted by a palm against the front of her armor. “What did you throw just then?”

After a glance toward the discarded item she replied. “Just the ribbon.” 

“Pick it up!” she demanded, using a tone she’d never tried on Arya before. 

For a second time Arya tried to lean in and kiss her only to be stopped. “Seriously?” she verified in disbelief. 

“That ribbon is important to me,” she explained, “because you gave it to me. I don’t want it on the floor.” 

She may have thought it was a meaningless strand of silk, one she only got to ensure her gift was more appealing, but it clearly meant more to Daenerys. As usual, it was hard to refuse her. It didn’t take long for Arya to find what she was sent to retrieve. She returned to the bed and handed it over to the Princess with an apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

She took the ribbon and carefully set it onto the bedside table. Once that was done, she interrupted Arya with a kiss. The guard was having trouble keeping up. Any doubts she had about Daenerys’s intentions disappeared when she asked, “Where were we?” 

R-C

Having just finished the labor-intensive task of stripping Arya of her armor, Daenerys was eagerly awaiting what came next. After Illyrio and all the reading she felt entitled to a break. She could think of no one she’d rather spend it with, and nothing else she’d rather be doing. The softest touches could be the most exhilarating. A light grazing of Arya’s nipple was enough to make it harden for her. She was about to go in for another taste when there was a knock at the door. 

With wide eyes she looked down at the woman under her. “Tell me I’m imagining that,” she begged shamelessly. 

“I wish I could,” she said with an undercurrent of amusement. 

Personally, Daenerys didn’t think there was much funny about their situation. It was like the Gods were punishing her, waiting until she was about to find a moment of happiness and then snatching it away. She had plans for them, plans she was very much looking forward to. 

Arya gripped her hips with none of the forbidden promise she ached for. She tried to lift the Princess off of her, but Daenerys refused to go. She laid herself down across Arya’s upper body and blatantly ignored all attempts to alter her position. “Daenerys,” she chastised gently, “the door.”

“Maybe they’ll go away,” she offered, wanting nothing more right then. 

That dream died early as the room was filled with another round of hard knocks. When Arya tried to lift her again, Daenerys allowed it. “The Gods hate me,” she whined as she scrubbed her hands over her face. 

“Lie down,” Arya directed as she quickly replaced her breastplate. “I’ll tell whoever it is that you are resting.” 

It was cowardly to hide behind Arya like that, but she wanted to, nonetheless. Her hair was messed, her dress wrinkled, and her cheeks flushed. She was in no condition to be entertaining anyone. “Are you…”

“Go Daenerys,” she insisted. “Under the covers. I’ll take the message and then…”

Daenerys knew precisely what she wanted to happen after the interloper was gone. “Then you’ll come join me in bed?” she tried. 

“If you’re lucky,” Arya fired back, looking remarkably put together and relaxed. She didn’t look like a woman who’d been about to have sex just moments ago. Daenerys was envious, acutely aware that the same could not be said for her. 

By the time she was in bed, and Arya was at the door the mystery knocker had tried to call on them a third time. She cursed the plan that had her across the room and away from the door, unable to overhear who had come and why. She’d need to rely on Arya to pass along any and all relevant information.

“It’s safe,” Arya told her after the door was closed again. 

She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side. “Who was it?” 

“Aidan,” Arya said on her way over. She went to meet her and noticed the scroll she was holding. 

She thought of the sweet little boy in Tyrion’s employ. “Is he alright?” Her stomach twisted as she thought of something bad happening to the parentless child. 

“He’s fine, just running another errand for the lazy dwarf,” Arya quipped. She held up the scroll. “I’d wager it’s known that you and Tyrion are friends. He was given this to pass along the next time he saw you.” 

“What is it?” Daenerys asked as she took it. It had clearly come from a raven, but who sent it? She rarely received correspondence that way. Usually the letters she exchanged were of little import so slower couriers were used. 

“Tyrion apparently didn’t want to wait, so he sent Aidan to stand outside your door.” 

A new wave of guilt hit her as she learned it was a little boy she wanted to ignore. “Is he okay?” she asked, even though Arya had already answered that particular inquiry. 

“He’s fine,” she repeated. “I told him you were sleeping and that I’d deliver the scroll to you personally as soon as you woke.” 

“Do you know who it’s from?”

Arya’s lips curled slightly before she said, “Storm’s End.” The Musgoods. Missandei. The seal was already broken, likely by Tywin, but she didn’t care. She unwound the scroll and found two pages. 

She didn’t recognize the handwriting on the first, so she skipped to the bottom and learned why. It was signed “Lady of Storm’s End, Ashara Musgood.” 

She’d read what Lady Musgood had to say later. Her heart increased its speed when she saw Missandei’s delicate, precise writing. Unlike the other document this one was written in High Valyrian. 

Princess,

Lady Musgood was kind enough to allow me to include a note of my own with her reply. I hope these letters find you and find you well. 

She was very flattered you chose to send your personal handmaiden to act as a courier and she’s been generous and kind to us since we arrived. I think we can add Lady Musgood to the list of those won over by your charms, along with me, the Unsullied, the Tyrells, and of course Arya. How are things going with her? I trust you’ll have much to tell me by the time I return. 

We reached Storm’s End without difficulty and will likely be on our way back by the time you receive this. Grey Worm and I are seeing many, many new and wonderful things, I can’t wait to tell you about them. I will never be able to thank you for this gift you’ve given us. It surpassed even my most unrealistic dreams. 

Until we are together again, take care of yourself and trust in Arya. 

Your Friend,  
Missandei of Naath. 

She hadn’t realized she was in danger of crying until a lone tear broke free and landed on the page she was reading, for the second time. 

Arya saw it too. “Is something wrong? Is Missandei hurt?”

The intensity in Arya’s expression, the way her hand reached for a sword she wasn’t wearing,   
it told Daenerys what she already knew - the two people who mattered most to her, cared for one another too. “She’s fine,” she said with a watery smile. “It sounds like she’s having the time of her life.” 

Arya moved to take the scroll, and Daenerys almost denied her. Missandei mentioned Arya by name more than once and although the handmaiden knew about their relationship, she wasn’t sure how she felt about Arya learning the two women discussed her. “Is that High Valyrian?” she asked, returning her arm to her side, no longer interested in reading Missandei’s letter for herself. 

The sudden petulant quality to Arya’s voice was quite adorable. “Yes, it’s Missandei’s favorite language.” 

“Of course, it is,” she remarked sarcastically as she rolled her eyes. “Are you going to write her back?”

“No need, she says she’s already on her way back,” Daenerys explained, while checking the message to confirm it did in fact say that. 

“A reply for Lady Musgood then?” Arya guessed. 

She set the pages down on the corner of her desk and made a point not to look at the remaining thank you notes she still had to finish. She’d been making progress, usually in the evenings, but it would still take many more hours to be rid of them completely. “Mmhmm”

She would definitely write to Lady Musgood. Daenerys had liked her even before she knew about her connection to Arya. She knew the Stark’s secret and kept her confidence. For that reason alone, Daenerys was in her debt. 

She’d also need to find young Aidan and thank him for his delivery. She’d gather up a small purse of coins and pay him for services rendered, the next time she saw him. 

All of that could wait, however. Arya needed her now, and Daenerys certainly needed Arya. She snatched her lover’s hand and pulled her toward the bed. “I believe you promised to join me in bed.” 

Arya stopped walking after only a single step. “Actually, I said, ‘if you were lucky,’” she clarified accurately. 

She had little practice being seductive, but she tried her best. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and struggled to appear unaffected by Arya’s presence. “Am I lucky?” 

Although Arya smirked, Daenerys had a hard time deciding if her scheme was working. “I don’t know,” she countered, “are you?”

Okay, so that hadn’t gone according to plan, but Daenerys Targaryen was no quitter. She released Arya’s hand and moved to stand in front of her lover. “Well whether you join me or not, I’m going to lie down, I was quite comfortable while I was feigning sleep.” 

She wanted to glance backward and see if any of this was having the desired effect, but she couldn’t, not without Arya catching her. She decided to try the boldest weapon in her armory. She reached behind her and began releasing the various bindings that held her form-fitting dress in place. When enough of them were undone the silk fell from her body in a rush, collecting at her feet. She stepped out and continued to the bed. “That’s better, don’t you think?”

She still didn’t look, focusing on the blankets and making a show of adjusting the pillows. She could have done it without putting her body on display for Arya, but where would the fun be in that? It was exciting to know she was watching. Each second she waited for Arya to act felt longer and thick with tension. Nothing she experienced with Daario came close to this, and Arya hadn’t even touched her yet. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” she asked darkly, her words separated by heavy breathing through Arya’s nose. 

She used her hand to cover her mouth as if shocked, but what she was really doing was hiding her smile. “By the Gods no, if you were dead, who would keep me warm?”

She knew she’d won when she heard a curse immediately followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. Arya was coming to her, but it didn’t stop Daenerys from making the most of the moment. “Take off that armor before you get here,” she instructed, “I already went to the trouble of removing it once, it’s your turn.” 

She was naked, in bed, anticipating Arya’s arrival when she finally decided it was safe to admire the view. She wasn’t disappointed. She already had her boots off and was making short work of the breastplate. As she set it on the floor between the desk and the bed, she caught Daenerys’s eye and gave a respectful bow of her head. “More to your liking Princess?” 

Rolling onto her side so she could ogle Arya shamelessly, she responded. “Don’t stop now you’re off to such a good start.” 

With a smirk she was desperately trying not to let surface Arya grabbed the scrap that had once been a shirt and peeled it over her head. Seeing Arya topless and watching her hands beginning on her bottom half, Daenerys answered a question from before. “Yes, I’m very lucky.” 

R-C

Although they hadn’t gone to bed to sleep, Daenerys still dozed with her head on Arya’s chest. The guard remained awake, lost in thought while her hand drew unseen pictures on the Targaryen’s flawless skin. She’d been happy before, with Oberyn, Ellaria and the girls, on her trip to Essos, even in training after awhile, but lying there with Daenerys she couldn’t recall feeling so at peace. 

From the day the Mad King destroyed her family, there had always been a part of her that was waiting for someone to appear to finish the job. It wasn’t an all-consuming, crippling fear, more like a constant companion that didn’t have much to say. It remained with her always, doing just enough to ensure she didn’t’ forget it was there. Only now, in the same castle as the King, did she realize the extent of the trauma he inflicted. All those years in Dorne, she’d been happy, she smiled, she laughed, but she never fully relaxed, never felt safe. She hadn’t known she was missing it, until it was shown to her by the daughter of the man who scarred her. 

Daenerys knew she was Arya Stark and forgave her the lies she told. She knew and she not only refused to reveal the truth, she welcomed the traitor’s daughter into her life and her bed. She was undeserving of everything she had. Her eyes travelled to the line of discarded items she dropped on her way to the bed. They were all laid out like a map to be followed, leading to her current location. She spotted the Sun of the Martell sigil and thought of home. Sunspear was the closest thing she had to a home now, so why was she no longer in a hurry to get back there? The job she always wanted was waiting, she should be counting the days until this fucking wedding so she could forget about the Targaryens and their nonsense and finally take the place she’d earned. She knew that was how she was supposed to feel, she even tried to summon the feelings, but they wouldn’t come. 

Deep inside her something broke. Like ice on a frozen lake a tiny hairline crack spread quickly, reaching out in all directions until the once solid mass was too fractured to stay together, too weak to hold back what was buried underneath. What was waiting for Arya in the dark, cold recesses of her heart was a truth she’d been actively trying not to acknowledge for weeks. She didn’t want to go back to Dorne. Rather than invoking panic, she felt relief. The admission had only taken place in her head, but a weight had been lifted all the same. She took a deep, cleansing breath. She didn’t want to go back to Dorne but what choice did she have? The King would send her back and it wasn’t as if she could explain to him rationally why she wanted to stay. “I’d like to continue serving as Daenerys’s guard, because I’m madly in love with her, so much so that I’m willing to overlook the fact that you murdered most of my kin, and that your son raped my aunt and then held her captive long enough to birth him a son.” She scoffed in the dark. An admission like that would earn her nothing more than an appointment with his pyromancer. 

She looked down at the sleeping Princess and couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She loved her. She couldn’t imagine saying the words out loud to anyone, including Daenerys, but she meant them. Confessing to Daenerys would be cruel. If she felt the same way, it would make Arya leaving harder, and if she didn’t, it would ensure their final days together were strained and awkward. She didn’t need Daenerys to know, or reciprocate, Arya knew and that was plenty. She’d love Daenerys for as long as she could, whether she was in King’s Landing, Dorne or any place in between. 

Content with her new discoveries she pressed her lips into the top of Daenerys’s head gently, whispering a prayer to the Old Gods, thanking them for all she had. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Another chapter. The next one is slightly more exciting, I promise. It includes a visit to the throne room, lots of Tyrion and Daenerys learning Jorah was behind Arya’s near execution. 
> 
> See you then,
> 
> Russell Craig


	32. Chapter 32

A very pleasant dream had been interrupted by someone shaking her and whispering her name. She groaned in protest and rolled away. 

“Someone is at the door,” Arya informed her. 

She groaned again. “You get it, if it’s Aidan again, tell him I’ll see him later.” 

About the time Arya left her alone on the bed, Daenerys managed to crack open one eye. She was surprised by the amount of light coming through the window. Was it morning, already? They’d gone to bed quite early, and Daenerys hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but Arya wore her out and well, it couldn’t be helped. 

“What time is it?” she asked, groggily. 

“Afternoon,” Arya guessed as she began dressing. 

Daenerys bolted up in the bed. “Afternoon? That’s impossible! How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours.”

She tried to fit the pieces together. Though her mind was foggy she went back to one of the last firm memories she had. Illyrio has reappeared and swindled her into having lunch with him. She definitely remembered that. Then what happened? The library. “We went to the library.” 

She was talking to herself, but Arya confirmed it happened. “We did. I was reading when you attacked me.” As proof, there was a stack of books on a nearby table and if her memory was accurate one or two others that were knocked onto the floor as well.

After that, the rest came back with clarity, Aidan, Missandei’s letter, she and Arya. She hadn’t been sleeping all night, she’d been sleeping most of afternoon. She wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. 

Arya was on her way to the door when Daenerys noticed something and nearly leapt from the bed. “Arya wait!” she screamed. 

Forgetting that she was naked she rushed over to where Arya was. The guard turned, obviously concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Your neck,” Daenerys whispered. 

Slowly Arya rolled her head from side to side, testing her muscles. “What of it?”

“I left a mark,” she said pointing to it as her face burned. 

A sly smile spread across Arya’s face and in other circumstances Daenerys might have found it attractive, but there wasn’t time. “Really?” she asked, making an abrupt turn toward Daenerys’s large mirror. 

She didn’t need to go along, she knew what Arya would find. She’d gotten carried away and left a bruise-like mark on the side of her neck. How would she and Arya explain that? It was already known they spent the afternoon together, Aidan’s visit would confirm she was with Daenerys, and anyone with eyes would be able to guess how it got there. “Damn it!” she groaned. 

Her eyes surveyed the room, looking for something to cover the damage? She didn’t see anything promising, but she did catch sight of her dress on the floor. She hurried to it and scooped it up. Once it was on, she used her fingers to tame at least some of her wild hair. “What are you doing?” Arya wondered. 

She wanted to strike her. What an idiotic question. “You can’t answer the door with that thing on your neck,” she said plainly. “Go sit down and I’ll get the door.” 

“It’s…”

It wasn’t fine and she didn’t want to hear that it was. She pointed to a spot near the window, as long as her visitor remained in the doorway, he or she wouldn’t be able to see Arya there. She went but wasn’t happy about it. Daenerys would deal with that later. One problem at a time. 

She stopped when her hand was on the doorknob to make sure she looked decent and then she turned it. “I’m so sorry,” she said without knowing who was there. “I must’ve fallen asleep.” 

A young man was waiting patiently, Daenerys recognized him as a servant. He was tall and strong, with a handsome face. Before coming to work in the castle he’d been a squire until an injury forced him to choose another occupation. He typically worked near the throne room. It was Tywin who took the lame squire and repurposed him into a servant for the King. That didn’t bode well for her. If this man, out of all the others was sent for her, she could guess who issued the order. “Are you alright, Princess?” he asked. “I was concerned when I knocked and didn’t get a reply.”

She forced a smile, making use of the blush on her cheeks to convey adequate embarrassment. “I’m perfectly fine,” she exaggerated, “I was i enjoying a quiet afternoon reading and fell asleep.” Hoping to redirect the conversation she asked, “It’s Darin isn’t it? I’ve seen you many times.”

It was his turn to blush, and he looked down, bowing slightly. “Y…yes Princess, we’ve even spoken on occasion.” 

“I think you may be right,” she told him, although she couldn’t remember a time they traded words. “Well, it is a pleasure to see you again Darin, and I’m sorry if my afternoon nap kept you from your business.”

His cheeks were just beginning to return to their proper color when they flared again. “Oh no, it’s quite alright. I’m sorry I woke you, had I known you were resting I would’ve…” His words trailed off and Daenerys knew why. Even if he knew she was sleeping, he still would have knocked, because the person who sent him was much scarier than Daenerys could ever hope to be. 

“That’s quite alright, it was time for me to rejoin the world anyway. Do you have need of me Darin?”

His red face changed to something that included more purple as he coughed into his hand and choked on a recent lungful of air. As she waited for him to recover, she wished she hadn’t sent Arya into hiding, she could benefit from her opinion now. What had she done that caused Darin distress? She checked her dress again to make sure there were no obvious signs that it had spent much of the afternoon on the floor. “No,” he said, still sounding raw. Turning away slightly he coughed one final time and then tried again. “No, Princess, it’s not…” he paused and made an attempt to calm himself. “I didn’t come on my own behalf, the King and the Hand asked that I escort you to the throne room.” 

She forgot all about Darin’s unease and instead began to focus on her own. “They requested me?” she verified needlessly. He wouldn’t be there if they didn’t. 

“Yes, Princess, as I said, I’m sorry that I woke you, but it seemed urgent.” 

“That’s quite alright.” She stopped to think. She couldn’t refuse an order that came from her father or Tywin, but she couldn’t exactly go down there looking as she did either. Then there was the matter of Arya to contend with. She’d need to cover up that mark on her neck, and figure out a way to reconnect with her that didn’t make it known that she was hiding in the Princess’s bedchamber the whole time, and all without alerting Darin. “As I just woke up, would you permit me a few minutes to ready myself?” 

She posed it as a question, but she knew no servant would deny her such a request. Her father might, Tywin definitely would, but Darin wouldn’t. “Certainly, Princess. Shall I wait here?”

“That’s unnecessary,” she said as kindly as she could. “Once I’m ready, I’ll need to locate my guard, and then we’ll meet you. How about at the top of the stairs? You can escort us down and to the throne room from there.” 

Darin thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “Agreed.” 

“I appreciate the kindness,” she said before closing the door between them. With a lot to do Daenerys hurried to the mirror and studied her reflection. She was looking for whatever made Darin uncomfortable, but saw nothing scandalous. 

Arya popped up at her side. “What are you doing?” There was humor in her tone Daenerys didn’t approve of. She was being summoned by the King and the Hand, that was no laughing matter. 

“Making sure I don’t look like a whore,” she responded without thinking. 

Arya’s face changed in a blink and she looked furious. “What!? Why would you ever say that? You look as perfect as ever.” 

Before Darin knocked on the door, those words would have been precisely what Daenerys wanted to hear, but things were different now. The woman she’d been all afternoon, the one who confidently initiated sex with Arya, who was happy with the person she cared about, she was gone and all that remained was a scared little girl who was terrified of disappointing her father. He was mad, but he was still her father and she couldn’t just stop wanting his acceptance. 

“Tell me,” Arya said looking into Daenerys’s eyes. 

“Tell you what?”

“Whatever is going on in your head, whatever is making you think there is something wrong with you.” 

Part of her didn’t want to admit it, but she knew she needed Arya’s help. There was a lot to do and people were waiting. She sighed and tried to explain. “Darin, the boy at the door, he could barely look at me. He was stumbling over his words and blushing, I thought he must know what we were doing before he knocked.” 

Arya’s face broke into an attractive smirk. “You were sleeping when he knocked,” she reminded the worried Princess, “there is no sin in that.”

“You know what I mean.” 

Arya turned serious again. “Daenerys, he wasn’t blushing because he knew, he was blushing because that boy fancies you.” 

“That’s impossible,” she resisted. He couldn’t desire her. Why would he? They were strangers. 

“I assure you, it’s not.”

If Arya was right, it would be one less thing Daenerys needed to worry about, but she wasn’t ready to believe just yet. “You couldn’t even see him, how do you know?”

Arya pressed a sweet, soft kiss to Daenerys’s lips. “I could hear him just fine, and I didn’t need to see to understand, I’m quite familiar with that particular affliction.” 

It was a little easier to breathe. “I look okay then?”

The mirror revealed nothing out of place. Her hair was a little unkept but that was common after sleep. She’d run a brush through it a few times, grab the ribbon and it’d be fixed. 

“You’re beautiful,” Arya promised, giving her another kiss. “Now you get yourself ready and we’ll go, I’m sure Darin is anxiously awaiting your arrival.” 

Arya’s teasing eased her panic, and the kiss didn’t hurt either. It made Daenerys brave enough to joke too, even as her stomach rolled like the sea during a storm. “Unfortunately for Darin, I’m already spoken for.”

“Are you now?” Arya fired back, looking up from where she was adjusting her sword on her hip. “If that’s true, you probably shouldn’t tell whoever it is how you spent your afternoon.” 

She laughed, grateful that she had Arya to calm her when she needed it. She knew all the reasons she needed hurry but none of them were more important than Arya to her. She went to her lover and kissed her. “Thank you,” she said as they separated. “While I’m washing my face and tending my hair, you can look for something to cover your neck.”

“Cover it?” Arya countered with a scoff. “I plan to wear it proudly.” 

She wanted to be angry that Arya wasn’t taking this seriously, but it was hard when she was smiling like that. Like a sickness, it was contagious, and before long Daenerys was smiling too. “And where will you say you got it?” she wondered as she made a cup with her hands and lowered them into the basin of water. 

“A brothel,” she answered without delay. 

“Seven Hells you will,” Daenerys erupted, surprising herself with the intensity of the jealousy she was feeling. It didn’t make sense. She knew Arya hadn’t been visiting whores, so why did it matter if the court thought she did?

Arya was there when she finished drying her face. The guard traded the towel in Daenerys’s hands for a hairbrush. She took the towel to the basket of dirty clothes and dropped it in, while Daenerys pushed the brush through her hair. 

“I liked it as it was,” she commented as she watched Daenerys undo an afternoon’s worth of fun. 

“You’ll have the chance to mess it again,” she predicted. 

She set the brush down and thought back. Where had she put the ribbon after Arya got it off the floor? Before she could recall its location, Arya held it out, dangling the silk in front of the Princess’s eyes, swaying it back and forth. “Looking for this?”

“Yes!” she called, trying to grab for it. Arya was quicker and kept it out of her reach. “Arya, we don’t have time for games!”

“Who’s playing, I am going to tie your hair.”

Her annoyance melted away. “You are?”

“Sure.” 

Without difficulty Arya secured the ribbon to her hair, making it look significantly better than when Daenerys did it herself. “Like I said, perfect.”

Her cheeks turned pink, before she remembered how late they were. “Are we ready to go?”

Arya didn’t answer so Daenerys sought her out, finding her in the same place. This time she wasn’t fussing with Daenerys’s hair, she was placing a patch of cloth to her neck, to cover the mark their lovemaking had left. “I still think I should’ve told them I went to a brothel,” she muttered. Daenerys assumed she wasn’t meant to hear that until she caught Arya’s eye in the mirror and saw it lit with mischief. 

“Just finish what you’re doing, so we can go already.”

“So, it’s my fault you can’t resist me now?” she joked.

Her mouth opened and then closed. Her flirty reply forgotten, Daenerys remembered the final riddle they’d yet to solve. “Wait, where will I say I found you?” Afraid Arya didn’t understand the significance, she elaborated. “I can’t say you were here, I told Darin I’d find you and meet him, so where will you say you’ve been if someone asks.” 

“Missandei’s room,” she answered as though it was obvious. “I’ve been staying there since she’s been in Storm’s End. You can say you called on me to help you get ready.” 

It was a lie, but one she knew her father would be inclined to believe. “Perfect.” They were near the door when Daenerys noticed the size of the cloth Arya chose for her neck. “You could have used a smaller bandage,” she quipped, “it wasn’t that big.” 

Arya rolled her eyes. “You underestimate yourself Princess.” 

R-C

With every step they took, Arya watched her smart, clever, beautiful lover retreat into herself. She hated it. 

They walked in a line, Darin first, then Daenerys with Arya in the rear. Darin was angled so he could admire and converse with the Princess the whole way. It wasn’t her awareness of Darin’s affection that had her answering with clipped groupings of no more than five words, it was the upcoming audience with the King and his loyalists. 

Arya was nervous too, though she did her best to hide that fact from Daenerys. She worried about the reason for their summons. Had Varys decided to reveal Arya’s identity? Had someone else figured it out? Had she and Daenerys been less discreet than they thought, and someone knew about their romantic relationship? Had Jorah levelled another false claim against her in an attempt to be renamed Daenerys’s guard? Any or all of these would result in her violent death. She couldn’t worry about that now. She’d face what came bravely, she just worried for Daenerys. It would be days before Missandei returned from Storm’s End and she didn’t like the idea of leaving Daenerys alone until then. She’d have Aemon at least. She thought of her cousin and felt guilt. If this was her final day, she’d never get the chance to tell him about his family. If she didn’t, it was probable that no one would, he’d spend his entire life wondering. 

She listened to Darin tell a joke at his own expense in an effort to make the Princess smile. It worked, just barely, and the smile she gave was forced and empty, but the servant didn’t know that and seemed pleased with himself. 

“I need a moment with the Princess,” Arya said before they reached their destination. Two members of the guard were at the entrance to the throne room, Arya worried if they got any closer they might overhear some of what she intended to say. 

Darin was uncomfortable with the request. “Apologies, but everyone is waiting.” 

Arya wasn’t going to back down. “It’ll only take a minute, there is a security issue the Princess and I must discuss.” 

For several seconds he considered the best route, before he relented. “Be quick, please,” he implored the woman in Dornish armor. 

“What’s wrong?” Daenerys whispered as she met Arya at the back of their three-person-party. 

“Nothing, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Her stunned expression provided Arya the only opportunity she needed to keep going. “You can do this. Whatever the reason they called you here, whatever happens, you’re going to be okay.” 

“What do you think is going on? They never send for me, especially not this late in the day.” 

“I don’t know,” Arya said simply, choosing not to share the litany of possibilities she’d come up with. It wouldn’t help Daenerys to have those ideas in her head. “What I do know, is that I’ll be with you the whole time, and that I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

A real smile graced her face for an instant before it was gone. “The last time…”

Arya was well aware of the last time they were summoned to the throne room, but she didn’t want Daenerys to think about that. “Well it definitely isn’t for that this time,” she said to lighten the mood. “I was with you all afternoon and if they don’t believe me, I can prove it.” On the word ‘prove’ she raised her hand to her neck and tapped the bandage there. 

Although she tried to scowl, Arya saw the hint of amusement bleeding through. “Don’t joke.”

“Whatever happens, you can do this,” Arya finished, boiling their exchange down into a single, easy to remember point. 

As Daenerys entered the throne room ahead of her, Arya knew the Targaryen could survive what was coming. She just didn’t know if she’d be alive to see her do it. 

R-C

Upon taking her seat, Daenerys felt it best to begin with a pre-emptive apology. “I’m sorry for the delay Father, I wasn’t feeling well, I was asleep when Darin came calling.” 

Her father appeared unmoved by her statement but not everyone shared his indifference. Rhaegar, Aemon, Tyrion and Varys were all in Daenerys’s eyeline and each gave a sympathetic look upon hearing she was ill. She didn’t like lying but it’s not as if she could tell the truth. 

“This will be quick,” Tywin said, only after it was determined that the King had nothing to contribute. “This can wait until you’re recovered, if you’d rather.”

“That’s alright,” she told him, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “I feel much better since I woke, thank you.”

“You wish to go to Highgarden?” her father asked her without making eye contact. He was staring at one of the many stain-glass windows. 

This was about Highgarden? She’d done well addressing Tywin, she hadn’t stuttered at all, sounded reasonably intelligent and articulate, but speaking to the King directly was a different matter all together. “Y…yes, I…” she paused and tried to gather her chaotic emotions. She heard Arya’s voice clear as day in her head. ‘You can do this!’ She believed her. She adjusted herself in her seat and spoke to her father as calmly as she could. “During her last visit Lady Olenna invited me and I think it would be wise to accept her generous offer.” She was done until another argument occurred to her. “I’d hate to inadvertently offend a prominent family like the Tyrells.”

She wondered if perhaps she was laying it on too thick, but to her surprise she saw Tywin nodding in silent agreement to her point. Equally unexpected and slightly more hurtful was the stunned expression Rhaegar wore, as if he didn’t think her capable of justifying the trip. Behind him, Aemon smiled at her reassuringly. She tried to return the favor. 

“I agree,” Aerys said from the throne.

She couldn’t help it, she looked around to see if the others were hearing the same thing. She couldn’t recall the last time her father agreed with her about any subject. “You do?” she heard herself ask in a pitiful, squeaking voice. 

Tywin stepped in to provide the details. “It’ll need to be a short trip, we’ll need you back in the capital for your brother’s wedding.”

She wasn’t excited about the union, mainly because it would mean her time with Arya was over, but she nodded anyway. “I understand.” 

The Hand looked down at a note he had waiting next to his chair. “We’ll begin the preparations right away. When things are ready, I’ll let you know.” 

She nodded again, to confirm she understood. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. She was going to Highgarden. More importantly, Arya was going to get to go to Highgarden. She hoped she would be able to reunite the Stark sisters before Arya returned to Sunspear. If she could do that, she’d feel like she gave Arya a fraction of the joy that the soldier brought into Daenerys’s life. 

As soon as they were dismissed Tyrion came over to her. “I’ll be arranging things for your trip, so let me know if there is anything special you’d like packed.” 

She wasn’t really sure. She’d never travelled on her own before. She didn’t know what sort of things to ask for. “I’ll give it some thought and come to your office if I think of anything,” she bartered, not wanting to admit her ignorance. 

“You can come to my office even if you don’t think of anything.” 

There was only one thing to do when Tyrion was being so blatantly charming, she laughed. “Maybe I’ll join Arya when she visits you tomorrow morning.” 

“Yes, I do see plenty of your guard, but less of you. Where is the Lady Sand?” he asked, seeking her out. “I’m sure she’s eager to hear about the trip you’re taking her on.” He paused, and his expression dimmed a bit. “You do intend to take her with you, don’t you?”

“Definitely, but you’re right, I should probably find Arya and begin preparing.” 

She suspected that Tyrion knew it was more Arya and less preparing that Daenerys was interested in but like a true friend he didn’t mention it. He just ducked his head and offered a final smile. “I hope I see you tomorrow, the office could use your beauty.” 

She knew he was teasing her, but she couldn’t stop the blush from stinging her cheeks. He looked pleased with himself, so she sought to get in the last word. “If Aidan will be there, I wouldn’t miss it.” 

He was moving away when she started speaking but that stopped him. He grinned wider than before and nodded. “Tomorrow then.” Was it her imagination or did he look proud of her? 

She was going to go to Arya but when she turned away from Tyrion, his father was there. “Princess, I hope you enjoy your time in the Reach.” 

“Thank you,” she said respectfully. “I’m happy to be able to accept Lady Olenna’s invitation.” 

“Yes, well you were right, it’s too great a risk to decline. The King wishes to improve relations with the Tyrells and this visit is a good first step.” 

Of course. She should have known that her father wasn’t saying yes because she asked, or because it was something she wanted. He was doing it to strengthen the already firm bonds between the Tyrells and the Targaryens. “I agree, I’m looking forward to it.” 

“I saw you speaking to Tyrion, I trust he gave you the scrolls from Storm’s End.” As he spoke his shrewd eyes shifted to his youngest son. He didn’t look thrilled as Tyrion conversed with one of the servants. 

“He did, yes and I appreciate you sending it. I was excited to hear from Missandei, even though it hasn’t been very long.” 

“If I may Princess, why did you send your girl to Storm’s End, and so soon after the Musgoods were here?” 

“I needed someone I could trust to deliver a note I’d written to Lady Musgood.” 

There was a moment where Tywin was too busy deciding if he believed her to respond. “We could have sent a raven.”

“I know, but I felt the contents too personal to risk it being intercepted or lost, so I sent one of the people I know I trust implicitly,” she explained. 

“It’s quite a ride to the Stormlands, did you send the girl alone?”

“Absolutely not,” Daenerys insisted, not needing to work too hard to appear horrified. “I sent the Commander of the Unsullied with her.” 

For the second time that day, for possibly only the second time ever Tywin looked impressed by something she said. “That was smart thinking.”

Unsure of what to say, she settled for a polite, “Thank you.” Luckily, Tywin took his leave soon after, crossing the room to talk to someone significantly more important. 

R-C

Tyrion was behind his desk when Arya arrived to see him. He looked up and smiled, making one quick notation in the margin and then closing the book to give the guard his full attention. “Good morning Lady Sand.”

She growled without much real animosity. “I told you Tyrion, I’m no Lady, Arya suits me fine.”

“I know,” he admitted, “but seeing you flustered is one of the few pleasures I get in this new, responsible life I’m living.” He said the word ‘responsible’ as though it was the most horrific thing he’d ever been called. 

“If exciting is what you want, how about this – the next time you call me Lady, I’ll jump over that desk take the most expensive bottle in your extensive wine collection and pour it out in front of you. Then I’ll break the glass and use one of the jagged shards to cut out your tongue.” She savored his stunned expression. “We’d both win, I wouldn’t have to hear you call me ‘Lady’ anymore, and you’d get as much excitement as you could handle.” 

“Arya is then,” he decides as he subtly shifts his chair a little further back. He might have gotten away with it too, had the wood not made a tell-tale scratching sound against the floor. Tyrion heard it when Arya did, and flinched. “So, Arya my friend, how are you? Now that I think about it, I can’t imagine why anyone would call you Lady against your will, it is quite rude.”

“It’s no big deal,” she said calmly, a reversal from her last opinion on the subject. “Do you have any appointments you’d like Daenerys to handle for you?”

He hesitated slightly, looking at his desk, then to Arya, then to his ledger and then back to Arya. “I’m not sure…”

She assumed Tyrion would know she was joking and take it in stride, but perhaps her threat had been a little excessive. “Tyrion, relax, I’d never harm you, you’re Daenerys’s friend. I just don’t like being called Lady.”

“No, it’s not that. I mean it is, it’s a huge relief to know my tongue is safe, I’m quite attached to it, and I know a number of lovely ladies who also appreciate it in working order.” 

Arya chuckled. “So, you really have nothing for Daenerys then?” she surmised. 

“No actually, I have too much,” he finally confessed. “I could keep her busy all day.”

Arya took the one step necessary to travel from where she’d been standing to the desk. “Let’s have it.”

“Are you sure? She’s taken a lot of these already. I’d understand if she wants a break.”

Finally, Arya was beginning to see what was giving Tyrion pause. It wasn’t her grisly threat or a lack of offerings, he was worrying about giving Daenerys too much. “She doesn’t want a break. She loves the work she does for you. Without this, she’d stay in her room most or all of the day doing nothing.”

“I was surprised when I first arrived, to discover she is not consulted very often,” Tyrion noted, treading carefully. 

“It shocked me too. She’s a Targaryen, I assumed I’d be taking her to meetings from sunup to sundown, but it just isn’t how things are done here.” 

“When my father was still at Casterly Rock he found work for any and all Lannisters, even the least respectable,” Tyrion explained. He not-so-subtly pointed to himself to ensure Arya knew exactly who Tywin thought the least off. 

“I don’t understand it,” she said with a shake of her head. “Daenerys is exactly what the Small Council needs, a fresh set of opinions, a mind not already polluted by the politics, she could do a lot of good, but no one will let her.”

“Does she want to?”

“She wants to help, but she’d rather not be invited to the meetings if no one is going to listen to what she has to say when she gets there.”

Tyrion put the pieces together faster than anyone Arya had ever seen. “That’s what was happening?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “She’d ask Rhaegar or the King to be included and they’d eventually agree. She’d go to the meeting and they’d ignore her the whole time.”

One look at Tyrion’s face and she knew he was on her side in this. “For all it’s prosperity the Realm doesn’t know what to do with people that are different, whether it’s a dwarf with a taste for fine wine and expensive whores… or was it, expensive wine and fine whores? Either way, the outcomes the same.” He held a hand out to Arya. “It was much the same for you I’m sure, a woman who wanted to serve with a sword in her hand.” Hyperbole aside, Tyrion did have a point. The world struggled with things that didn’t fit their preconceived notions. “It’s no different for Daenerys, a woman who can think for herself, cares about people and wants to help, a Targaryen no less, that’s rarer than you and me.” 

Arya had never thought about it that way, but it rang true. Daenerys was one of the last living female Targaryens and as a result, she had to rely on men to tell her what her place should be. If Daenerys’s mother had survived or an aunt maybe, they could have taught Daenerys it was okay to be different, that there were paths other than the one laid out by her father, but unfortunately that hadn’t happened and Daenerys suffered for a long time because of it. 

“You don’t need to feel guilty Tyrion, those meetings you let her take, they are her small way of contributing to the Realm. She loves it, she’s grateful for each and every one.” 

“In that case,” Tyrion said opening his ledger again, “I think I can make her very happy. I have five people all hoping to see me today.” 

“She’ll be thrilled,” Arya foretold, “she’ll probably come down to thank you personally after the last one has left.” 

“I thought I might see her this morning.”

“I was told to make sure Aidan was here first,” Arya said as she fought a smile. Through a fit of giggles Daenerys had told her about her exchange with Tyrion in the throne room. She had planned to come too, it was Arya who suggested she try and get under Tyrion’s skin by checking for Aidan first. 

Given Tyrion’s huff, it was undebatable that her plan worked. “Of course. he’s here. Aidan! You have a visitor.” 

The little boy came hurrying out. “Yes, Lord Tyrion?” he said in a practiced way. 

With a hand the dwarf directed his focus to Arya. She knelt down. “Hi Aidan, do you remember me?”

He looked down at the floor to avoid her gaze but nodded. Their shared life experiences aside, she was a soldier with a sword, and he was a scared orphan who assumed her reasons for summoning him weren’t good. She could understand. The nod was more than Arya thought she’d get, and she could work with it. “Well Princess Daenerys sent me here to let you know that she’d be coming to see you later today.”

Aidan’s whole demeanor changed when she mentioned Daenerys. She didn’t need to ask if he remembered her, his wide eyes made it known that he did. “Will you be here just before lunch or just after?” she asked. 

He shrugged then looked to Tyrion for aid. The Master of the Coin nodded, and Aidan passed that nod to Arya, adding a “Yes.”

“The Princess will be happy to hear that. She’s looking forward to seeing you again. She felt bad she was sleeping when you knocked on her door yesterday.”

Over Aidan’s head Tyrion said, “Had I known she was under the weather, I wouldn’t have sent him.” 

“She’s much better now,” Arya assured him. 

While Tyrion drafted a list of all the people who were either already inside the castle, or waiting in a line outside, he sent Aidan to the backroom to get the five empty purses. From his desk he took one large sack of coins and dumped a portion of them out onto the desktop. When Aidan got back, Tyrion patiently told him how many coins to put into the first purse. Both adults watched to make sure he got the count right, but he didn’t need help. He tied the top and set it aside before doing the same to the second. 

While Aidan was filling the last purse with coins Tyrion asked, “Is she excited about Highgarden?”

“It’s all she’s talked about since last night,” Arya acknowledged, neglecting to mention she was even more eager than the Princess. 

She carried the gold and the list out of his office and up to Daenerys’s bedchamber where she was getting herself ready. “I was starting to worry,” she said as she got up from a chair and went to Arya. 

She set the gold on the desk and then handed the Princess the list. “Seems we’ll have a busy day.”

Where others might groan or curse upon hearing that, Daenerys was thrilled. “That’s great. Tyrion’s busy then?” 

“He seems to be, he was hard at work by the time I got there.”

“Was he in a meeting?” Daenerys guessed. “Is that what took so long?” 

“No, he let Aidan help, so it took a little longer than usual,” she recalled. 

“Really? What did he do?” As she asked, she checked the purses, looking for telltale signs of the little boy’s involvement. 

“Tyrion told him how much to put in each purse and he counted them out.” 

Daenerys was taken with the story. “I’m sorry I missed that.” 

“Ask him about it, he’s expecting you.” 

“When?” Appointments be damned if she told Daenerys Aidan was expecting her now, everyone seeking donations would need to wait while Daenerys devoted the majority of her morning to the servant who was quickly worming his way into her heart. 

“I told him you’d stop by around midday, either before lunch or after,” Arya said carefully. “He’ll be in Tyrion’s office. I figured we’d stop for lunch anyway, so you can spend time with Aidan before we return to finish off the remainder of your meetings.” 

She smiled. “That sounds perfect Arya, thank you.” 

“Anything else you need before we go and find the first name on your list?”

Daenerys pointed to the desk, while she adjusted the ribbon in her hair. “Can you take out a few coins, please?”

“How many?”

“Ten should do it.”

She was curious what Daenerys needed the money for but didn’t ask. She’d find out soon enough. 

By the time she had tucked away Daenerys’s secret stash of gold, Daenerys’s hair remained unfinished. Arya came up behind her, knocked her hands away and then removed the ribbon entirely. “Same as last time?” she proposed. 

“Yes, please. I tried to do it myself, but it didn’t look as good as when you did it.” 

Separating a segment of hair from the rest, she asked Daenerys, “What is first on that list?”

“A donation to help feed the homeless in Flea Bottom,” Daenerys read. 

“Sounds like a good place to start. I’m ready when you are.”

As it turned out, Daenerys wasn’t ready until she had given Arya no fewer than five ‘last’ kisses. After each she’d try to nudge the royal toward the door, but she wasn’t exactly heartbroken when she decided to linger for one more kiss. 

R-C

Daenerys finished three of her five meetings before lunch. Rather than retire directly to the hall to eat she made her way to Tyrion’s office. On the way it occurred to her just how much things had changed recently. 

The Red Keep had always been her prison, a pretty prison, but a prison. Even on days when she and Aemon had plans, it was no less stifling because she had someone to smile and laugh with. As with almost every aspect of her life, Arya’s arrival brought change. She hadn’t been outside the castle in nearly two weeks and if it was two more before Rhaegar saw fit to release her, she wouldn’t complain. Now there was a benefit to what had once been a burden. She didn’t mind that no one cared enough about her opinions to include her in their various meetings. Being overlooked meant she and Arya had more time alone. She would never say no to a trip to the orphanage or the port, but if the highpoint of her day came tonight when she fell asleep in Arya’s arms, that was fine too. 

“Do you still have those ten dragons?” Daenerys asked as they neared Tyrion’s office. 

“Of course.” She dug them up and set them into Daenerys’s open palm. 

“Thank you.” Wanting desperately to kiss her lover she studied the hall for any witnesses who might catch them and unfortunately, she found not one, but three. Two guards on patrol and one servant were all close enough to see if she indulged. Rather than let the moment pass she leaned in close and whispered, “I’ll thank you properly next time we’re alone.” 

She watched just long enough to see Arya’s eyes bulge out and her body go rigid and then she slipped away, laughing joyfully as she went. 

She knocked on the partially open door and waited to be permitted entry. “Lord Tyrion, a pleasure as always to see you.”

“You humble me Princess. When your guard told me I might see you this day, I didn’t dare believe it was true.”

“I came to see Aidan actually,” Daenerys pointed out coldly, fully aware Tyrion could take it. 

He covered his heart with his hand as if wounded. “I feared as much. When I tell this story later, I’ll leave out that you came for another.”

She was trying not to laugh but her mask cracked briefly, and a chuckle slipped out. She shook her head. “You can tell the story anyway you want Tyrion.”

“I appreciate that,” he said before he shifted them to real issues. “How was your morning?”

“Great,” she proclaimed boldly as she recalled the wide variety of people she helped. “I met with three of the people on your list and everyone left happy.” 

“I’m sorry there are so many,” he said pushing his ledger aside and reaching for a goblet of wine. “The King asked for a full accounting of the treasury, between that and preparations for Highgarden, there is little time for anything else.”

“I don’t mind,” she promised him, “in fact, I quite like it. It’s nice to feel like I’m helping people. I should probably be thanking you.”

He set his wine down and bowed his head. “Well, if you must.”

She laughed openly, giving up on trying to shield her true feelings. This was why she adored Tyrion. He could always brighten her mood. On a bad day, he’d make her smile and on a good one, he’d still improve her outlook. He was a great friend.

While Tyrion was waiting for praise to be heaped upon him, Daenerys called out for Aidan. “Ser Aidan?! Could you help a Princess in need?” 

She heard him before she saw him, his heavy, fast-moving feet against the floor. He was a blur until he came to an abrupt half right in front of her. “Hello Ser,” she said in greeting. 

“Hi.” He remembered her title too late but pinned it on at the end anyway. “Princess.”

Daenerys smiled as she sank down to his level. “I understand I have you to thank for a letter I received.” He looked away shyly, so Daenerys made it simpler. “Did you bring a letter to my chambers and give it to my friend Arya?”

He nodded first, then followed it up with words. “Yes, Princess.”

“Thank you, Aidan,” she gushed. “That letter was from someone very dear to me. I had been hoping to hear something and thanks to you I don’t have to worry anymore.”

He appeared fascinated by his boots but did manage a quiet, “You’re welcome.”

“I also hear you’ve been counting out gold for Tyrion today. Did you pack gold in purses this morning?”

He nodded vigorously and forgot to speak this time, but Daenerys didn’t mind. 

“That gold was a big help to me and since you did such a good job getting it ready, I wanted to give you a reward.” 

His eyes got big and his mouth hung open slightly. “Hold out your hands,” she directed. “You can count these coins too, but these ones are yours.” 

One by one she dropped the gold dragons into Aidan’s hands. He counted them as he caught them, gasping when he got to ten. “For me?”

“Yes,” she assured him with a smile, “all yours.” 

Gleeful with his sudden windfall, he could barely keep his eyes off the coins long enough to find Tyrion. He scurried to where Tyrion was sitting and carefully opened his hands, revealing the money. “You must’ve done a very good job,” he praised. “Why don’t you go put your money with the rest of your things. When you decide what you want to buy, I’ll take you shopping.” 

He darted away, making all the adults laugh. “You know Princess, if I’d known the reward for delivering that letter was so high, I’d have done it myself.”

“Better luck next time Tyrion.” 

R-C

She had managed to complete the list Tyrion gave her, but just as he predicted it took the vast majority of her day. By the time she finished the last tour of the castle, it was all she could do to keep from falling asleep at dinner. 

Now, Daenerys was being lulled to sleep in front of the fire, in the cage of Arya’s arms. The soldier had removed her armor and was wearing a simple pair of trousers and a faded blue shirt. It covered far more than the layer she wore under the steel but was no less appealing. In truth, it was a nice change to see Arya dressed so casually. It suited her almost as well as the armor and was much easier to cuddle with. 

They had spent most of the night talking, but over the past hour the stories had stopped, the questions had slowed and even the kisses were sporadic. She couldn’t speak for Arya but in Daenerys’s opinion, they didn’t need words or even kisses, just being together was plenty. 

The knock on the door not only caused her heavy eyes to open, it also caused Arya’s fingers to stop playing with her hair, an unforgivable sin. “Maybe they’ll go away,” she whined. 

“When do they ever?”

She had a point, but it didn’t mean Daenerys wanted to move. “I don’t want to deal with whoever it is.” 

“I’ll take care of it.” With the upmost care she moved Daenerys forward just enough to stand up. Without Arya to lean against she laid on her side. Arya picked up the pillow she was using to protect her back from the wall and positioned it under the Princess’s head. More knocks came but Arya ignored them in favor of covering Daenerys with the blanket more completely. She was on the floor, alone and somehow Arya managed to make her feel cherished. 

She curled up under the blanket and closed her eyes. Whoever it was knocked again, prompting Arya to yell through the door, “Seven Hells, shut up already, I’m coming.” 

Daenerys had meant what she said, whatever it was would have to wait. She tried to pay attention to what was happening at the door, but sleep beckoned, and she wasn’t sure she could trust her ears. 

R-C

She was already annoyed before she knew who was bothering them, but once she saw the man waiting in the hall, that annoyance blossomed into rage. “What?!” she barked. 

“Where is Daenerys?” he asked, looking around Arya’s frame to try and get a view into the darkened room. “Daenerys!” he shouted loudly. 

“She’s sleeping,” Arya hissed, hoping he’d copy her volume. 

He didn’t. “So early?! Why, what’s wrong with her?” He didn’t wait for Arya to respond. “Let me see her.”

She had many reasons not to like this man, but his entitled attitude was currently at the top of the list. He was similar to the last time she’d seen him, dressed in armor, filthy from long days on the road and overestimating his own importance. “The Princess is not seeing visitors tonight. If you have a message, I’ll pass it along when she wakes.” 

Daario stopped looking behind her and appraised the woman for the first time. “Who are you? Where’s Missandei? She knows me, she knows Daenerys wants to see me.” 

“Missandei is out of town,” Arya told him, being intentionally vague. 

“What? That’s impossible, she’s a slave, she can’t just leave.” 

Arya ground her teeth together to keep from screaming and balled her hands into fists behind her back. If this went on much longer, she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions. “The Princess sent Missandei on a personal errand.”

“What errand?” he demanded to know. 

“I’m sure the Princess will be happy to tell you about it, when she sees you, tomorrow!” She emphasized the last word. 

Daario remained defiant. “I don’t believe you. I’m a member of the King’s army, let me pass.” 

“I serve the Princess and she expressly stated she didn’t wish to be disturbed.” 

“I’m getting in that room and I’m going to see Daenerys,” he decreed with absolute certainty. 

Arya wished she had her sword, but she’d removed it with the armor, assuming incorrectly that she wouldn’t need it. “You will see the Princess, but not tonight. Tonight, she doesn’t wish to see anyone.” 

“Be reasonable,” he urged. “She didn’t know I’d be coming by tonight, so she couldn’t possibly tell you to let me pass, could she?”

“No,” she acknowledged. Daario’s scowl shifted to a smile and he sensed he was getting somewhere. Arya didn’t let him labor under that misconception long. “Daenerys did not know you were coming, she did not tell me to let you pass, which is why you aren’t going in.”

Daario was unimpressed. “You think you can stop me?”

She said nothing, she just blocked his path with her smaller body and waited for his next move. When it was clear he wasn’t going to go, it was Arya’s turn to smile.

She waited until his hand made contact with her, a detail she would rely on if she ever needed to defend her actions. He tried to push her out of the way, but she stood her ground, grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind his back. She caught him by surprise, but he was well-trained and had finely-honed instincts. She controlled him for only a fraction of a second before he shook loose. As he rotated to face her again, she lifted her left boot and lashed out, kicking him in the side of his knee. She hoped the sudden strike would be enough to unsteady him. Her plan was to push him out into the hall and close the door before he could muster another attack. It didn’t happen that way. Instead of falling backward as she imagined he would, Daario lunged for her, moving further into the room rather than leaving. They collided and his weight carried her to the floor, hard. As they scrambled to see who would reach their feet first the third person in the room reminded them she was there. “Was all this really necessary?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep. 

On one knee several feet inside the door Daario forgot about Arya and chased those words to their source. He spotted Daenerys near the fire and frowned. “Daenerys, what are you doing on the floor? What happened to you?”

“I was sleeping,” she told him bluntly, “until some thoughtless ox knocked on my door and yelled my name, waking me up.”

If it had been Arya on the receiving end of that rebuke, she would have had the good sense to look embarrassed, but Daario didn’t seem affected. “I wanted to see you.” 

“Clearly,” Daenerys spat sarcastically as she sat up more fully. “I hope you have a good reason for barging in here like this and trying to harm my friend.” 

For the first time since Daenerys spoke, Daario’s eyes shifted to her. “She wouldn’t let me in,” he complained. “I tried to tell her…”

“She told you,” Daenerys began, standing up and shucking off the blanket, “that I was sleeping, that I wasn’t seeing visitors and that I’d meet you tomorrow and you ignored her.” 

“She wouldn’t let me see you,” he said as if it justified everything. 

“She was following my instructions,” Daenerys said formally. “Now tell me why you’ve come, so I can go back to bed.” 

He took a half a step toward the angry Princess but wisely stopped his advance when she held up a hand in warning. “I came to see you, Daenerys. I missed you.” 

She rolled her eyes and made no attempt to hide how unsatisfactory she found that answer. Arya enjoyed that more than she should’ve. “If that’s why you’re here it really could have waited until the morning. Goodnight Daario, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Realizing he was about to be dismissed he rushed ahead. “Wait, I heard you are planning a trip to the Reach, I know Missandei’s not here, you must be lonely, how about we go for a ride tomorrow afternoon?” he proposed. 

“We can discuss it tomorrow!” she said with a firm authority. 

Arya walked with the sell-sword to the door and although he didn’t speak, she could practically feel all the unasked questions vibrating within him. 

He was barely past the threshold when Arya was closing the door behind him. “Don’t forget to lock it,” Daenerys added, already on her way to the bed. 

She did as the Princess requested, when she turned she spotted the pillow and blanket near the fire. “I’ll just clean up and then…”

“Leave it for the morning,” Daenerys instructed, “come to bed.”

She hadn’t been anticipating that. “You want me to stay after,” she paused and searched for the right words, “all that.”

Daenerys was already lying on one side of the large bed, but she extended her arm across the other as if she might actually touch Arya. “Everything else can wait.”

They’d need to talk about Daario eventually, but she wasn’t in a rush and apparently neither was Daenerys. She went to the bed, dropping her clothes next to the dress Daenerys was no longer wearing. 

R-C

A good night’s sleep did nothing to ease the dread she felt for the coming day. She woke up in Arya’s arms, which was rapidly becoming her favorite place and she couldn’t even enjoy it because the memory of the night before loomed over them. 

“What happened with Daario last night?” she asked as she searched for a dress. She could have requested another handmaiden until Missandei got back, but doing so would have required Arya to leave before they arrived and Daenerys was loathed to do anything that cut into the amount of time she could spend with Arya. “I heard some of it,” she made clear, “but then you went from talking to fighting.” 

“I’m sorry about that,” Arya said quickly. “That wasn’t what I wanted, but he wouldn’t leave.” 

“He’s stubborn,” she noted, feeling no leftover affection for the man who used to share her bed. 

“That’s one word for it,” Arya grumbled. “I don’t know why, but he thought I was lying, so he demanded to see for himself, and I said no.”

Arya might not understand Daario thinking but Daenerys did. He likely believed that if she saw him, she would adjust any instructions she’d given and allow him entry. It was madness, especially after their last conversation, but she didn’t doubt that was what he expected would happen. “And that’s when he hit you?”

“He didn’t hit me,” Arya clarified. “He put his hand on my arm and tried to shove me out of the way, so I grabbed him. I wanted to take him out into the hall, but he fell the other way, and you know the rest.”

Despite doing nothing wrong, she could hear Arya’s regret. Giving up her search temporarily she went to her lover, who was washing in the tub. She kissed her deeply. “Nothing that happened last night was your fault. You were doing as I asked you to. I’m sorry I put you in that position.” 

She chuckled darkly. “I’d do a lot worse than throw out your sell-sword ex-lover, if you asked me to.” 

In moments like that it was all Daenerys could do to remember how to breathe. It was like Arya didn’t even realize how sweet she was behaving. If she didn’t, Daenerys certainly did. 

She was back in the closet when another detail from the night before demanded attention. “Did I dream it or did Daario mention Highgarden?”

Daenerys exited the closet with a purple dress and was treated to the sight of Arya standing in the tub, drying her body. “He definitely did,” she informed the staring Princess just before she shook out her hair in a way, Daenerys had only seen dogs do.

The next question didn’t come until Arya was out of the tub and far less distracting. “How do you think he knew about that?”

She hummed as she thought about it. “Someone must’ve told him. Maybe Mormont went to him after his last scheme failed.” 

Daenerys was busy arranging her dress while she considered the idea. Jorah and Daario were not close. In fact, early in Daario’s service they detested one another. Over time they developed a certain level of mutual respect, but they were hardly friends. “I don’t think so… wait! What scheme?” She added it in there so casually that Daenerys almost missed it. The knot in her stomach tightened. What had Jorah done?

“It was Mormont who told your father I deserted you,” she provided, unaffected by talk of her almost-execution. 

Daenerys on the other hand wasn’t nearly as composed. “He did what!?” she screamed. “How do you know it was him?”

“I confronted him.”

“He admitted it?” Jorah was someone she considered a friend. It made her sick to think he’d willfully endanger a woman’s life, even a woman he didn’t particularly care for. 

“He didn’t deny it,” she explained as she dressed. “He claims it’s my fault for leaving you, regardless of my intent.”

She didn’t need to wonder why he’d do it, that she obvious, but the how vexed her. Didn’t Arya go to Jorah and ask him to watch her? “Didn’t you speak to him before you left?”

“Yes.”

With every word she seethed. She was going to kill him. Even after Arya was gone, she would refuse to allow Jorah to be within ten feet of her. He would never guard her again. If she had to stay confined to her bedchamber for the rest of her life, she would. She wouldn’t allow Jorah to prosper, to be rewarded for trying to get Arya killed. “I’m going to tell my father he lied!” he decided hastily. “I’ll tell him and then it’ll be Jorah who has to stand before the throne and defend himself.” 

Half dressed Arya was suddenly in front of her. “You don’t mean that.”

Oh yes, she did! She definitely did. Just because Missandei saved Arya didn’t absolve Jorah of his part in the plot. He needed to answer for that. “You were nearly killed!”

“But I wasn’t,” she reminded Daenerys gently, “I’m fine, I’m alive and well and right here with you.” 

That was true. She threw her arms around Arya’s neck and pulled her in for a desperate kiss. She knew Arya was safe, the danger had passed but talking about it brought back how afraid she’d been that day waiting for her father to decide Arya’s fate. 

When the kiss was over, she tried verbally to make her point. “He needs to pay for what he did.” 

“You’re angry,” Arya observed accurately. “I understand that but think about it. Jorah was your friend once, maybe he will be again, if you tell your father the truth, he’ll die and some of his blood will be on your hands.” 

The rational part of her brain knew Arya was right, but the larger, more primal part wasn’t concerned with trivial things like morality. “I don’t care!”

Arya smiled indulgently. “I know, right now you don’t care because you’re upset, but later, you might, and this isn’t the sort of thing you can take back.” 

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Brave, fearless Arya was willing to forgo vengeance? She had almost lost her life because Jorah lied, and she was willing to show him mercy? “So, he gets away with it?” She hated how sour the mere idea tasted. 

“I’m not saying that,” she clarified, “only there are things that hurt worse than death.” 

She wondered where she’d heard that before, and when the memory came back to her it turned her stomach. Aerys said something like that to Arya’s father before he started massacring the family. Remembering all Arya endured, it only upset her further that Jorah willingly subjected her to more. 

Unaware of the dark nature of her thoughts, Arya continued, “There is no law that says you have to tell your father now, or at all. There are other forms of justice, you get to decide what’s fair, after you’ve given it thought.” 

“Fine.” Although she agreed to wait, she didn’t think her feelings on this topic would change no matter how many hours she devoted to it. If there was ever a crime that merited a death sentence, harming Arya would be it. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I felt a little bad, the last couple of chapters were a bit boring, so I decided to put this one out early. They are going to Highgarden, Daario is back and Daenerys knows what Jorah did. It’ll take a couple of chapters to finish off the things that have to happen in King’s Landing, then they’ll be off in search of Sansa. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for the comments.
> 
> RC


	33. Chapter 33

It was midmorning when Daario found them. They were crossing the yard hoping to run into Aemon and found her former lover instead. “There you are,” he said, sheathing his sword and breaking into a run to reach her.

His smile shifted to something darker when he spotted Arya. The guard faced him as directly and fearlessly as she did every obstacle, saying nothing, trusting her glare to speak for her. In Daenerys’s opinion, it said a lot. 

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

She was proud of the fact that she didn’t scoff or roll her eyes. What part of sparring with the Unsullied involved waiting for her? “Here I am,” she retorted stiffly. 

He glanced at Arya again. “Can we speak alone?”

She refused to send Arya away to please Daario. She and Arya were a team, he couldn’t get one without the other. The thought made her smile, which judging by his expression Daario misinterpreted. Before she could correct the error, someone else did, saying many of the same things Daenerys was planning to express. “No,” Arya said coldly. “Where she goes, I go.” 

While Arya’s declaration had Daenerys’s heart racing, Daario found it far less romantic. “Who are you anyway?”

This time Daenerys’s eyes did roll a little. “Surely you haven’t forgotten the woman you knocked down last night.”

“I remember her, I just don’t know who she is.”

Daenerys was not in the mood for this. “Her name is Arya, and she’s my guard. You met her the last time you were here too.”

“Forgive me for not remembering,” he remarked snidely, “a lot happened the last time I came.” 

“It did,” she concurred. “I hope you haven’t come to have the same disagreement.” 

One look at his face made it known that he had. He’d come to get her back. He’d scurried away and licked his wounds and now he was back to reclaim what he thought was his, how predictably pathetic, how utterly male. Only a man would think that his plan had any chance of success. It would’ve been laughable if it didn’t infuriate her so much. 

“Can we talk?” Daario tried. 

“We are talking, so say what you came to say. You have my attention.” 

“I meant alone.” He showed her a smile that used to compel her, but this time she felt nothing. He wasn’t the one that made Daenerys young and happy, not anymore. “You don’t need a guard, I’ll protect you.” 

Why did he insist on making her repeat herself? “Arya already told you she’s not leaving, and I won’t send her away. Whether we talk or not is up to you, but we won’t be going anywhere alone.” 

He threw up his hands. “Fine, you know what, I don’t give a fuck. She can hear it, the whole fucking castle can hear it. I love you and I want to be with you. I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know why you decided we can’t be together, but it’s been long enough.”

She wanted to feel sympathy for him, he had been an important person in her life at once and hurting him wasn’t what she wanted, but when he said things like that, she saw red. He was acting as if her feelings were inconsequential. Like she didn’t know how she felt and couldn’t decide what she wanted. It was obvious now that he came back expecting her to take him back, probably because he was generous enough to give her the time and space to work through whatever her problem was. Oh, how drastically he misjudged her. In the weeks since her nameday her feelings for Arya had grown considerably. She’d been willing to end things with Daario when there was a distinct possibility that Arya hated her. They made it through that, they made it through the admission that she was Arya Stark, they dealt with the King and the Prince, the Spider and the Hand. Daario left so she’d realize she wanted to be with him again, but the days he was gone were the best she’d ever had. She wouldn’t burn that to the ground for him, or anyone else. 

“Aren’t you going to say something?” he asked when the silence dragged on too long. 

“There is nothing to say.” 

Pitifully Daario’s eyes flickered to Arya. Not in contempt this time, but because he was seeking her aid, looking for help translating Daenerys’s unpredictable moods. Finding no ally in Arya, he ventured on alone. “Nothing to say, I just professed my love to you in the middle of the Red Keep’s courtyard.” 

“You did, the only question is why?”

“Because I wanted you to know,” Daario said slowly, giving her time to really soak up the message. 

“I already knew, just as you already know what I’m going to say next.” 

Daario was incredulous. “How could I possibly know what you’re going to say?” 

“You know because we’ve had this conversation before,” she justified, feeling tired despite the time of day. “We said everything we needed to say to one another last time. You may not like it, but it hasn’t changed.” 

“It has changed,” he insisted, “I’ve changed. I thought about what you said before, about the other women and you were right. I wasn’t loving you the right way and I’m sorry for that, but it’ll be different this time.”

As he spoke about loving her again Daenerys had to wonder what Arya was thinking. Would it have been kinder to let her leave, so she didn’t have to hear this? For all his talk about his feelings, he had yet to consider hers. Their relationship was one-sided, all that mattered was what he wanted. “Don’t I get a say?” she asked rhetorically. “What about what I want?”

“I know what you want,” Daario declared confidently. If everything else he said was debatable, that was not. He had no clue what she wanted, who she wanted. Missandei’s suggestion of telling Daario why they wouldn’t be together again was becoming more appealing, but her concerns remained valid. She couldn’t say Daario wouldn’t use the information to punish Daenerys or hurt Arya, so it wasn’t worth the risk. “You want someone to love you and put you first and I’m willing to do that.”

They couldn’t keep doing this. People were beginning to take notice of the disagreement and she was sure Daario’s loud voice had found the ears of more than a few people nearby. The castle would be buzzing about Daario’s love for the Princess before the next meal. She could only hope she kept her volume low enough to prevent the listeners from hearing her side of things. “What I’d like right now,” Daenerys said, “is to stop talking about this.” 

Among the people that were subtly starting to crowd around was Aemon. He pushed his way past several others to get to them. “Dany is everything okay?” he asked, studying their faces one at a time to try and understand what he’d walked up on. 

“We’re fine, we were actually looking for you.”

In a place where he was frequently ignored this made the young man grin. “You were?”

“Absolutely,” she said saddling up to her guard and nudging her. “Arya needs someone to train with and everyone knows you’re her favorite sparring partner.” 

The statue-like guard who had been expressionless during her entire exchange with Daario softened considerably when she locked eyes with her cousin. He raised an eyebrow, asking for confirmation which Arya readily provided. “She’s not wrong. You up for it?”

Aemon didn’t need to be asked twice. “Sure, but it’s a little unfair. I haven’t beat you since you got that sword.” 

Without hesitation Arya drew the Valyrian steel Daenerys commissioned off her hip and held it out to Aemon. “Did I ever tell you about my final test when I was in training?”

“No,” Aemon answered. Daenerys too leaned closer, because she didn’t think she’d heard this story either. He wasn’t sure if he should take the offered weapon, but Arya insisted. 

“It was the last day of our year-long training. We’d just run for miles and they paired us off to spar, telling us only the winners would be allowed to finish.”

“They were going to cut half of you?” She was pleased Aemon asked, because it saved Daenerys having to do it. That seemed like an excessive waste of recruits. 

“The Martells only want the best,” Arya explained. “So, after a year, all I had to do was win one more match. The instructor told us to pick our weapons. They had these chests, filled with everything and anything a warrior might want.” 

“What’d you pick,” Daenerys wondered aloud. 

“A dagger,” she recalled with a secret smile, “and my opponent picked a spear.”

“And you beat him?”

“I did, but right before we started fighting the instructor stopped us and told us to swap weapons. He had to fight with my dagger, and I got his spear.” 

“Really?”

Arya held her hand out with her palm up. “The instructor told us that we didn’t always get to fight with our favorite weapon, or the one we’re best suited to, he said sometimes you just had to use what was available.”

“That’s incredible,” Daenerys noted, while Aemon nodded in agreement. 

“Which is why you can use my sword, and I’ll take yours,” Arya proposed, bring them around full circle. 

Holding Arya’s shiny new sword, Aemon was more than willing to take that deal. He handed over his longsword and Daenerys watched her lover take a few practice swings with the larger, heavier blade. 

By the time Aemon and Arya were ready to begin, the cluster of people that had formed to listen to the Princess and the sell-sword disagree had shifted their focus to the woman they believed a Dornish bastard and the Crown Prince’s son. Daenerys made sure she was at the front of the pack. 

R-C

For nearly an hour Arya practiced with Aemon. After Arya won the first match, she provided Aemon tips and advice which he turned around and used to secure a victory the next time. Next to her Daario murmured that Arya let Aemon win to boost his confidence, but Daenerys knew better. Family or not, Arya wasn’t the sort to give anything less than her best. 

“Your girl is from Dorne then?” he asked as they watched Arya run Aemon through some drills. He was still using Arya’s sword and she was encouraging him to take advantage of its shorter length and its lighter weight to strike in unconventional ways that would be impossible with his preferred weapon. Aemon was a dedicated pupil, taking every instruction to heart. It only endeared Daenerys to the soldier more to see her bonding with Aemon. 

“Yes,” Daenerys replied without looking at him. She didn’t want to rekindle their fight, certainly not with so many witnesses. 

“She’s not bad,” he stated as Arya demonstrated a technique that Aemon quickly replicated. That was high praise coming from a bitter Daario. Daenerys planned to let the comment pass, but he wasn’t finished. “Maybe she’ll spar with me next.”

“Absolutely not!” Daenerys commanded a little too loudly. Her heated words reached Arya who stopped what she was doing and came over to make certain everything was alright. 

As she got close, Daario said, “I knew I recognized you.” Daenerys thought he meant to repeat his earlier questions about where she was from or how she came to be there, but that wasn’t it. “I know you,” he said, pointing at her with a finger. “The way you fight, I’ve seen it before.” 

To Daenerys’s shock Arya nodded. “We met when Oberyn Martell visited the Second Sons.”

Daario laughed. “The girl-squire, I remember now.”

Amused as he was, Arya’s face remained hard. “It didn’t end well for the last one who called me that,” Arya quipped causing Daario’s laughter to end abruptly. 

“Malkin,” Daario recited, bowing his head. 

Daenerys didn’t like the lack of knowledge she had. “Who is Malkin?” she asked, not caring which of them responded. 

“One of my best men,” Daario told her. 

“And what happened to him?” This time she directed the question specifically to Arya. 

“He offended the Red Viper and paid the price for it.” It wasn’t quite as informative as Daenerys had hoped, but it was better than nothing. 

“It was just a stupid joke,” the mercenary countered. 

“One Oberyn told him to stop making.” 

Daenerys had tired of waiting for someone to explain. “What happened?”

Arya replied first. “When I accompanied Oberyn to Essos we met with the Second Sons. Some thought I was a servant or a slave, others assumed I was a whore he brought along for the voyage.” Even though it was in the past Daenerys’s small body filled with anger as she thought about a bunch of brutish men misjudging Arya, her Arya. “On our second day Oberyn sparred with me, he’d been teaching me for months. but I still had much to learn. The men gathered to watch Oberyn pummel me again and again.”

“It was funny,” Daario added, earning a fierce glare from the Princess. 

“And then?”

“After Oberyn tired of beating on me, he left me to recover. He had barely worked up a sweat, but I couldn’t move.” There was no shame or embarrassment in her admissions. It was humbling for Daenerys to think that someone as talented as Arya had once been a novice. “While I was lying there this man Malkin came up to me and told me I should’ve been a whore because I didn’t have a future as a girl-squire.” 

Again, Daenerys seethed. Beside her Daario smiled at his friend’s joke and the Princess was left to question what about him she ever found appealing. “He was wrong, obviously.”

Arya thanked her for her comment with a smile and then finished the tale. “After that every time Malkin saw me, he called me ‘girl-squire.’ Oberyn heard and wasn’t impressed. He told him to stop, but he persisted. In the end they agreed to settle it in a match which Oberyn won.”

Though he didn’t dispute anything Arya said, Daario felt there was more to tell. “He cheated, he coated his spear with poison. Within hours of the match Malkin was unconscious with a fever and he didn’t live through the night.” 

Arya had told her that Oberyn liked poison, but it was still unsettling to hear he used it in a friendly fight. Then she recalled how protective Oberyn was of Arya and it wasn’t quite so surprising anymore. It was hard for Daenerys to muster up a whole lot of sympathy for a man who tormented and ridiculed Arya. 

“Care to see if you’ve learned anything since then?” Daario suggested, his hand already on his weapon. 

She didn’t need to look to know that Arya was going to accept. She wasn’t going to let that happen, both of them were too heated by their talk of the past. If they sparred now one of them would end up seriously wounded. “Arya can’t,” Daenerys said quickly before the guard could undermine her argument. “We’re already late for an appointment.”

“It’s just one match, it’ll be quick,” Daario said in a futile attempt to sway her. 

“Maybe another time.” As she said the words, she knew she’d do everything in her power to prevent them from fighting, even in the name of training. “Come on Arya, we’re behind schedule.” 

To her credit Arya didn’t question her. she just yelled a goodbye to Aemon and fell in line with the Princess who couldn’t get indoors fast enough. 

R-C

“Was Daario right?” Arya managed to ask after choking on the words for the past twenty minutes. It was something that had been in her head since they met up with the arrogant mercenary that morning. She tried to put it out of her mind, but it kept coming back regardless of where she stored it. 

“About what?” 

She looked up from the book she was reading and smiled, giving Arya just enough reassurance to continue the line of inquiry. “He said you wanted someone to love you and put you first.” 

Daenerys closed the book and scooted to the end of the bed. “What I want,” she said on her way to Arya, “is you.” 

“Are you sure because…”

She pressed a finger to Arya’s moving lips to silence her. “I’m positive, I’ve never been happier.” This mess with Daario made Arya doubt her choice not to confess the depth of her feelings. If that’s what Daenerys wanted, maybe it would bring her comfort to know she’s already got it. The only thing stopping her was a nagging voice that kept repeating, ‘maybe she doesn’t want it with you.’ 

She pecked at the finger in front of her, causing Daenerys to giggle. When she leaned in with the obvious intent to steal a kiss, Arya decided she could postpone her worrying for a moment or two. Before their lips connected a knock on the door forced them apart. “Every damn time,” Arya grumbled, earning her another giggle. “I’ll get the door.”

“Thank you,” Daenerys called out, speaking to her back as she went to see who was interrupting them this time. 

Rhaegar Targaryen stood in the hall, leaning on his cane. “Prince Rhaegar,” she said loud enough for Daenerys to hear, “come in.” She bowed her head respectfully as she stepped aside to allow him entry. 

“I trust my sister is here,” he said as he passed her. 

“She is,” Arya confirmed. 

“I am,” Daenerys said at the same time. 

Daenerys hurried to get her brother the most suitable chair she had available and while she readied it for him the Prince sought out Arya. “I’d like a few minutes alone with my sister, please.” 

She knew refusing Rhaegar was as dangerous as denying his father, but she couldn’t make herself move. She’d just been thinking about how Daenerys wanted someone to put her first and here she was getting a chance to prove Daenerys’s word was the one she’d obey. It was a risk, but if it helped Daenerys understand that her opinions mattered, it would be worthwhile. 

The tension in the room was thick as Rhaegar waited for her to heed his command. Arya did her best to pretend he wasn’t there, looking to his sister for guidance instead. It wasn’t until Daenerys had the padded chair in place for her brother that she realized Arya was waiting for her0 . “It’s okay Arya. Why don’t you go and get something to eat? We’ll be fine here.”

In sharp contrast to her response to Rhaegar’s order Arya nodded and immediately turned to go. “Would you like me to bring you back anything?” she offered. 

“No thank you. Why don’t you see if you can find Aemon? I know he’s probably eager to spar with you again and you’re looking to redeem yourself after your loss.”

Few people could make Arya Stark laugh at the mention of being defeated, but it seemed Daenerys was in the minority. “I just might do that, and I’ll bring some of that tea you like on the way back.”

“That’d be lovely,” Daenerys said, showing Arya her most radiant smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Before she left, she nodded in Rhaegar’s direction, aware he was watching her closely. “Prince, enjoy your visit.” 

R-C

“What was wrong with your guard?” Rhaegar asked when they were alone. 

“Nothing,” she replied immediately. Absolutely nothing. Arya was practically perfect. 

“Does she usually defy orders like that?”

She wanted to roll her eyes. Usually Viserys was the dramatic one. “She didn’t defy you.”

“I told her to leave us and she stood there like she was touched,” he contended. “Maybe those guards at the gate did more damage than we originally thought.” 

He was most certainly joking, but at Arya’s expense and she didn’t find that funny. “She didn’t defy you, she’s my guard and she waited for my instructions before taking her leave.” 

“She should still obey me,” Rhaegar whined, sounding more like their missing brother with every word. Daenerys didn’t enjoy the comparison. “I’m a Prince and she…”

“She’s what?” Daenerys asked hotly. “Just a bastard? She’s sworn to me. She is no more obligated to follow your orders than Ser Barristan is to obey me.” She knew the comparison wasn’t perfect, but she needed an example. 

Whatever her point was, Rhaegar missed it. “If you asked Barristan to leave the room, he would.” 

“Not without checking with you first. That’s all Arya did,” she insisted, hurrying to her friend’s defense. 

Could he tell she was growing frustrated or was it luck he decided to give up the subject and try another? “She’s not great at following orders, but she can make tea. They train them different in Sunspear.” 

She wanted to defend Arya again but worried she’d reveal her feelings if she was too forceful. She looked across the table at her brother. Did he knew her secrets already? All too aware the exchange he just saw was not typical for a Targaryen and her guard, Daenerys tried to distract Rhaegar with a joke of her own. “Not as good as Missandei’s, but better than nothing,” she said in an exaggerated whisper. 

Mercifully he didn’t dwell on it. “So, she’s the one Aemon’s been training with?”

She suspected he already knew the answer. This wasn’t the first time they spoke about Arya helping Aemon, but it was a much easier topic than their last, so she was willing to repeat herself until her lungs burned, if necessary. “Almost everyday,” Daenerys said. She was proud of how generous Arya was with her time and her knowledge and she was thrilled with the progress Aemon was making. Even to a woman like her with a limited understanding of warfare she could see Aemon was getting better. “He beat her in one of their matches today,” she informed him, happily remembering how pleased Aemon had been with himself. 

The expression of fatherly pride didn’t last before it changed to something else. “I heard you were out in the yard,” he began, “I also heard that the sell-sword professed his love for you, loudly.” 

Daenerys groaned. Is that why he’d come to talk? That was the reason she wasn’t kissing Arya? She took a moment to assess her brother, trying to determine how much he knew. Did Rhaegar already know she and Daario had been lovers or was that secret still hers? “No need to worry, I told him I wasn’t interested.” 

“I heard that too.” She waited to see if her brother had more to say. When he did it wasn’t what Daenerys was expecting. “Do I need to kill him?” he asked, giving her a rare smile. 

Her first thought was about how saying yes would simply things for her greatly, but she immediately banished that perverse thought from her mind. Daario was a stubborn inconvenience, but he didn’t deserve to die. “As I said, it’s not a problem. I do not share his interest.” 

It was quiet while Rhaegar contemplated her words. “None of the boys around here are good enough for you anyway.” 

Daenerys smiled. Thanks to his assumption about the gender of her consort he made it possible for her to reply without lying. “I agree.”

His shoulders sagged slightly as he relaxed, relieved by the lack of resistance Daenerys put forth. He was tense again a moment later. “You do?” he verified, skeptically. 

“Absolutely. I’m in no rush to find a husband.”

“Any men who wish to be considered need to be worthy of you,” he continued. 

Suddenly they were in another conversation she didn’t wish to have. She asked him something to try and steer them away from her romantic life. “You know more of marriage than I do, do you miss it?” 

The question made him uncomfortable. “We were talking about you, not me,” he deflected weakly. 

“We were, are we done now? You’ve confirmed I didn’t pledge myself to Daario this morning, you can plainly see I don’t have a secret consort hiding under the bed.” As she finished. she added privately in her head, ‘because my true consort is out in the yard training your son.’ 

Although he smiled it wasn’t nearly as bright as before. It made Daenerys wary. She was right. “Actually, there is another matter I’d like to discuss and I’m afraid you aren’t going to like it.”

She used humor to combat the fear bubbling up inside her. “I didn’t like the last one all that much either.”

“I don’t think you should go to Highgarden,” he eventually said. She was both relieved and hurt to learn why he’d really come. Objecting to her upcoming trip wasn’t the worst reason he might seek her out, but it was disappointing to know her brother didn’t approve of something that meant so much to her. 

“What? Why would you say that? The Tyrell’s have always been loyal to us.” 

“It’s not Highgarden that concerns me,” he clarified. “I worry about you travelling the roads between here and there. If anything happened to you…”

“Nothing will happen,” she swore, reaching across the table to touch his hand with hers. “It’s not as if I’m going alone, I’ll have guards, I was planning to take a group of the Unsullied with me.” 

Her brother looked pained for reasons she couldn’t comprehend. “If you meant what you said Dany, you should stay here.”

What did he mean by that? “If I meant what I said, when?” She reviewed her recent statements but couldn’t pinpoint one that Rhaegar would be referencing. 

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“I know you worry, but you needn’t. I like Lady Olenna and her granddaughter very much. I’m looking forward to seeing their home.” 

“Have you met Mace’s sons?”

She squinted as she thought back. “Margaery’s brothers? I don’t believe so.”

He hummed, it was an odd sound that was neither positive nor negative. When he didn’t elaborate, she moved them onto other things. “How has it been going?”

“What’s that?” he asked, clearly not realizing why she lowered her voice and emphasized the word ‘it’. 

“Your search for allies,” Daenerys whispered, “have you had any success finding support to remove Father?”

He swallowed hard before he answered, she noticed his eyes glancing at the door, likely to confirm it remained closed. “Some.”

“Who sides with us?” she wanted to know. 

“It’s too soon to know for sure,” he told her. 

“But you’re making progress?” 

“Yes,” he acknowledged quietly. Daenerys nodded in understanding. They were getting there. That was what mattered. 

“I could speak to Lady Olenna,” she proposed. “She’s a friend and I’m sure she’d help us.”

“No!” Rhaegar snapped, bordering on rude. He reigned in his temper and clarified. “No, you can’t. The Tyrells are an important house. If we get their support, many others will follow.”

Daenerys knew this, that’s why she was suggesting it. “I know…”

“You need to wait. We can’t inform the Tyrells until we have enough allies that they will be confident in our victory. Only then will they be willing to risk all they have to side with us.” 

“When will that be?” How many houses did they need on their side before they could reach out to Highgarden? 

“You just need to be patient Dany,” the elder Targaryen warned. “I’m working on it.”

Soon she wouldn’t fear passing the throne room, afraid of the thick stench of burnt flesh, she wouldn’t have to hear the bells ringing and watch the green smoke fill the sky. Soon Westeros’s days of suffering under her father’s madness would be at an end. 

R-C

It had been a good morning, even it hadn’t gone exactly according to plan. Now that she thought about it, maybe that was precisely what made it perfect. Daenerys was happy and she knew the singular reason for that was Arya. 

Despite getting out of bed at the appropriate time, they were late making an appearance downstairs, arriving only after most of the others had finished breakfast. She freely blamed Arya and would continue to do so anytime they were alone, but in truth she knew the fault rested with her. Daenerys had been washed, dressed and in the process of choosing jewelry when the sight of Arya stepping from the bath compelled her to remove her clothes and undo all her accomplishments. Arya resisted, but Daenerys was persistent and dedicated and she got her way. They fell back into bed together and forgot all about breakfast until she was dressing a second time. 

Dressing had been slow, despite the need for urgency. Daenerys insisted she help her lover into her armor. After Arya relented and accepted the Princess’s aid, she spent more time caressing Arya’s skin than adjusting any of the buckles or straps. Though she mustered up a few half-hearted complaints, Daenerys knew Arya was enjoying their time together as much as she was. She wasn’t naive enough to think no one noticed her absence. She also knew with certainty that someone would inquire about it at some point, she just didn’t care. The Realm wouldn’t collapse if Daenerys was late for one meal. In fact, most mornings no one other than Arya, Missandei, or Aemon spoke to her anyway. For that reason alone, she felt justified in choosing Arya over everyone else. 

Fresh from another trip to the library where they returned a handful of books that were no longer needed, Daenerys was lingering behind while Arya walked head with their cargo. She had a pair of new books about dragons under her arm and Daenerys secretly hoped they’d hold more useful information than the last batch. She was beginning to grow frustrated with the lack of information about dragon eggs, baby dragons, growing dragons and the like. Everyone seemed fascinated by them when they were big, dangerous and scary, there were countless books estimating how far they could fly, how much they could eat or how many fields they could burn but Daenerys wanted more. She wanted to know about the dragons that had once been inside the eggs she admired. Not about the massive beasts they’d eventually grow into, but the tiny little things they’d be the day they hatched. Arya was being supportive, claiming the books existed they just had to find them, but Daenerys was becoming discouraged. 

As her mind wandered her eyes did the same. They didn’t make it far, landing on Arya and staying there. She admired the thin layer of muscles that lined her frame, a deceptive strength that not even the armor could hide anymore. Now that Daenerys had seen what was beneath the steel, now that she experienced the power of her limbs, she felt stupid for not noticing it sooner. It was the sort of thing it was impossible to forget. 

Admiring Arya shamelessly she noticed the way her belt wrapped around her waist. The attached sword was situated on Arya’s hip in a position that to most people would seem totally appropriate, but Daenerys wasn’t most people. Daenerys was the one who spent a ridiculous amount of time that morning making sure Arya’s Valyrian steel sword was in the perfect location should the guard need to reach for it. Daenerys was able to tell even from a distance that the sword wasn’t where she put it. “Arya wait!” she called, her loud voice echoing around them. 

“What’s wrong?” Arya asked even before she’d retreated to where Daenerys was. 

“Something happened to your sword.”

Arya looked down at the weapon and then removed it from the scabbard cleanly using her free hand. “It looks fine,” she said as she returned it to its home. 

“No,” Daenerys disagreed. “I arranged your sword exactly how I wanted it and now only a few hours later, it’s no longer in position.” 

The soldier was amused by Daenerys’s rant. “It’s fine, I assure you.”

Fine wasn’t good enough. She was aware she was being petty, but she commissioned that sword, she presented it to Arya and that morning she strapped it to her body. She wanted it to be in the exact position she had chosen. “Take it off.”

Grey eyes widened slightly. She had not been expecting that. “Daenerys,” she said with a hint of caution. 

“Please,” she added to try and make her plea more persuasive. 

“Why are you doing this?” Even as she asked, Arya was opening the belt as Daenerys instructed. 

She handed everything over, the thick, leather belt that was slowly being broken in the more Arya used it, the immaculate scabbard, still too new to have any dents, dings or scratches and of course the sword itself. 

She took a moment to admire the craftsmanship of the weapon, at least the handle which was the only portion visible to her. The smith really had done a spectacular job. She paid him already but perhaps he was due a personal thank you as well. Remembering Arya’s question, she shrugged her shoulders. “What can I say, you looked better the way it was before.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice into what she hoped was a more seductive tone. “It was perfect where I put it.”

The dark chuckle that vibrated out of Arya’s chest in response to her comment had a greater effect on her than was logical. Despite knowing all the reasons they shouldn’t, she wanted to pin Arya against the wall and devour her. The guard wasn’t encouraging restraint either. She leaned in Daenerys’s direction as if she meant to kiss the stunned Princess before she adjusted her angle and missed her lips entirely. Her mouth came to a stop next to Daenerys’s ear. “It was perfect. wasn’t it?” she whispered. “In that case go ahead, I’ll happily wear the sword wherever you want it.”

Having Arya so close without being able to truly have her left Daenerys a mess. Just breathing took all the power she possessed. She counted the heartbeats, vaguely aware they were coming faster than was normal. 

Once she was done speaking Arya straightened up, observing a more respectful distance. Though only a number of inches, the change left a void Daenerys didn’t like. Any question about whether Arya knew the effect she had on her lover vanished when one grey eye winked at her. Decorating her face was a dashing, devious smirk. 

Slowly she returned to herself. The unusual weight in her hand prompted her to look down and see the sword. Only then did she remember what had started all this, and what she was supposed to be doing. Her cheeks burned with the knowledge that she was likely embarrassing herself in front of Arya. 

“Daenerys,” someone said behind her back and suddenly all the blood gathering in her head rushed the other way. She knew that voice, but how could it be? They were nowhere near the throne room. Beyond that he rarely spoke to her directly, preferring to use a series of servants or advisors as messengers.

She looked to Arya for help, to tell her that it was a dream but what she saw said just the opposite. Her smirk was gone, replaced by something even and empty. Her eyes were lacking any of the joy, humor or affection they’d held all morning. Starting to panic, her hands began to shake. and she squeezed the sword she was holding just to make them stop. 

Movement in front of her caused her to look up. Arya hadn’t moved much, but it was clear that she wanted to. Their eyes met and the guard’s lips moved, passing along a message Daenerys desperately needed to hear, even if she didn’t utter a sound. “You can do this,” she mouthed, helping Daenerys tap into a reserve of confidence. It wasn’t much but it was enough for Daenerys to turn around and face her father. 

He was standing there with Jaime Lannister on one side and the Clegane they called the Mountain on the other. It wasn’t a mystery why the people of Westeros gave him that name. Even in Targaryen armor, inside the Red Keep with the King close by, he still intimidated her. “Father,” she said to buy time for her to get her legs moving. She walked to him slowly, unsure if she should attempt to hug him or not. When he was in his right mind, an embrace between father and daughter was rare but not uncommon, when he was gripped by his illness, he’d likely knock her to the floor and accuse her of trying to stab him. Since this was the first direct contact she’d had with him in several days she had no sense of how he was doing. 

She opened her arms early and took the last steps to bring her to the King. She hoped the advanced warning would help them all. He could decide if he wanted to hug her, the guards could stop her if they thought it was a bad idea, and she would have ample time to retreat if necessary. 

Arya had matched her step for step all the way Aerys, without saying a word, but when it became clear Daenerys intended to touch him, she broke the silence. “Wait,” Arya hissed, taking care to speak only loud enough for the Princess to hear. 

Just before they met, Jaime Lannister provided a fraction of a nod. That lone gesture allowed her to hug her father without being overcome by fear. It was short and slightly awkward to be honest and she felt none of the things she thought she should. When Arya hugged her she felt safe and cared for, in Missandei’s arms she felt important, with Aemon she felt understood, when Rhaegar held her she felt like she was a little girl all over again, but with Aerys there was nothing. As they separated, she realized why, this man, whoever he was, was a stranger to her. She didn’t know him, and he didn’t know her. 

Nonetheless she knew what was expected of her. She hid behind the mask of the Dragon Princess and worked to make her voice sound pleased with this turn of events. “Father, what a surprise,” she gushed as she took an extra half step back. “I thought you’d be too busy to visit the library.” She paused and showed him her fakest of all smiles. “Had I known otherwise I would have invited you along.” 

The silence while they waited for the King to reply went from extended, to awkward and beyond. When someone filled the emptiness, it was Tywin’s son. “No time for the library I’m afraid, Princess,” he said showing her a smile that was only slightly less unnatural than her own. “We were just taking a walk.” 

“Is everything well?” she asked. Though she aimed the words at Aerys, it was Jaime she was truly talking to. 

“We’re fine,” he told her. She knew better. The King didn’t stop the Realm’s business to take walks. If he couldn’t be in the throne room, it was because there was a problem of some kind. “Did you find the books you were looking for?” 

She nodded and turned slightly to find Arya. Knowing what she wanted Arya passed her one of the books almost before she could put her hand out to accept it. “Just a couple of books on dragons,” she explained, “I’m researching the dragon eggs I received for my nameday.” 

Abruptly her father came to life before her eyes. “Dragons?” he said taking notice of the one word in the exchange he cared about. 

“Yes, I wanted to learn more about them.” Inside the front cover was a detailed drawing of a full-grown dragon. Daenerys had admired it for quite a while when she saw it. She sought it out now to show her father. “See?” 

She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen him smile. The only exception was when he was burning someone, and Daenerys refused to count those. He smiled when he saw the fierce-looking green dragon on the page. “A dragon,” he acknowledged, “like me. Dragons will remake the world,” Aerys decreed. “They may be gone now, but they will return. They aren’t done with the world and man will tremble!”

She nodded without meaning it. She heard all of this before. Too many times. That he was a dragon in the shape of a man. That upon his death he’d be reborn as a dragon, and as a dragon he’d remake the world and rule over everything.” It was all pretty predictable at this point. 

Still taken with the dragon in the book Daenerys offered it to him. “Would you like to read this book Father? You could learn about dragons too.” 

“That’s a generous idea Princess,” Jaime said, “but I fear the King will be too busy to read much.” Daenerys had no trouble translating what he really meant – if they gave her father the book it was as likely to end up in the fire as on his shelf. 

When he gave her the book back, she immediately passed it to Arya, getting a jolt when their fingers brushed. She couldn’t appreciate it however because Aerys had more he wanted to talk to his daughter about. “Are you learning the sword?” he asked, sounding remarkably lucid for a man who was just staring at a drawing like a child. 

It took a moment for Daenerys to remember she was holding Arya’s sword. She could have told the truth, but she didn’t like her chances of explaining to her father that she had no desire to learn combat. She treaded carefully as she replied. “Not really, I have been practicing with a bow however.” 

Without asking Aerys plucked the sword out of Daenerys’s hand and although she tried to protest it was too late. He moved several steps back, making Daenerys fear that he intended to leave with it. She didn’t dare look at Arya, afraid of what she’d see. This was all her fault. She’d allowed Arya’s sword to be taken by a man she hated and now it was anyone’s guess if she’d be able to convince him to return it. 

The sound of the steel being pulled free was louder than it should’ve been, and it sent a chill down her spine. Daenerys wasn’t the only one affected by it either. The Lannister took a step toward the King with his hand on his sword and Arya stepped forward from the background to place herself between Daenerys and the danger. Even unarmed she was fearless. 

“That’s an impressive weapon,” the Kingsguard noted when he saw Arya’s sword. 

“Yes,” she confirmed quietly. Did he recognize it? He’d seen Arya wield it and had been asked to assess its worth by Tyrion, so he probably knew she was lying. Would he tell the King of her deception? 

Aerys took several practice swings with the very real blade, cutting vicious arcs through the air. The only one among them who didn’t seem alarmed was the Mountain who unmoved, literally. 

“Is this yours Daenerys?” he asked. 

To avoid lying she chose her words with care. “I had it commissioned, do you like it?”

“It’s very nice,” her father said, watching the light reflect off the steel. 

“It’s incredible,” Jaime added as he too appreciated the craftmanship. 

She felt pride knowing that a warrior as highly regarded as Jaime Lannister thought well of the sword she designed for Arya. Now if only she could get it back to its owner. 

He took another swing that nearly made contact with the Clegane, but the Mountain didn’t flinch. Did he have no regard for his personal safety at all? “Did you know our ancestors used to use swords like these when they rode on the backs of their dragons to slay their enemies?”

She did know that. As Arya was raised on stories of Robert’s Rebellion, Daenerys’s childhood was filled with the legends of the famed Targaryen dragon-riders. “Yes, it’s hard to imagine, isn’t it?” 

“We will see it again,” Aerys said, once again calm, having defeated whatever invisible enemies were present with Arya’s sword. “You should learn to wield this sword so that when the dragons return to us you can ride them and lead our armies.” 

The irony was not lost on her. Her whole life she’d been waiting for her father to think she was worthy of a position and a role to help shape Westeros. She used to dream of it even, of what’ he’d ask of her when she’d finally earned his respect, but never did she ever want this. He’d have made Viserys’s day by suggesting he lead Targaryen armies from aboard a dragon but Daenerys had no desire to do that. She’d do just about anything for the Realm, but not that. The fighting, the killing, that would always need to fall to someone else. 

While she was contemplating which of her missteps led her to this moment, her father was addressing Arya directly. “You’re her guard,” he realized, looking her up and down critically. Daenerys’s mouth was suddenly as dry as the Dornish desert. Could he see somehow, did he know who she really was?

“Yes, your Grace.”

“You know the sword?” Before Arya could respond Aerys placed who she was. “You do, I saw you fight. You were good.”

She ducked her head in a show of respect. “Very kind of you to say, your Grace. I am just a soldier.”

“Our enemies are raising armies against us,” he said beginning his next non-sensical tirade. “It is only a matter of time before they march on this city and try to kill me.” 

“Father perhaps now isn’t…” It was unlikely but she thought maybe she could take his focus off Arya and place it back on her instead. It didn’t work. He didn’t even hear her. 

“When the enemies of the Dragon are at the gate, I want my daughter to be strong. She needs to be strong, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Yes, your Grace.”

Visibly pleased with her answer Aerys nodded. “Very well. Teach Daenerys to fight as you do, ensure she’s deadly and strong.”

Daenerys’s heart sank. She had no desire to master the art of killing. “Father please, I don’t wish to learn.” He ignored her a second time. 

He extended his arms, passing the sword he had stolen back to the woman it actually belonged to. “This is important, girl. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your Grace,” Arya promised, taking back her blade without looking at it. Daenerys could only marvel at the convincing display in front of her. She’d been perfecting the act required of her for years and there was still much she could learn from Arya. Seeing her now, conversing with the King she hated, it would be impossible to know how she truly felt. She hid her emotions deeper than Daenerys had ever managed. It was quite an accomplishment. 

“Good,” he remarked almost casually. “Don’t disappoint me.” A moment later he twisted toward his daughter. “Train hard, I look forward to seeing your progress soon.” 

With nothing else to say, he turned and walked back the way he’d come. The Mountain led them, and Jaime secured the back of the formation. He at least managed a slight smile for the Princess and her guard before he was gone. 

The peaceful, relaxed morning she’d been enjoying felt very far away from where they found themselves. Arya set the books at her feet just long enough to secure her sword against her hip. Daenerys didn’t even consider commenting on its placement, it just wasn’t important anymore. 

R-C

She postponed it for as long as she could, even as she told herself the delay wasn’t intentional. They’d be leaving for Highgarden in a couple of days and Arya needed to know what Rhaegar said before that. When she met with her sister, she deserved all the information that Daenerys had. 

“Can you come sit?” She closed the book she hadn’t really been reading. Her dragon eggs, although important were inconsequential when compared to Arya. “There is something I want to talk to you about.”

Arya had been lounging, snacking on some of the food that was always available, but she was immediately on guard. Few conversations that began that way were pleasant. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, we’re fine,” Daenerys promised as Arya lowered down into the bench beside her. “I just wanted to talk to you about something my brother told me.” 

Arya was understandably wary. “Alright.”

“I asked him about the war,” she began, hoping to ease them into the information she learned about Lyanna. “About what caused it, and about what happened to your family.” 

Arya bounced off the bench with undisguised tension. She began pacing back and forth. She wasn’t walking the full length of the room and didn’t seem to have a set route. She’d take four steps then turn, then five, then turn, then two and turn. It all felt very chaotic and random. “Did you tell him about me?” she asked after a particularly sharp pivot. 

She knew Arya was stressed and with good reason, but the pain Daenerys experienced was no less real. Whether it showed or her face or Arya realized her misstep another way, Daenerys couldn’t say. She stopped walking and her anger was washed away by guilt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I know you wouldn’t.”

Daenerys offered a sad smile to thank her lover for the sincere apology, then she got them back on the proper path. “I told him I read about the kidnapping of Lyanna in a book.”

She grimaced at mention of Lyanna and Daenerys worried she’d begin pacing again. She held out her hand. “Sit with me, I need you here.” While it wasn’t a lie, Daenerys hoped framing it as something she needed would make Arya more inclined to comply. In truth, they needed each other if they were going to have any hope of getting through this. 

“He denied it didn’t he?” she guessed once she was sitting with the Princess under her arm. Daenerys snuggled in tight, hoping that the closeness brought Arya as much comfort as she got from it. 

“He did,” she confirmed carefully, “but not in the way you think.” She took a deep breath. There was no easy way to tell her what she knew she just needed to say it. “He claims he didn’t kidnap Lyanna, that she ran away to be with him.” 

“That’s a lie!” Arya erupted. 

She tried to stand but Daenerys used her whole body to keep her there. “I thought so too at first,” Daenerys admitted, calming Arya some with her agreement, “but he made a rather convincing argument.”

With Arya no longer trying to flee the bench they returned to a more natural sitting position. It was quiet for a while before she finally asked, “What argument?”

Daenerys decided it best to try and start at the beginning. “He said they met at a tourney,” she recalled. 

“They did,” Arya stated emphatically. “Father told me that’s where he noticed her. He presented her with flowers.” 

So far that matched with what Rhaegar told her. “My brother says they began to correspond after that.”

It was clear Arya wanted to say something, probably to refute what Daenerys was suggesting but she didn’t. She kept her teeth locked together and remained silent. 

“He says she did not wish to marry Robert Baratheon. She apparently told her father as much, but he insisted they wed.”

Something happened inside her lover as she heard this. Her tight jaw, her grinding teeth, her rigid shoulders, it all stopped. With an audible gasp, her whole body sagged, as if deflating. 

She had so many questions, but she bit her tongue hard to keep them in. She wanted Arya to have the time she needed to think and compose herself. When she felt it was safe, she dipped her toe in the dangerous waters. “Is… are you upset? We don’t have to talk about this, I just thought you’d want to know.”

“It’s not that,” Arya informed her, looking at her for the first time in several minutes. “I just remembered something.”

Daenerys was uncertain if she should ask, but ultimately, she didn’t need to. Looking straight ahead and focusing on a time long before Daenerys entered her life, she recounted a fragment of a distant memory. “I was young,” she said to start, “I snuck out when I was meant to be sleeping. My father caught me of course and took me back to bed. As he was tucking me in, I asked for a story. Sansa was already asleep, so he sat on the floor beside my bed and told me of his sister.” 

The turmoil of their current conversation aside, the memory sounded pleasant and she was glad Arya had it. “That’s sweet,” she remarked quietly. 

“He didn’t talk about her much, it was hard for him. He lost so much.”

Although Daenerys knew Arya hadn’t said it intentionally to hurt her, the words still cut. Ned Stark had lost a lot, years before he and his family were summoned to the Red Keep, a brother, a sister, a father and all because of Aerys Targaryen. She was ashamed to be his daughter. 

“I knew about the Rebellion by then, about Robert, so I said, ‘He must’ve really loved her to fight a war for her,’” Arya went on. “He said, ‘He did, he loved her so much.’ As he kissed me on the forehead and told me to sleep, I asked him, ‘Did Aunt Lyanna love Robert too?’”

Her breath caught in her throat as she listened to a story from another lifetime. “D…did he answer you?” she heard herself ask. Was Arya saying that her father supported some of Rhaegar’s account? 

“He said, ‘Little Wolf, people marry for all sorts of reasons, sometimes for love and sometimes for duty. Now close your eyes and dream.”

With a series of hard blinks Arya came back to the present. “I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys said reflexively. She hated being the reason Arya felt pain. 

“He never brought it up again, but maybe she didn’t want to marry Robert.” As she followed that particular road to its conclusion, she reached the first obstacle. “That can’t be right,” she said roughly, rejecting wherever her mind had gone. “If she wanted to go, then why not tell anyone, and why kill my grandfather and uncle for asking about her?” 

Those were fair questions and many of the same ones she asked when Rhaegar told her his side of things. That said, it was no easier for Daenerys to answer them. To help Arya understand, she’d have to confess that her father was the cause of all her misery. 

“They wanted to be together but didn’t think anyone would understand,” Daenerys summarized. “He was already married, and she was due to pledge herself to Robert. They ran without telling anyone.”

Arya didn’t need help envisioning the next part. “So when she disappears my grandfather and uncle ride for King’s Landing to see the Prince, to find out what he knows, only…”

“He wasn’t here.”

“No,” Arya finished grimly, “but the Mad King was.”

She winced at the moniker even knowing it was well-earned. Arya caught it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

She appreciated that Arya hadn’t said she didn’t mean it, because they both knew she did. “He was mad, and he is, if he can receive the worried kin of a missing woman and kill them as he did.” She believed that. What happened to Arya’s grandfather and uncle weren’t the first sins her father committed, nor the last. 

They both took a minute to recover before Arya restarted their history lesson. “If that’s true, Aemon wasn’t the product of a rape,” she noted quietly after some reflection. 

“Rhaegar says Lyanna was devastated after what happened to her father and brother. She refused to go to Essos as they planned, deciding instead to turn around in Dorne and return to Winterfell. She was going to pay her respects and he was going with her.”

“What!?” Arya’s voce grew louder as she digested that bit of unknown information. “They were going back?”

“Lyanna insisted upon it,” Daenerys verified with a nod, “she wanted to find your father and apologize but then she learned she was pregnant, and they decided to delay the trip.”

“It’s too far for any pregnant woman,” Arya agreed. She was surely thinking about her own journey, from the North to the South and then from King’s Landing to Sunspear. Daenerys’s heart ached imagining Arya making the trip when she was still just a girl and all alone. 

“He left Lyanna in Dorne and tried to stop the war,” she explained, knowing how that would sound to Arya. “He came back to King’s Landing and tried to arrange peace. Our father knew about Lyanna. but he didn’t seem to care.”

“He didn’t care?” Arya repeated in disbelief. She was likely realizing how avoidable it all was, just as Daenerys had when she first heard the truth. 

“According to Rhaegar, he believed his son was entitled to do anything he wanted, even kidnap and rape an innocent woman,” Daenerys admitted, each word dripping with eternal shame. “By the time Rhaegar got here, the army was assembling.”

“So, he decided to lead them?” Arya growled. Her accusation was entirely valid in Daenerys’s opinion. 

“I don’t understand it either,” she made clear from the beginning, “but Rhaegar thought that Robert would hunt your aunt no matter where they went, so he led the army to meet him.”

“What about everyone else?”

Daenerys sighed. She hoped one day she could tell Arya how she felt during her talk with Rhaegar. How she had asked many of the same questions and felt all the same outrage. She didn’t want her lover to think she agreed with everything Rhaegar did. Her brother was not blameless in this. 

“He told me he wrote letters to Robert offering peace, and he even tried sending couriers to your father, but after what happened to your grandfather and your uncle, he probably thought it was a trick.”

“Can you blame him?” Arya asked bitterly. 

She had been trying to give Arya space, so she could come to terms with everything on her own, but suddenly the distance was unbearable. “No,” she said grabbing one of Arya’s calloused hands. “I don’t blame him at all. I would’ve done the same thing in his place.”

Arya’s anger dulled and she released some of the tension she was carrying in her neck and shoulders. She rolled her head to the side to stretch the muscles, as was common after maintaining the same pose for too long. “What then?”

She didn’t want to keep going, she’d already caused Arya enough hurt, but they needed to finish. They’d come this far, there wasn’t much more to tell. “He sent word to Robert to meet at the Trident, and you know what happened then.”

She nodded. “What about Aunt Lyanna?”

All her life Arya believed Rhaegar Targaryen killed Lyanna Stark out of hate or greed. Even if that wasn’t the whole story, her brother played a role in her death. Would it change anything for Arya, if the end wasn’t as violent or as cruel as she’d been led to believe? “After Robert was killed the fighting stopped. It took months for Rhaegar to recover enough to travel and by the time he did Lyanna was ready to give birth.”

It was then that Arya made a connection between two details that had been previously separate. She could see it on her face when they came together. “Aemon told me his mother died right after he was born.” 

“She was weak, but held on long enough to meet her son, hold him and name him.” 

Arya smiled at that. “She named him? I always assumed Rhaegar did.”

“Me too,” she confessed, matching Arya’s expression, “but evidently it was Lyanna’s choice.”

Arya’s mood turned sombre quickly. “I’ve heard her story my whole life but never like that.”

“That’s understandable. Your father had no reason to trust Rhaegar or my father and no reason to doubt Robert.”

Daenerys was prepared to comfort Arya or deal with her anger, but what she got instead was something entirely unexpected. “Did you believe him?” she wanted to know. 

“I think your father told you what he believed to be true,” she said, hoping it would bring Arya some relief. “There is no way he could have known.”

“No,” Arya resisted, shaking her head, “not that. Did you believe Rhaegar. When he told you about Lyanna, told you everything, did you think he was being honest?”

Daenerys was stunned. Why did that matter? It was Arya’s life, her family, her thoughts were the ones that counted, not Daenerys’s. “Wha… Arya what I think isn’t important.”

“It is to me,” Arya corrected instantaneously. “I’ll never trust your brother, or your father, but I trust you. You were there, you saw his face, you know him better than I ever will, did you believe him?” 

The seriousness of the situation didn’t take away from the impact of her words. Arya trusted her. From the day she took the younger woman into her service, that’s what Daenerys had wanted. She and Missandei discussed it and the handmaiden was confident that once Arya knew her, she’d trust her and it turns out Missandei was right, as she generally was. She forced all of her romantic feelings into a box for later and tried to really think about Arya’s question. Did she believe Rhaegar? Arya didn’t rush her or repeat the question to try and force a response, she just waited and watched until Daenerys was ready to share what was on her mind. “I do,” she said, “the main parts I believe. I think he and Lyanna ran away and didn’t know what they were setting in motion when they did, I believe he loved her. and they didn’t mean anyone any harm.”

Knowing her so well, Arya could tell there was more to Daenerys’s viewpoint than that. “But?” she prodded. 

“But I think he could have tried harder to stop it. I think he hated Robert Baratheon and he didn’t care who got hurt as long as Robert died. I think he knew my father was sick a long time ago and he pretended it was fine, because doing nothing was easier than trying to fix it. I think it’s wrong to let Aemon suffer just because he doesn’t want to admit his mistakes. He has no intention of telling him about Lyanna until after our father is dead.”

“That could be years!” Arya shouted in defense of her cousin. “He won’t wait that long. He’s ready to go to the Wall today, with or without your brother’s approval.”

“I know,” Daenerys acknowledged. “I told Rhaegar I thought he should tell Aemon everything, but I don’t think he agrees.” 

“You could tell him,” she pointed out. “You don’t need Rhaegar’s permission.”

“We could tell him,” Daenerys amended. “I know him, he’d be thrilled to know you were part of his mother’s family. He adores you already.”

Rather than pleased Arya hung her head. “I know, I feel so guilty every time we talk, because I should tell him.”

Daenerys could relate to that. “Me too. If you wanted to tell him, I think he’d keep our secret.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Our?”

Daenerys can’t believe she said that. Yes, she started to think of her things as their things, but she hadn’t meant for that to come out. “Oh, I didn’t mean…”

Arya stopped her with a kiss. “I think he’d keep our secrets too, but I don’t want to put him in a position where he has to lie for us.”

That was reasonable. She tried to find a solution. “Maybe we can tell him right before you leave for Dorne? Once you’re gone there is no reason anyone would ask him about you, and he’d get to know where he came from, and that he does have some surviving family in the world too.” 

“I’ll think about it.”

Daenerys could tell there would be no more discussion on the subject for a while. She’d put Arya through too much already. She stood carefully. “We don’t need to decide tonight.”

“I’m exhausted,” she admitted simply. 

“I know, let’s go to bed.” 

She didn’t know how to help, she didn’t know if anything could after all they’d been through, but Daenerys did know that Arya wasn’t alone anymore. She had Daenerys and there was no place the Princess would rather be. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: One more should finish things in King’s Landing and get them on the road to Highgarden, plus Missandei’s long awaited return. 
> 
> Until then
> 
> RC


	34. Chapter 34

Since agreeing to let her go to Highgarden Daenerys’s father had been summoning her to the throne room frequently, almost daily in fact. She was there when it was decided her stay with the Tyrells needed to remain short without being rude. She was also in attendance when Tyrion and the quartermaster, a short, stocky man with poor eyesight presented the King with a list of everything packed on Daenerys’s behalf. She wasn’t asked for an opinion or consulted about decisions yet to be made, she was just forced to be present. 

As the date of their departure crept closer Arya could see that their time spent with the Mad King was slowly sucking the fun out of the impending trip. Where she’d once been willing to talk for hours about all the things they’d see or do, now Daenerys scarcely mentioned it. 

In one particularly long session with the court Highgarden was mentioned only briefly before the King veered off and began ranting about his enemies. It was bound to happen, he’d been relatively coherent and restrained in recent days, so it was logical that the end would come. What made this particular tirade harder to tolerate was that Aerys mentioned her family by name. “It’s just like before,” he screamed at the silent spectators. “I feel it now as I felt it then. Last time it was the Stags and the Wolves, the Starks and the Baratheons, who will betray us this time?” On and on he went, swinging back and forth between the past and the future, a future only he could see. 

When they were finally released, she was not only relieved, she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep the remainder of the day away. Somehow, she didn’t think she’d get that lucky. 

Words weren’t needed, she could tell Daenerys felt many of the same emotions that were plaguing her. Truthfully it was probably worse for Daenerys, in addition to Arya’s chaotic feelings she knew the Princess also contended with intense shame. She was ashamed of who her father was, of the things he said, and the things he’d done. It wasn’t her burden to carry, but she wouldn’t release it and nothing Arya could say would change that. 

Just when she thought nothing would improve the sombre mood that hung over them like a rain cloud, they opened the door to Daenerys’s bedchamber and found Missandei of Naath sitting in her favorite chair. 

A smile graced her lips for the first time in hours and that was nothing compared to Daenerys’s reaction. She froze in the doorway, gasping with her hand halfway between her waist and her mouth. She’d clearly intended to cover her shock but gave up early. Speechless the Princess glanced at Arya to confirm her eyes weren’t playing tricks. One slight nod was all it took to release Daenerys from her prison. She took off across the room, laughing as she went. Arya stayed where she was but heard fragments of half-asked questions. “…get back? How was it? Did you…”

She didn’t mind when they transitioned to Valyrian and she could no longer understand what was being said. Watching Daenerys cling to her friend Arya felt better, about everything. The events of the day weren’t quite the noose they’d been. Nothing she could have done for Daenerys would have meant more to her than this. What Daenerys needed was Missandei back. With each giggle, warm smile or affectionate squeeze Arya relaxed. In just a few minutes Missandei healed all the wounds hours in the throne room left on the Dragon. It was remarkable. 

She would have been content to stand apart for the rest of the night and just observe but Missandei apparently decided she’d been excluded too long. “Get over here,” she said in the common tongue. She lifted her arm off Daenerys’s shoulders to try and lure Arya with a wave. 

She approached and almost immediately was met with a soulful pair of chocolate eyes. Daenerys permitted her to turn away but maintained the connection by snatching one of Missandei’s hands. “Welcome home,” Arya said simply. “How was your trip?”

“Wonderful.” 

The first time Daenerys allowed Missandei out of her reach, it was so the handmaiden could snare Arya in a hug. She was strong, but in a quiet, unassuming way. Arya hugged her friend back and tried to pass along all the things she couldn’t say. ‘Daenerys missed you,’ ‘I missed you.’ ‘you belong here,’ ‘don’t leave us again.’ Arya wasn’t the only one with something to say. Unlike her, Missandei used her voice. “Thank you,” she whispered straight into Arya’s ear, “for taking such good care of Daenerys.”

She tightened her hold on the handmaiden. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” she insisted, “but you’re welcome. I’m so glad you’re back.” 

It was unfair to want the slave to stay in a place where she was seen by most as mere property. Missandei deserved her freedom and while Arya knew that and believed it deep in her bones, the truth remained – things just weren’t the same without Missandei there. 

Arya took her leave not long after the friends sat side by side. Daenerys continued clutching Missandei’s hand as if she feared she would vanish and Missandei didn’t complain. She understood what Daenerys needed and provided it. It was just one more reason to be awed by the young woman from Naath. In her final act before she left them to talk, Arya went to the cart and retrieved some wine and two goblets. She took them to the table. “Here you go ladies, I find stories are better told when there is something to drink.” 

Missandei smiled, grateful for the gesture but Daenerys took note of another detail. Her eyes bounced between the goblets, counting them again and again. “You aren’t staying?”

“You don’t need me lurking about,” Arya said, trying to make light of her desire to give Daenerys space. “I’m sure there are things you’d like to say that you’d rather I not hear.” 

“You don’t need to leave for that,” Daenerys noted, holding out a hand for Arya to take. 

She was powerless to resist. “I know how much you two have missed one another, so talk, laugh, drink. I won’t be far.” 

When she tried to extricate her hand, Daenerys’s fingers became a clamp, her nails digging in as she sought to keep Arya where she was. “You don’t need to go.”

“She’s right,” Missandei contributed. “I want you to hear all I have to say as well.”

She smiled. “I’ll gladly hear of your adventures, but tonight belongs to the two of you.” 

Daenerys was visibly conflicted. “Will you excuse me a moment?”

“Of course, Princess.”

Daenerys got up from her seat and went to the door with Arya in utter silence. When she did speak it wasn’t to try and convince Arya to stay as the guard expected. “Are you alright?” she wanted to know. “What my father said…”

“What he said doesn’t matter,” she replied with conviction. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks, he didn’t know my family, not really and he doesn’t know me.” 

“You’re incredible,” Daenerys declared before she pressed her lips to Arya’s. 

Acceptance seemed like the fastest way to get Daenerys back to the table with Missandei, where Arya knew she wanted to be, so she said, “Thank you.” 

“You’ll come back?” she asked suddenly, revealing some of the vulnerability she usually kept hidden. 

“Of course,” Arya promised. 

“Tonight,” Daenerys clarified. “You’ll come back tonight and sleep here?”

She hadn’t planned on it, assuming Daenerys might enjoy having the bed to herself for a change, but if she wanted Arya there, it was an easy problem to fix. She treaded carefully. “If you want.”

“I don’t want,” Daenerys announced passionately, “I need. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep alone.”

Arya nodded in understanding. “Then I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Until then.” She let the words hang between them as she stole one more kiss. This was longer and deeper. It was so good it made Arya question her reasons for wanting to give her friends space. 

R-C

For a day that was going so poorly, everything took an abrupt turn when Missandei returned. She missed her friend everyday and yet it wasn’t until she was hugging her again that she realized just how incomplete she felt with the other woman gone. 

They exchanged stories, eager to fill the other in on what they missed. Missandei spoke of the places she’d gone and the things she’d seen, while Daenerys’s tales centered around Arya. She told the giggling handmaiden how she’d been quite taken with the idea of shooting a bow. 

“Really? You enjoy it?”

“I do when Arya’s instructing me.”

“Ah, I understand now,” she acknowleged wisely.

“Enough about my lover, tell me of yours. Did Grey Worm enjoy himself?” Daenerys wondered as the remaining wine in the bottle sank dangerously low. 

Missandei’s blissful expression and the faraway look in her eye were endearing. Daenerys waited patiently for her to return to the moment. “He was so sweet,” she gushed, looking every bit the woman in love that Daenerys knew her to be. “He would hunt dinner for us and then lay out a blanket and we’d have a picnic under the stars, it was perfect.” 

Without permission her mind conjured up the scene Missandei was describing but it wasn’t she and Grey Daenerys was imagining under the stars, it was the Princess and Arya in the same situation. She wanted it, badly. 

As if she could tell where Daenerys’s thoughts had gone, she steered them back to Arya. “You two were close before I left, but now it’s difficult to tell where she ends, and you begin.” 

There was no rebuke laced in, just an honest assessment. “She’s great. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be this happy.” 

Missandei grinned at the admission and urged her to continue. “Go on.”

“I don’t know, it almost feels too good to be true. I never thought I’d be happy living here, but I am. I could be for the rest of my life as long as Arya is with me.”

She laid a soft hand over Daenerys’s. “There is nothing wrong with that.”

She chuckled humorlessly. “Have you forgotten that she is due to leave soon?” Violet eyes widened when she detected the bitterness she hadn’t cared enough to conceal. 

Before Daenerys could apologize for snapping, Missandei posed a question of her own. “Have you considered asking her to stay?”

She definitely had, repeatedly. She even tried to get the words out a few times, but it always felt so selfish. She knew Arya missed Dorne. Without meaning to she had stolen her from her life, right when she was achieving her dreams. She couldn’t snatch them away again, could she? This time it would probably be forever. If she were a random girl from a random family maybe she could convince Arya to stay, but wasn’t it cruel to ask someone to live in a castle so haunted by dark memories? Arya would have to surround herself with many of the same people who’d wronged her family so dearly. It wouldn’t just be for weeks or months this time, it would be permanent. 

“What are you thinking?” Missandei asked gently, stopping Daenerys from spiralling further. 

“It’s not important,” she tried, “tell me of the Stormlands, I’ve never been there.” 

The way she shook her head had curls bouncing. “It is important, and I want to listen.”

With a sigh Daenerys let it out, everything she was thinking, everything she was feeling. She told Missandei her hopes and her fears and when she was done her trusted handmaiden just smiled. “I think you should ask Arya what she wants.”

She made it sound so simple. “I can’t,” she whined like a child. “If she knows I want her to stay, she will, out of obligation. As much as I want her with me, I don’t want it to happen because she’s honor bound to follow my wishes.”

“Just consider it,” Missandei implored, “please, for me.” 

“I will.”

“Good, and the Stormlands were beautiful.”

Daenerys smiled and settled in to hear every detail of her friend’s journey. Her problems weren’t going anywhere. They could wait one night. 

R-C

Arya was sitting under the window, sharpening her sword when Missandei’s question found her. “Have you ever seen the Stormlands Arya?”

The memories came hard and fast. “Yes, once a long time ago. My father took us when he went to pay his respects to Robert.” 

Daenerys was immediately concerned that dredging up the past would be painful. “Arya, you don’t have to…”

“It’s alright,” she said, hoping a smile would strengthen the point. “It’s okay, it’s a good memory.” 

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Missandei added, looking far too guilty for Arya’s liking. 

“You did nothing wrong,” she assured her. She’d just recently returned to Daenerys’s bedchamber and found the women still swapping stories despite the late hour. Arya busied herself with her armor and her weapons, while keeping one ear on the conversation. This was the first time either Missandei or Daenerys addressed her directly. She set her sword aside and went to the table to join them. “It was a year before we were summoned to King’s Landing,” she recalled. “My father had made the pilgrimage before, but he never permitted us children to come. It’s a long way from Winterfell, so usually we stayed behind with my mother, except for that time.” 

“It’s amazing,” Missandei commented before Arya could get swallowed up by her past. “Very different from any of the other places I’ve been.”

Arya could definitely agree to that. “I thought the same thing, I got off my horse and ran amongst the trees while my brothers chased me,” she recalled fondly. That had been a good day. 

“The night after we reached Storm’s End, it began to rain,” Missandei explained. “It was unlike any storm I’d ever seen. Grey Worm and I stood at the window and watched the whistling winds stir up the water. At its peak, the waves were several feet high and they crashed against the shore and rocks with such force I feared we might be swept away, castle and all.” 

“I’ve lived here all my life, it’s not that far and yet I’ve never seen it for myself,” Daenerys commented sadly. 

From both sides Missandei and Arya offered comfort. Missandei rubbed her shoulder and Arya took her hand. “Lady Musgood extended an invitation to you actually, she said you’re welcome anytime.”

“That was kind of her,” the Princess said without meaning it. 

It was Arya’s turn to try and cheer her. “Perhaps after we return from Highgarden your father will allow you to visit the Musgoods.” 

“Highgarden?” Missandei asked. 

Arya pinned the Princess with an accusatory stare. “You didn’t tell her?”

Sufficiently reprimanded she looked down and mumbled the reply. “We were talking about other things.”

With a chuckle Arya turned to Missandei and filled in the missing pieces. “I hope you haven’t unpacked your bags, because the King has agreed to let Daenerys visit Lady Tyrell in Highgarden.”

“Lady Tyrell?” she repeated, clearly trying to place the name. 

“Lady Olenna, from the Reach,” Daenerys supplied. 

Recognition came quick. “Oh good, I like her.”

“Me too.” 

R-C

Daenerys had flopped down on her bed and was savoring the idea of a few minutes of sleep. She would never regret staying up late the night before, but none of the pleasant memories did anything to combat her exhaustion. 

As soon as her eyes closed the door to her bedchamber swung open and Arya marched in, her heavy steps easily distinguishable from Missandei’s lighter ones. She looked up just in time to see Arya toss something in the Princess’s direction. She made no attempt to catch it, and it landed on the bed beside her, bouncing several times before coming to a complete stop. She was contemplating going to sleep and dealing with whatever Arya brought later, but before she could act on that reasonable plan, her tired eyes settled on the object she was sharing her bed with. A sword. Why in the world would Arya throw a sword at her? 

“Get up,” she directed. At the foot of the bed she took hold of Daenerys’s ankle and gave a tug to try and encourage her to move. 

“Why?” she grumbled, rolling over so she wouldn’t have to see the sword anymore. 

“We need to train,” Arya decided, releasing her leg. “Your father instructed me to teach you to defend yourself, so that’s what I intend to do. Get up. It won’t take long to walk you through a few basic moves.” 

“He wasn’t serious,” she tried, knowing it wouldn’t work. “He didn’t mean it.”

“Yes,” Arya countered, “he dd. Come on, sit up.”

She complied, if only just. She sat up and Arya quickly set the wooden training weapon into her lap. “What’s this?” she asked petulantly, even though she knew. 

“I can’t give you Valyrian steel until you know how to use it,” she justified. 

A little more awake now, Daenerys’s frown had nothing to do with being accosted on the brink of rest. “That sword isn’t mine Arya and you know it.” She didn’t like where this was going. 

“Your father doesn’t think so,” Arya reminded her pointedly. 

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. I didn’t tell him it was mine, just that I had it made.” 

“Do you think he cares about the difference?” Arya pressed. “He wants you to wield this sword and he expects me to teach you how.” 

She stood up and moved toward her lover, holding the wooden weapon by the smooth unthreatening blade. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to tell him. I didn’t want to get into an argument.” 

“I know.” 

“Then why are you upset?”

“I’m not.”

Daenerys wasn’t ready to believe that. “Arya, I mean it. The sword is yours and it’ll always be yours. I told my father what he wanted to hear, because it’s easier than telling him the truth.”

“I know,” she said again. 

“But you’re still upset.”

“I’m not,” she said, offering a slight smile as proof, “but we do need to practice. Your father is expecting results. Who knows, you might have fun.”

She was tempted. Arya had made the bow something she wanted to learn, it stood to reason the same could be true for the sword. Nonetheless the idea of physical labor was less than appealing. “Not today,” she pleaded, “someone kept me up last night and I’m tired.” 

Arya’s postured softened. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she promised. She dropped the sword carelessly and used both of her hands to attach herself to Arya. She backed up slowly, pulling her along. “I just need some rest,” she said, as she lowered herself to the bed, “lie down with me, we can take a nap before dinner.” 

Arya put up little resistance as she was guided to where Daenerys wanted her, but when she heard what the Targaryen had in store for them, she chuckled darkly. “If I lie down with you, neither one of us will be sleeping. You can’t be tired again tomorrow, we need to begin your lessons.” 

Damn her for being so transparent. Arya knew exactly what she was trying to do. “Just a few minutes,” she bartered, “I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Arya wasn’t moved and it was visible on her face, so Daenerys kept pushing. “I’m not used to sleeping alone anymore, if you want me rested for tomorrow, you’ll need to join me.” 

She watched in delight as Arya searched for a suitable argument. When she couldn’t find one, she huffed and began making her way to her side of the large bed. 

As she went, she began unstrapping her armor. “Leave it on,” Daenerys instructed, “I’ll take care of it.” 

There was a wicked promise in those words, and she knew Arya heard it too. Even if she did, she climbed onto the bed without complaint and allowed Daenerys to begin stripping off her gear. 

R-C

Missandei was standing over a tray of fruits, crackers and cheeses, arranging a plate for Daenerys. “I don’t mean to ruin your good mood but while I was downstairs, I saw Daario.” 

She couldn’t hold back the exasperated sigh. “I know, he showed up the other night, knocking on my door.” She didn’t need the mirror to know her face displayed her sincerest feelings on the matter. 

“Was Arya here?” Missandei asked with concern. 

“It was after a long day of meetings, Arya and I were cuddled up near the fire and right as I was about to fall asleep, he’s banging on the door,” she recalled. 

“What happened?”

Daenerys was secretly pleased Missandei waited to bring this up until Arya had stepped out. She was gone to see if Tyrion had any appointments for her, granting her the chance to tell the story without needing to worry about Arya’s feelings. “I asked Arya to send whoever it was away.”

“He didn’t go,” Missandei guessed correctly. 

“No,” she confirmed, shaking her head. “He was screaming for me, demanding to be let in, and Arya kept refusing him.” 

“Oh no,” she said covering her mouth with her hand. She could clearly see where this was heading. 

“I couldn’t hear everything, because Arya was trying to be quiet, but I heard him say, ‘you think you can stop me?’ and the next thing I know they’re rolling around on the floor.”

With a horrified expression Missandei made the logical assumption, the same one Daenerys had the morning after. “He hit her?”

Daenerys felt obligated to get the facts right. “She says no, she claims he only tried to shove her aside and she resisted.” 

“That isn’t better.”

“No, it isn’t.” Daenerys agreed. “The next thing I know they’re both sprawled out on the floor like rugs. When it looked like they were going to get up and start again I spoke up.”

Though she tried to resist it, Missandei released a short laugh that was followed quickly by an apology. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny, it’s just…”

“It’s alright. I stopped them before blood was shed and I told Daario to leave,” she finished, summarizing the end of the encounter. 

“I bet he hated that,” Missandei said in a clear attempt to improve Daenerys’s mood. It worked. 

“I don’t care. The last time he was here I ended things with him, now he shows up out of nowhere thinking I’m going to invite him in for a drink just because he knocked?” She hadn’t meant for it to come out like so bitterly, but by the end that’s exactly what it was. She released all the frustrations she had with the situation. “He wants to accompanying us to Highgarden, he thinks I’ll change my mind.” 

“Are you considering it?” she inquired softly. 

“Of course not,” she replied a little too harshly. “I adore Arya and I’m happy. Daario will get over his disappointment and move on.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“He won’t have a choice,” Daenerys clarified, “I’m not going to be with him again.” 

Missandei was thoughtful for a moment so Daenerys picked at the snacks she brought. “Does he know about you and Arya?”

“Only you know,” Daenerys stated plainly, “to everyone else she’s my guard and my friend.” 

“Maybe if Daario knew you moved on, he’d stop pursuing you.” 

That was possible, but it was also possible he would wield the knowledge like a weapon and endanger Arya. She couldn’t risk that. Thinking about the threat he’d pose Daenerys was reminded of Jorah. “Did you know it was Jorah who told my father Arya deserted me?”

The handmaiden looked down at her lap. Daenerys knew what that meant. “You did know, why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“I didn’t know,” Missandei insisted. “I just suspected. I was going to tell you, but I worried I’d damage your friendship with him if I was wrong.”

“There is no friendship left,” Daenerys declared boldly. “I was willing to look past the fact that he manipulated me on occassion, but I don’t think I can forgive this.”

“How did you find out?”

“Arya told me, she thinks Jorah told Daario about the trip to Highgarden and encouraged him to come back.”

“That would be,” she paused to select the proper term, “devious.” For a woman of languages to struggle finding the appropriate word was telling. 

“Arya confronted him, and he blamed her, saying if she never left, it wouldn’t have happened,” she recounted, sharing the end of the story as she knew it. 

“What are you going to do?”

She was still thinking about her answer when the door opened, and Arya came in wearing a carefree smile, balancing a purse of gold on the back of her hand. “The Imp only has one appointment for you today.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Daenerys reprimanded gently.

In a flash Arya turned her hand over and caught the gold before it could fall. She then dropped to her knees in front of the Princess. “Apologies m’lady, how can I make it up to you?”

Missandei’s laugh did nothing to stifle the flood of lewd answers on the tip of her tongue. If Arya was repentant, Daenerys could definitely come up with a way for her to express it. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be now, there was business to attend to. “Give me a kiss,” she ordered, lifting out of her chair to make it easier for Arya to reach her. Once that was done, she finished her thought, “And tell me who we’re to meet today.” 

R-C

Most of the castle was in the throne room. It was little more than a formality, the King would wish her safe travels and see her off. Horses were ready, carriages were packed, it was time to go and Daenerys couldn’t wait. Unfortunately for her the King began with a detailed retelling of the long history between the Targaryens and the Tyrells. 

While she waited anxiously to actually leave, her eyes swept the crowded room. A few in the audience actually seemed happy for her; Aemon, Tyrion and perhaps Varys, it was hard to tell with the Spymaster. Rhaegar was visibly displeased that his sister hadn’t heeded his advice and called off the trip he deemed too dangerous. Near the Prince, Jorah kept trying to get her attention. She refused to give it. She hadn’t spoken a word to the knight since she learned he lied about Arya to her father. It had been days and she still wasn’t certain she could refrain from killing him if he were to wander within arm’s reach. Daario was also there. She had hoped he’d change his mind about joining her. He wasn’t a stranger to bold proclamations that never came true. Unfortunately for her, this seemed to be a vow he intended to keep. She assumed that once he realized she was not going to welcome him back into her bed that he’d disappear, but he was defiant, unwilling to accept the truth Daenerys was telling him. 

“Few have been more loyal to the Targaryens than the Tyrells of Highgarden. When most of the Realm turned their backs on their King and joined with that bastard Robert Baratheon, they remained faithful and fought beside Prince Rhaegar, helping to vanquish those who sought to replace us.” 

She wished she could turn and look at Arya, to smile or wave or do something to remind her she wasn’t alone, but she couldn’t, not with so many eyes on her. It had to be difficult to stand there and listen to the King talk about the rebellion when it ultimately destroyed her family. Much closer to her chair the Crown Prince was paler than his usual tone. She never would have noticed the darkening of his eyes before, never made the connection between him shifting in his chair and their father’s story, but now she did. Knowing about Lyanna, she could see this wasn’t his favorite topic either. 

When he was done, Aerys clapped his hands. “Bring in the emissaries,” he commanded. 

She looked to her brother in hopes of clarification. “Emissaries,” she whispered. Why was the King sending emissaries with her when she was just going to visit Lady Olenna? 

“It’s fine,” Rhaegar whispered back, dismissing her without ever looking her way. 

It wasn’t fine. If Rhaegar wouldn’t tell her, she’d find someone who would. “Wh… what emissaries Father?” she asked, trying to sound confident as she spoke without an expressed invitation. She didn’t accomplish her goal, but the results weren’t too bad. 

“Negotiations will be held while you are at Highgarden,” he explained. “Since neither I nor your brother can travel, I’ll be sending others to speak for me.” 

She knew what an emissary was. Naturally he’d assume she was too stupid to know their purpose instead of actually answering her question. Who was he sending? 

A throat cleared and Tyrion stood, stepping out in front of his father to stand before the King. Judging by Tywin’s expression he hadn’t known the Master of the Coins was going to do this. “Your Grace, if I may?”

“Speak.”

“In recent weeks Princess Daenerys has been assisting me in many aspects of my post. She attends meeting when I am required elsewhere, she dispenses gold and keeps meticulous records. More than once since she began donating her time to aid me, I have heard how skilled she was at reaching a consensus, how fair and generous her rulings. Every person she’s met with on my behalf has praised her abilities afterward. With respect might I suggest that you allow Daenerys to negotiate with the Tyrells herself? I know she is capable.”

Daenerys was no more prepared for that than Tywin was. Her face felt like it was being burned by dragon flames, but she kept her eyes up and her face even. What was Tyrion doing? She hadn’t struck bargains or negotiated settlements for him, she shared some tea and handed over purses of prepacked gold. That was hardly the same thing. 

It took a moment, but as she, Tyrion and everyone else waited to hear the King’s response Daenerys began to wonder, could she do this? Tyrion had laid out a pretty convincing argument and even if he exaggerated more than a little, she wanted to believe she was capable. 

“This is very unusual,” the King said from the throne. 

“Yes,” the Hand agreed. “I apologize your Grace, sometimes my son speaks without thinking.”

Daenerys had no one to blame but herself. She allowed herself to think he might agree. Of course, he would say no. Her father didn’t think she could be of any use to the Realm.

As Tywin was ordering Tyrion back to his seat, Aerys asked. “She aids you?”

Tyrion faced the King directly before confirming it. “Frequently and with wonderful results.” 

“Is this true?” her father asked her without warning. 

How was she to answer that? “I…um… I do try to assist Lord Tyrion when I can.” 

“Her help is the main reason the recent review of the treasury was completed on time, your Grace,” Tyrion exaggerated. 

“Very well then,” Aerys ruled. “Daenerys can participate in the negotiations, but you must go with her.”

Daenerys didn’t know who was more shocked, her or Tyrion. “Me, your Grace?”

Tywin had similar misgivings. “Are you sure that’s wise, your Grace?”

“They work together already. If she isn’t up to the task, your boy can step in and take over.” And there it was, even when he was doing something good, he couldn’t resist an opportunity to make her feel small and unimportant. Just as she had when Tyrion was singing her praises, she tried to pretend as though she hadn’t heard. 

“It would be my pleasure, your Grace,” Tyrion said with a bow of his head. 

As soon as the King released them, the room was buzzing with talk about the unforeseen turn of events. Aware of the line of people forming to talk to her, Daenerys stood from her chair, smoothed her dress and turned the opposite way. She looked for Arya and Missandei and found both women already on their way to her. She smiled. She went to find Tyrion, trusting her guard and handmaiden would find her there. 

She walked up on Tyrion receiving a lecture from his brother. “Father is livid,” he noted. 

Unbothered by this, Tyrion smirked. “All the more reason I should be on my way to Highgarden as soon as possible. I hear it’s nice.” 

Jaime’s hard expression softened a bit. “You hate farms,” he reminded the dwarf. 

“No,” he disagreed, “just the way they smell.”

“Be careful,” Jaime said, putting one of his hands on Tyrion’s shoulder. 

“I’ll be safer in Highgarden than I would be here,” he predicted. 

The Kingsguard laughed. “Father isn’t that angry.”

“I wasn’t talking about Father,” he clarified. “Did you see Cersei’s face? If I stay, I think she’ll try to smother me in my sleep…again.”

It was such a morbid comment, but like all things Tyrion said, he delivered it with certainty. It was hard to doubt him. Without permission a giggle slipped past her lips which she quickly tried to stifle. Luckily for her, neither Lannister appeared offended. Both smiled with Jaime nodding. 

“Here she is now, my travelling companion. It seems we’ll be working together in the future,” he said coming up to her and putting his arm around her. 

She lowered her voice to a level that not even Jaime would hear in the busy room. “Why did you do that?”

“Come with me,” he instructed, “I want to tell you a story.” She walked with him, step for step. As they moved Missandei and Arya did too. “Not that long ago I was in a humble off belonging to the Master of the Coin when a loyal and faithful guard came to see me.” As he said this, he looked pointedly to Arya, causing Daenerys to do the same. “During a riveting conversation on a wide range of topics we happened to discuss how tragic we found it that King’s Landing’s only Princess wasn’t given a larger role. We agreed it was a waste of her many talents to be overlooked as she was, but alas we didn’t see a way to change stubborn people’s biased opinions.” 

Was any of that accurate? He called it a story, but was it more? Had he and Arya really talked about her? Had they actually thought her skills were being squandered? “Tyrion,” he said looking down at him. With her eyes she tried to implore him to tell the truth. 

He got the message. “The Sand and I did have that conversation and we did wish you were involved in more aspects of governing, but as I said, we didn’t know how to achieve this.”

Arya chose then to add her voice. “Until this morning.”

“Until this morning,” Tyrion confirmed with a smile. “Why send emissaries to negotiate with the Tyrells when you can do it?”

“My father is sending you,” she reminded him. 

“Yes, but I won’t be the one deciding anything.”

Daenerys stopped walking and allowed Tyrion to get half a step ahead before she pulled him back. “What? Father said…”

“He said I was to step in if you needed help, which you won’t. I won’t have to do anything, which is good, because I don’t even know what we’re supposed to be negotiating.”

“Neither do I!!” she hissed. How had she gotten into this mess?

As panic started to swell inside her, Tyrion provided reassurance. “We’ll be fine, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Such a simple question. What was the worst? So many things! Her mind was swarmed with all of them and she likely would have called off the whole endeavour had it not been for Arya’s voice. “You can do this,” she said. “We’ll be with you the whole time.” 

Arya was right of course. She took a breath and then another, and another feeling better each time. She could do this. She wasn’t being sent to battle alone. She was going to Highgarden to see Lady Olenna. If they held negotiations during her stay, she had no reason to believe the Tyrells wouldn’t be fair and accommodating to her. Even if she was out of her depth and she clearly was, Tyrion, Missandei and Arya would all be there to help her. It wasn’t quite sailing around the world on her ship, but it was something. She would be leaving King’s Landing and doing so among friends. 

“I can do this,” she said, more to herself than to them. 

“Yes, you can,” Tyrion agreed. “Now if you ladies will excuse me, I must go pack, I hadn’t expected to be travelling today.”

Chuckling, she shook her head. One thing was for certain. With Tyrion there, the trip to the Reach wouldn’t be boring. 

R-C

Arya felt genuine happiness as Aemon and Daenerys talked about her upcoming trip. There were few people in Daenerys’s life more supportive than her nephew, he left the others to question her decision, or bickered about the timing, all Aemon cared about was that Daenerys was getting to do something she desperately wanted to. It endeared the young Prince to the secret Stark all the more. 

When they finished saying their goodbyes Aemon stepped up to her instead of taking his leave. He hugged her just as he had Daenerys and she returned the gesture. She still felt horrible hiding the truth from him, but today was not the day to reveal his parentage, there was enough on the calendar. 

“Have a safe trip,” Aemon said as he held her. “Take care of yourself.” 

“You too,” she answered back. 

He was quiet, though not quite whispering when he said, “You’ll keep her safe, right?”

Looking into those eyes so much like her own she saw it, his conflicted feelings. He wanted Daenerys to be free, but he worried too. “I’ll protect her with my life.” 

“I believe you,” he said at once, visibly satisfied, “just make sure you come back safely too.” 

Knowing it would be a lie to promise that, she chose to change the subject. “Don’t worry about us, you just keep practicing. Another month like the last and those Wildlings won’t stand a chance.”

His reaction to the compliment was reminiscent of the way her eldest brother Robb handled similar situations. A slow, almost lazy smile would stretch across his face, his eyes would shine with pride and as the words sunk in and took root, it would affect his whole body, causing him to stand a bit straighter and exude confidence and regal authority. He bumped her hip with his, sending her sword swaying slightly. “Keep that ready, I’ll need someone to train with when you get back.” 

Arya smirked. “Count on it. After weeks on the road and days with the Tyrells, I’ll be as eager as you.”

He laughed and shook her hand, wishing her safe travels one final time, before he excused himself. 

As soon as he had his back to them, Daenerys was gripping her arm. “Was what Tyrion said true?” she wanted to know. 

“Which part?” she specified carefully. 

“Did you and he really speak about me as he described or was he just trying to make me feel better?”

“That was true,” Arya stated factually. “It was our very busy day, when he had a lot of work to pass along.”

“I enjoyed that day,” Daenerys remembered with a smile. 

“I know you did. He felt bad that you were giving so much of your time to aid him, and I assured him that you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Daenerys made clear the moment there was an opening. 

“I know and I told him so, saying you enjoyed anything that allowed you to participate.”

“He said it was tragic that I was underutilized,” Daenerys noted slowly. 

“It is, Tyrion and I agreed on that and discussed it briefly but as he said, until this morning we hadn’t been able to change anyone’s mind, I guess he saw his chance.” 

“I can’t believe he did that,” Daenerys remarked, her cheeks turning pink as she became very interested in her shoes. 

“He is your friend and he cares about you,” Arya pointed out. “We all do, and we know you could be a big help to the Realm if they’d only allow it.”

She was a contradiction right then. On her face the sweet, contented smile of a friend who was finally beginning to realize how amazing she was, after being told repeatedly. That would have been appealing enough but then there were the eyes. The violet pools reflected emotions that extended well beyond friendship to desire and lust. “We should probably go check and make sure you aren’t forgetting anything,” Arya proposed. 

“Definitely,” Daenerys agreed almost breathless. She reached for Arya before thinking better of it. She folded her hands in front of her instead. 

Before they could make any real progress in their scheme to escape, others were there demanding Daenerys’s attention. The fun they might’ve been able to have behind the locked door of Daenerys’s bedchamber would have to wait. 

R-C

Rhaegar, Barristan, Tywin, Daario and Jorah were all there to make sure she couldn’t enjoy the morning in the way she wanted to. What did they want? She huffed in annoyance and folded her arms over her chest. She could be halfway to her room by now. She should be, but she wasn’t because all these pompous men wanted to try and tell her what to do and how to feel, as if she wasn’t a grown woman capable of deciding for herself. 

She didn’t have to wonder who would go first for long. After a moment it was wordlessly decided that the Hand of the King would start them off. “Safe travels Princess, I hope you enjoy your time in Highgarden.”

She smiled stiffly. “Thank you, Lord Tywin, I appreciate that.” 

She waited for him to go but he didn’t, he also didn’t say anything else. Just before Daenerys asked if there was something he needed, he gave voice to the message that really brought him to her. “I understand you and my son are friends.” 

She didn’t see what that had to do with anything, but she answered anyway. “We are.”

“Perhaps you are the sort of friend he needs,” the father opined privately. “You’re level-headed, calm, polite, respectful, all things it saddens me to say Tyrion is not.” She was debating whether or not to defend Tyrion, but apparently Tywin wasn’t finished. “I do not expect you to tame his poor behavior or recklessness, the Gods know many others have tried and failed, I only wish for you to exercise caution. Ensure Tyrion’s antics aren’t allowed to embarrass you, the King or the capital. I also do not wish for my son’s actions to make the negotiations more difficult, damaging the Crown’s relationship with Highgarden and the Tyrells.” 

What was she supposed to say to that? He was basically saying that given the chance Tyrion would ruin everything, either intentionally or unintentionally. “I…” she paused for a moment to decide how to finish the thought. Tyrion was her friend, and he’d done her a great kindness today. She couldn’t disagree with Tywin too openly, but she wouldn’t agree that Tyrion was a good-for-nothing fool. “I will not let anyone, or anything damage the relationship between my family and the Tyrells including Tyrion.”

She personally didn’t think Tyrion would allow her to fail, not after he worked so hard to get her the opportunity. By her estimation most of what he did was done to get the exact reaction from Tywin he was receiving now, the exasperated, frustrated father at wit’s end. 

“Thank you, Princess, be well.”

She wanted to ask Arya what she thought of that, but she couldn’t because Rhaegar was there. “It’s not too late Dany,” he said in place of a greeting. 

“Too late for what?” she asked before she ground her teeth together. 

“You can still call this off. I tried to warn you the other night.”

He did try to warn her, but she’d proceeded ahead anyway. She didn’t think anything he could say now would change that. In a few hours she’d be camping under the stars with Arya, on her way to visit friends in the Reach. “Why would I do that?”

“I know you think it’s going to be fun and games, but this is business,” Rhaegar warned her seriously. “I don’t think you’re going to enjoy yourself quite as much as you think you will.”

“And why’s that?”

He ignored her question outright. “Please, do yourself a favor and end this. Stay here, I promise you’ll thank me for it.” 

“I’m going!” she ruled forcefully. “Now do you care to wish me well, or are you going to stomp away and pout?”

“I do wish you well. I hope you have safe travels, nice weather and a friendly visit, I just fear it won’t be quite that simple.”

She was tired of Rhaegar’s cryptic horseshit. “I will take that under advisement.”

“If you insist on doing this,” the Prince said, “then you’ll take Ser Barristan with you. He’ll protect you and ensure nothing happens.” 

Absolutely not. She didn’t need her brother’s old knight, she had a guard of her own, one she liked far more than Selmy. She wasn’t stupid. She knew why Rhaegar brought this up now, rather than when they were alone. In private she wouldn’t hesitate to reject the idea vehemently and he knew it. He was hoping their audience would compel Daenerys to be more agreeable. He was about to be sorely disappointed. “Ser Barristan is a good guard and a fine man, but he is your guard.” 

“Yes, and I want him to escort you to Highgarden and bring you back safely.”

“That is not his job. I have a guard to do that,” she said putting her hand on Arya’s lower back and pushing her toward the Prince. “Surely you remember Arya?”

“One guard isn’t enough,” Rhaegar contended. 

“Which is why Grey Worm and one hundred of his best men will be joining us,” she informed him. She didn’t like refusing her brother, especially in public, but he was being unreasonable. He designed this ambush to try and get his way, he had no one to blame but himself. 

“I am still sending Barristan with you,” he decided unilaterally. 

“No, you aren’t!” Daenerys resisted. “This is my trip and if I thought I needed an extra guard I’d say so.” Aware Rhaegar was too stubborn to see reason, she addressed the knight directly. She held out a hand for him. “Please take no offense Ser, I sincerely hope you know how much I value you and your abilities, but in this instance, it is wholly unacceptable and inappropriate. I have a guard and she is more than capable of dispatching any threats that present themselves.” 

Ever the gentleman the white-haired knight offered a smile as he took her hand. “Think nothing of it, Princess, I understand.”

If he could, why couldn’t Rhaegar? Why was be being so difficult about this? “Ser Barristan, please do what you can to ensure my brother doesn’t worry too much. Make certain he eats at proper intervals, sleeps occasional and spends time with Aemon.”

Barristan leaned in, so they could speak more easily. “I’ll do what I can, Princess, you have my word.” 

Given that they were talking about her stubborn brother, she knew that was the best she could hope for. “Thank you, Ser, I know the task I’ve assigned you is far from easy.” 

They laughed together until Rhaegar grumbled in his own defense. “You know I can hear you.”

“Yes,” Daenerys said shifting her attention back to him. “I know you worry, and I appreciate it, but I don’t need more guards, I have plenty and everything is going to be fine.” 

He looked as though he was going to let the matter drop, but at the last moment he just couldn’t. “Why can’t you just do as I’m asking?”

“Because you aren’t asking, you’re demanding, and I am sick and tired of doing what other people say simply because they say it.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

No, he didn’t get to ask her that. How many years had he lied about Lyanna, about the war, about everything? “That’s funny, I was going to ask you the same thing,” she said, though her tone made it clear it was no laughing matter. “I’m a grown woman, certainly old enough to travel to Highgarden.”

He was silent for a time, before he finally commented, under his breath. “Fine, do what you want but mark my words, this is a mistake.” 

“Maybe,” Daenerys allowed, “maybe you’re right, but it’s my life and my decision. If I’m wrong, I’ll suffer the consequences.” When it appeared Rhaegar suddenly had more fight in him, she tried to cut him off. “I’ll see you upon my return.”

R-C

Arya was more than a little impressed by the way Daenerys stood up to her brother. The Princess she met in Dorne, never would have been able to resist that onslaught without relenting. That Daenerys would have given in the first time the Prince made a demand regardless of how unreasonable it was. She stood her ground, and she won. Rhaegar was limping away with Ser Barristan and Daenerys was still going to Highgarden. 

When Jorah pushed past Daario to be next Daenerys raised a hand to call for quiet. “Whatever this is, whatever you two want, It will have to wait. I have business in my chambers, if either of you wish to speak to me, you can do so in the sitting room down the hall. I will meet you there.”

Neither soldier looked pleased by the limitations Daenerys was implementing but there was little they could do about it. Jorah put his hand on Daenerys’s arm and looked at her with the upmost concern. “Are you alright Princess?”

Daenerys snatched her arm out from under his hand and glared at him fiercely. “Do you no longer understand the common tongue Ser?” 

I… I just wanted to ensure you were well, to see if I could be of assistance.” Though he started uncertain, by the end he sounded confident he was in the right. 

“I didn’t ask for your worry or your aid, I asked for your patience. If you wish to help, do I ask.”

She didn’t wait for either man who loved her to respond she just walked away with Arya on one side and Missandei on the other. 

“Are you hungry Princess?” Missandei questioned. 

“Not really, but I would love a glass of water.”

The handmaiden smiled. “Water it is then, I’ll bring it up.” 

“Thank you,” she said loudly, definitely wanting to make sure she was heard. 

“We can leave for Highgarden whenever you’re ready,” Arya pointed out, choosing to start with the best information she had to work with. 

“It won’t be soon enough,” Daenerys mumbled as they went. 

They were in the center of the staircase. Arya caught her eye and held it. “I can go begin preparations to get the men moving,” she offered. If Daenerys wanted to be gone already, Arya had no problem dedicating herself to that goal. 

She shook her head, inadvertently knocking a ribbon of silver hair into her eyes. Arya’s hand twitched as she wanted to wipe it away but she couldn’t, not yet. 

As soon as the door was closed Daenerys was on her. She didn’t even let the guard turn, pressing into her back and pinning her to the door as she feasted on her neck. “Don’t you want to leave for Highgarden?” Although she got the words out, they lacked credibility thanks to the long, drawn out moan that separated the words ‘want’ and ‘to.’’ 

“Not yet,” she panted between kisses that remained focused on Arya’s sensitive neck, “I have important business to finish here first.” 

As guard it was Arya’s duty to support and protect Daenerys in all things, including this. So, it seemed they wouldn’t be getting on the road to Highgarden quite as early as was estimated. 

R-C

Both were waiting when Daenerys made it to the sitting room. The large space could fit nearly fifty and was lined with chairs and benches of all sizes. Daario and Jorah were on opposite sides. It was hard to see the gap between them as anything other than a deliberate show of their dislike for one another. 

The few blissful minutes she’d been able to steal away with Arya, had helped ease her frustrations but seeing Jorah and Daario brought it back with a vengeance. Just the sight of them was enough to set her on edge. Guessing what they had to say only made it worse. 

When Missandei arrived with Daenerys’s water, the Princess sent her to make sure that things with the Unsullied were proceeding on schedule. Knowing the disciplined soldiers as she did, she had no doubt they’d been ready since daybreak, but that was no excuse to deny Missandei the chance to spend a few extra moments with the man she loved. Surely, she and Grey Worm could find something to do to pass the time until Daenerys and the others were prepared to depart. 

She marched into the room, wishing she could be taller, more imposing, more threatening. Both Jorah and Daario began to stand when they saw her. Jorah’s chosen chair was closer to the door, but Daario was quicker. They arrived in front of her at almost the same time. Daenerys was ready. “If either pf you are here to spout the same nonsense as Rhaegar, to demand, insist or cajole me into remaining behind the walls of the Red Keep, you can save your breath and my time. My mind is made up. I’ll be on the road within the hour.” 

“I would not try and stop you Princess,” Jorah said, emphasizing the “I” as if he were certain Daario came for that purpose. “I know how much you’ve been looking forward to this.”

He wasn’t wrong, but how could he know? They’d barely spoken in weeks. 

“I don’t want to stop you either,” Daario added. “In fact, I’ve spoken to the King and he’s agreed that I should accompany you and ensure your safety.” 

What did he say?! The blood of the Dragon boiled within her. He thought by mentioning the King’s approval he’d make it easier on himself, but he miscalculated. What was it about her that made the men in her life think they could dictate how things would be? If she wanted additional guards, be them knights, Unsullied or sell-swords, she would’ve said so. It was true that until recently she probably gave the impression that she was weak-minded and malleable, just going along with whatever anyone suggested, be it her father, Tywin, Rhaegar or even Jorah but those days were over. Even when she was compliant, polite and quiet, Daenerys had seethed under the surface each time her opinions had been marginalized and her feelings brushed aside. The only difference was that now she was willing to say so out loud. 

Daario was either oblivious to her rage or he willfully ignored it. “I’ve already left my things with the Unsullied, so we can leave whenever you’re ready Princess.”

She had little interest in listening to them bicker as if she were their favorite toy. “We won’t be doing anything. I don’t know how you learned of the journey to Highgarden, I don’t know what possessed you to come and I don’t know why you’ve remained after I’ve made my feelings on the subject perfectly clear, but you do not get to decide that you can come along.” 

The smug, amused look on Daario’s face incited her. She wanted to hit him. So much so that her hand balled into a fist at her side. He was treating her as if she was a child throwing a tantrum and he was merely indulging her. “I didn’t decide I would come along, the King did.” 

She was used to people using the King’s name to achieve their personal goals. It had been happening her whole life, but for one reason or another this time it pressed on her last nerve. She had made her feelings known, and he was going to do what he wanted anyway under the guise of obeying her father? Wasn’t this the man who swore he’d be loyal to her above all others, even the King? 

Jorah jumped in faster than she could. “Wait just a minute,” he said, looking at the mercenary. “That is…”

“Ser Jorah,” she said stiffly, angling herself to the knight slightly. 

Like a puppy, eager to please he smiled at her. “Yes, Princess.”

“I need to speak with Daario alone for a moment. Can you wait in the hall?”

“Prin…”

He was going to resist, because even the simplest order from her lacked authority. “Go Ser,” she said, pointing toward the exit. “I’ll join you there soon and hear whatever it is you have to say.” 

It was hard for Daenerys to decide which of them she hated more in that moment. Jorah who did as she asked, but grumbled the whole way, or Daario who was thrilled with this turn of events, grinning proudly as he watched Jorah go? 

When it was just the three of them Daario turned his focus to Arya. “The Princess said she wanted to speak to me alone.” 

Daenerys groaned. “Daario, stop. If I wanted Arya to leave, I would’ve told her so.” 

“You did tell her. You said you wished to speak to me alone.”

She threw up her hands, fist and all. “Why are you doing this?” She didn’t wait for the answer. “How many times are you going to insist we have the same disagreement?”

Her obvious frustration didn’t bother him. “Until you see reason,” he explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You mean until I do what you want,” Daenerys translated. 

He shrugged and tried to look charming. “Yeah, or that,” he said through a laugh. 

His casual attitude to everything she’d been telling him for days angered her. Why was what he wanted more important than what she wanted? Before she could reign in her tongue, she asked him that very question. “So, you’ve decided we’ll be together, even if I hate it?”

He set a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t hate it. We were great together and we could be again.”

She tore her arm free and stepped back, not accidentally moving closer to Arya. “Don’t tell me how I feel. You barely know me.”

For the first time Daario showed a bit of hurt. “How can you say that…”

“We shared a bed,” Daenerys retorted, growing more heated with every word exchanged. 

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Yeah and it was great.”

“What’s my favorite color? My favorite flower? If I could go anywhere and do anything what would I choose? What place in the world would I most like to visit? If I were Queen of the Seven Kingdoms what would my first order be?” She rattled off the questions quickly, leaving no time for a response, hoping Daario would finally see that what they had never extended past the physical. 

Like most things, he thought her outburst a joke. “I hope you’d name me the Queen’s consort.”

Daenerys was done. “Get out!” she shouted. 

Something about her fury amused him, and that only made her angrier. He chuckled. “What?”

“I said, go, I don’t need another guard, so consider yourself relieved of duty.” She spit the words through barely parted lips as she ground her teeth together in a futile attempt to keep control of her temper. 

“Your father disagrees. I can’t disobey his order.” Damn him. He was going back to that?! 

“Do you serve me or my father Daario?” she asked him bluntly. She waited but he didn’t have an answer. If he proclaimed his loyalty was hers, as he had before, then he’d have to abide by her wishes but if he pledged his fealty to the King above her, it would be harder to worm his way back into her bed, which was his objective. Their strange, unnecessary stand-off toppled Daenerys over the edge. “Fine! You want to see the Reach, you want to honor your King, come along, or don’t, I don’t give a shit but know this, we will never be alone together, I will not share a late-night drink with you, or go for a pleasant ride under the stars. Arya will have strict instructions to never allow you near my tent, let alone my bed. Whatever reason you truly have for coming along, it isn’t going to happen as you hope.” 

Much too late, she saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He seemed to finally see how serious she was. This wasn’t a game. She wasn’t playing hard to get, to entice him or heighten the thrill. She wasn’t denying him to make their reunion sweeter later. Before he reply, Daenerys issued an order. “We’ll be leaving soon. Go wait with the Unsullied.” 

“Are you okay?” Arya asked. 

She nodded, fully aware she wasn’t convincing either of them. “Can you go and get Jorah please.” She sounded tired already and they hadn’t even left. 

When Arya came back with Jorah in just seconds it occurred to her that the knight had probably heard some or all of her exchange with Daario. She didn’t care. She’d always tried to keep her relationship with Daario secret, not only from her father and brothers, but from Jorah too. Part of her always assumed he knew, though they never discussed it it. At the time she thought of it as a kindness, since she knew how the knight felt for her, but today, she was much less concerned with Jorah Mormont’s pain. 

“Are you alright, Princess?” he said, rushing to her side. 

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Now what business do you have with me, and by the Gods keep it brief, I’d like to be on my way to Highgarden sometime before midday.”

“Of course,” he said initially, before he went and did the exact thing she was hoping to avoid. “I heard what…”

“I don’t wish to speak of it,” she snapped. “If that’s all there is, I’ll bid you good day.” 

He put his hand on her arm, halfway way between her shoulder and elbow. “No, no, that isn’t…” he trailed off. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright after everything.” 

She waited for him to get to the true point he wanted to make, and he looked inclined to do so, but then his eyes dropped from her face slightly and stayed there. She looked down too, wondering what he was doing. “You aren’t wearing the necklace I gave you.” 

No, she wasn’t. As nice as the golden chain and the attached stones were, she’d never put them on. Those were gifts from a man to the woman he loved. She just couldn’t bring herself to wear them. If he saw that chain around her neck, it would only encourage the feelings she didn’t reciprocate. On top of that, how could she wear a token of love from a man when every piece of her heart was rapidly becoming property of Arya Stark? 

“Oh, no, I’m not. A lot can happen on a trip such as this and I didn’t want it to be lost or damaged.” It seemed reasonable, she hoped he believed her. 

“You should still wear it,” he said leaning in a bit. “It would look beautiful with that dress.” 

She did not want to do this. “What did you need Ser?”

It took a moment for him to shift from the personal topic he wanted to discuss to the professional one. “I wish to request your permission to accompany you to Highgarden,” he said formally, bowing his head when he was done. 

Him too? First Rhaegar wanted to send Barristan, then Daario and now Jorah. The Gods must wish to make her as mad as her father. “You are no longer my guard.”

“I know that,” he insisted in a hurry. “I am not trying to take her place, I just wish to keep you safe.” 

“What of your business here?” she wondered. He was still doing Viserys’s job, which meant he had little business, but she wanted to see how he’d answer her. 

He smiled, as if expecting that. “I have cleared the Prince’s schedule for the coming days. No one will miss me, and the Realm won’t suffer any either.”

It was clear he was making an effort, likely learning from the mistakes of the past, both his and others. Instead of trying to force her to accept his protection, as Daario did, he was asking. He made an effort to say it was not his intent to replace Arya and he didn’t dismiss her question outright by claiming Viserys had no official duties to keep him busy. He was learning and it had her leaning toward accepting his offer. 

It was subtle, and if she wasn’t so bound to Arya it wouldn’t have been enough to change her entire thought process, but it was. As Jorah waited to hear his fate, Arya shifted her weight. Daenerys felt her moving closer more than she saw it from the corner of her eye. That simple act had Daenerys thinking about Arya. Thinking about Arya while looking at Jorah reminded her that the man in front of her had actually tried to have her lover killed, because he was jealous. 

Her face hardened and she set her lips in a thin line. No, she would not bring Jorah along with them. Even though she was fairly confident he wouldn’t make another attempt on Arya’s life, Daenerys didn’t want to be near him. “As I told Daario, I do not require more guards.” 

“Please Princess,” he pleaded. 

“You asked and I’ve answered. We are done here.” 

She may have been finished but Jorah wasn’t. The compliant, concerned friend he’d been since entering the room was replaced by a figure she knew too well. This man believed if he asked enough times, in enough ways, she’d eventually bend to his will. 

With a nod to Arya she prepared to leave. The rest of her party was waiting, and they couldn’t set out without the Targaryen. 

When Jorah reached for her, Arya slipped herself between them, so his hand met with armor instead of silk. “Princess… Daenerys, I just want you to be safe. I only want to keep you safe.” 

She could’ve continued out the door, she wanted to, but something made her to turn on her heel and go back. Arya removed herself from between them when it was clear Daenerys had more to say. 

Thinking she was changing her mind, or at least considering it, Jorah pressed his earlier point. “You are too important to put at risk,” he said, “I won’t interfere in any of your business, all I want is to protect you.”

He should worry far less about her safety and more about his own. He didn’t yet realize how close he was to death. She smiled grimly as she imagined telling him that the only reason he was still alive to annoy her was because the woman he tried to kill urged caution and restraint. He wanted Arya dead and she saved his life. 

It wasn’t just Jorah, although he was far from innocent in this, it was everything. Her father tried to send emissaries on what was supposed to be a friendly visit, Rhaegar tried to foist Barristan upon her, Daario ran to the King to get permission to go and now Jorah was acting like a good friend and a faithful guard when he had lied to try and arrange Arya’s execution. It was too much. 

It was happening before she knew it. She didn’t give any commands to her limbs and yet they worked in unison. Her feet took her closer to Jorah, until she was standing close enough to see each individual dent in his armor. Her arm reached up and grabbed the edge of his dark breastplate, curling her fingers around the shaped steel, pulling him down. She didn’t waste a moment considering how shocked or confused the knight must be, she was too furious. She pulled as hard as she could and while she moved him a little, it was like trying to uproot a tree. Luckily for her, when Jorah realized what she wanted he accommodated her. She would have enjoyed it more if she could yank him down the whole way, but she couldn’t be picky. 

When he could see into her eyes, she had no doubt that her rage was evident. “Princess…” he began. 

She didn’t hear it over the blood thumping in her ears. “You wish to keep me safe?” she asked, her tone turning it into a taunt by the final word. He nodded anyway. “Who is going to protect you?”

“I’m in no danger I can take care…”

“You are in danger,” she disagreed, “and you can’t protect yourself from me.” She savored the look on his face. “Unless I heard it wrong and you didn’t tell my father that Arya deserted her post when you knew full-well I was protected.” 

“Princess…” he said again as his face changed color. 

“Yes or no!?” 

Rather than answer the Princess Jorah looked for Arya, contempt clear in his features. “You told her?” he accused. 

Arya had told her, but Daenerys refused to allow the treacherous knight to place the blame on her. “She didn’t!” Daenerys yelled, pulling his attention back to her. “You just did.”

“Wh… Daenerys, I…”

“I heard a rumor that perhaps it was you who told Father that Arya had deserted. I didn’t want to believe it, but I suppose now I have my answer.”

She released him, adding a little shove to convey her anger. “How many people have you watched my father kill Ser?”

He had the good sense to look away. “Uh,”

She wasn’t going to let him remain silent through this. “A lot?” she pressed. “I’ve seen him kill a lot, and there have been times when you’ve gone without me, so I’d imagine your number is even higher than my own.” When he didn’t respond she put him on the spot. “Answer me, have you seen him kill many men, women and children?”

“Yes,” he answered while studying the floor. 

“So, you knew then that if you accused Arya of a crime, it would likely end in her death?”

She didn’t blame him for not wanting to say it, the truth was ugly, but Daenerys didn’t care. She wasn’t leaving until he admitted what he’d done. 

“Do I need to repeat the question? Did you know my Father would most likely kill her regardless of her innocence?”

This got Jorah to look up. “She wasn’t innocent,” he contended, “she did leave you. Her reasons don’t matter…”

“I disagree,” Daenerys spat as she fumed, silencing him. “I think her reasons matter a great deal, as do yours. She left me that day to go into the city and purchase me a nameday present. She didn’t have to do that, I didn’t ask or expect her to, but she did and while I would never want Arya in danger, after seeing the gift she selected for me, it’s hard not to think everything we endured that day was almost worth it.” By the end, she wasn’t speaking to Jorah anymore, she was looking at Arya, hoping she could see the affection, the gratitude and the love in her eyes, because it was love, even if both of them expertly danced around the word. 

“I’m sorry Princess, I regret what I did, I wasn’t thinking.” 

Such a predictable excuse. When he was all out of anger and justifications, he moved on to an apology he didn’t mean. “Why are you talking to me, I’m not the one you wronged.” 

She waited the long seconds it took for Jorah to comprehend what she was saying and act. He looked to Arya and through thinly veiled disgust his mouth opened to speak. Daenerys didn’t let it get that far. “Whatever you have to say to Arya, you can tell her when we return from Highgarden.”

“No,” he said in a quiet gasp, realizing he wouldn’t be able to salvage this. 

“Yes,” she confirmed. “It’ll give you plenty of time to think about what you want to say.” To Arya she added, “Everyone is probably waiting for us.”

Arya nodded. “Follow me, Princess.”

As she left Jorah behind, after finally getting the chance to say what had been choking her for days, she didn’t feel any better. Her rage still burned, and she was tempted more than once to go back and do more than talk to the knight who almost took so much from her. 

Arya took her hand, causing Daenerys’s steps to falter as she looked at the guard. When had she fallen back to walk at Daenerys’s side? She hadn’t noticed. “Just breathe,” she advised. “In and out, that’s it. Nothing else matters.” 

Inclined to believe almost anything Arya had to say, they would need to disagree about this. She felt the weight, the warmth and familiarity of Arya’s hand in hers and she knew, there were things, so much more important than air. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Next up Highgarden. Poor Daenerys had to endure a lot in this chapter. I think she handled it well. What about you? Sorry for the delay posting.


	35. Chapter 35

From the moment they exited the gate of King’s Landing Daenerys was shook by feelings she couldn’t name. It was as if she didn’t have enough eyes to see everything she wanted to, not enough arms to reach out and touch every item of interest. It didn’t make sense. She’d been outside the city before. She’d travelled before, but those trips were either brief, or overseen by a member of her family. This time she was the only Targaryen in attendance. She didn’t have to worry about her father’s ramblings, Rhaegar’s over-protectiveness or Viserys’s petty anger. In the coming days her word was the one that mattered. It was her orders the men and woman around her would be followed to the letter. It was a heady, indescribable sensation. 

They rode a little longer than was standard to compensate for the late start. When they made camp, Daenerys was surprised by how smoothly it happened. In short order, an empty clearing became a fully-functional, temporary city with food cooking over fires, tents raised, guards patrolling and horses grazing. 

After they ate together, Tyrion, Missandei, Grey Worm, Daenerys and Arya toured the camp while the handmaiden helpfully pointed out where everyone was to sleep. Too observant for his own good Tyrion noticed that a separate tent hadn’t been raised for Arya. “Do Dornish not rest,” she asked as they strolled, “or do you prefer to be under the stars?”

Daenerys willed her cheeks not to darken as her eyes flickered to Arya. She trusted Tyrion but didn’t know if she wanted to reveal their potentially dangerous secret to him. She worried Arya might be annoyed by the pestering, but she appeared unbothered. “I’ll share with the Princess’s,” she declared as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You will, will you?” With an arching eyebrow Tyrion angled himself toward the Targaryen. “Did you know about this?”

Of course, she did. She wouldn’t allow Arya to sleep anywhere else, not in King’s Landing, Highgarden or any place in between. “It was a compromise we reached in regards to my security, she justified. 

Tyrion gave it some thought, smiled and then nodded at the guard with the sun on her chest. That lasted only a moment before something else occurred to him. “Is it dangerous here?” he asked the group. “While Arya is protecting you, who will be making sure the rest of us live to see the morning?”

He was joking, but humor was not something taught to the Unsullied of Astapor. Grey Worm hear his comment and assumed he was truly concerned about his welfare. “I will send one of my men to your tent.” Grey Worm proposed in that deliberate, slow way he spoke the common tongue. There were no errors however, a testament to his dedication and Missandei’s skill as a tutor. 

Tyrion’s eyes widened a bit and all traces of humor vanished. He quickly began backtracking, to mend the damage. “Oh no, thank you, but I’ll be fine. I’m sure the men you have guarding the perimeter will be enough.” That was true. The road between the capital and Highgarden could have the occasional bandit, but nothing scores of Unsullied couldn’t handle. 

“None will get in,” he decreed confidently. 

Tyrion smirked. “I feel better already.” 

R-C

Arya exited the tent first. Daenerys was still sleeping. She smiled as she thought back to the night before. Daenerys fretted over whether Tyrion knew, but Arya eased her panic with a kiss that led to more. If Tyrion knew, so be it. 

Before they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms Arya asked a seemingly random question, except it wasn’t. “What’s your favorite flower?”

Lying with her back against Arya’s chest she hummed. “Wha… what?”

“Your favorite flower, I don’t know what it is.” 

Daenerys rolled slowly, making a concerted effort to stay awake long enough to solve the riddle. “Orchids,” she said when she was facing the soldier. “Why?”

“I knew all the answers,” Arya explained in a rush. “All the questions you asked to prove Daario didn’t know you, I knew all of them except that.”

With a humorless chuckle Daenerys pecked at her lips, before returning to her original position. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“No!” Arya lied vehemently, not wanting to admit how much not having all the answers bothered her. Her embarrassment warred with her desire to tell Daenerys the truth and in the end the truth won. “Yes, maybe a little.” 

She squirmed, pressing herself into Arya more completely. “No one in the world has ever known me better than you do Arya Stark, even if you didn’t know my favorite flower.” An instant later her tone shifted to one of more regal authority, even though it was tainted by drowsiness. “Now sleep, tomorrow will be busy.” 

She was brought from her memories by the sound of footsteps. She looked up to see Tyrion stepping from between some trees. “Pleased to see you survived the night, even without an Unsullied in your tent.”

“Speaking of, shouldn’t you be with the Princess? What if danger befalls her while you’re out here?” 

The log she was sitting on was positioned in front of Daenerys’s tent with purpose. “Anyone who wants to get in there will need to get past me first.”

“What about him?” Tyrion asked. Arya followed his eyeline to where Daario was sitting around a fire with a half dozen Unsullied. 

“Especially him,” she remarked coldly. 

“I heard rumors that they were once quite close,” he said, clearly trying to get her to confirm what he’d been told, probably by Varys. 

Arya kept her face empty. “That was before my time.”

“Mine too,” he conceded, “but you were there when he proclaimed his love for her in the training yard, were you not?”

She shook her head. “Gossip spreads as fast as wildfire,” she acknowledged under her breath. 

Tyrion didn’t miss it. “Faster.” 

Whatever point Tyrion was trying to make was left undiscovered, because Missandei exited her tent and immediately moved to Daenerys’s. “Is the Princess awake?” she asked the guard. 

“She wasn’t when I came out, but she did mention wanting to get an early start.” 

“I’ll check,” she said before slipping through the opening. 

“And I’ll check on breakfast,” Tyrion offered. “Thank you for the company.” 

She felt as though she’d just been tested, and for the life of her she wasn’t certain how she’d done. She liked Tyrion and hoped he wouldn’t cause problems for them, but she couldn’t deny she was wary. He was Tywin’s son.

R-C

Daenerys was sitting next to Missandei, eating their dinner when a shadow warned that someone was behind her. She immediately thought it was Arya, -who left a few minutes earlier to walk a patrol with Grey Worm and stretch her legs – but the figure was too tall, too broad. “Mind if I join you?” Daario asked politely. He didn’t wait for approval before he lowered himself down beside her. 

“Why ask if you’re just going to do as you please anyway?” 

“No need for that,” he said, raising the hand that wasn’t holding his bowl in a show of surrender. “I just want to talk, you know, like we used to.” 

Daenerys didn’t try to hold back her sigh. Why did he insist on doing this? “I heard what you had to say back at the keep,” she reminded him. “You made it clear that I didn’t have a choice and that you were coming along whether I wanted you to or not. Congratulations you were right.” 

The heavy dose of sarcasm seemed to annoy him. “Is it so bad that I’m here? I don’t know what happened to you but…”

She didn’t let him finish. “You can stay, because I’m leaving.” She set her half-filled bowl down and stood. She thought she’d be going alone, but Missandei was willing to forgo the rest of her food in a gesture of support. As they moved away from the sell-sword Missandei wanted to know, “Where are we going?”

‘Anywhere’ was what Daenerys intended to say but her mouth betrayed her, the actual reply was different. “Arya,” she said instead. 

Missandei smiled. “To Arya then.” 

R-C

When Tyrion entered her tent later, he had the decency to bring wine. Until their second glasses he kept the conversation light, easy and almost trivial. Then he got to the reason he’d come. Is it true Daario came to Westeros to kill you?”

“Yes,” she acknowledged, taking another sip. 

“I never imagined a Targaryen would forgive such an offense.”

She chuckled, an empty sound devoid of real amusement. “He delivered my father severed heads on a day when that was precisely what the voices were whispering about. He thought Daario was sent to him by a dragon.” 

“That’s…” he stopped and as time dragged on it became clear, he didn’t have an appropriate word for what that was. 

“Yes, it is,” Daenerys agreed. 

She didn’t miss the extra long gulp Tyrion took after that. “I wasn’t speaking about the King,” he clarified, “to welcome a man into your life after he admits he intended to assassinate you.” She didn’t say anything, which seemed fine for Tyrion. “And then for that assassin to fall in love with you.” 

“I can’t control how he feels, Tyrion, believe me I wish I could.”

“How do you feel?” 

Although he had never done anything to betray her or harm her, she hesitated telling Tyrion the truth. Would her secrets stay secret if she told him, or would they travel, first to a few and then to the world? 

“I’m not sure,” she said, fully aware it wouldn’t satisfy the inquisitive dwarf. 

“I know a thing or two about inappropriate relationships and disapproving fathers, I might be able to help. I don’t know him well, but you could do worse than Daario.” 

“He just doesn’t listen,” Daenerys complained, finally letting it out. She’d whined to Missandei and Arya, but it was nice to be able to confide in someone else. Strangely she thought of the ship she’d never have, the one with the room for her many friends. Would Tyrion occupy one of the cabins? She kind of hoped so. “We were together,” she admitted in a whisper before reaching for her wine, “for a few months but I ended it a while ago.” 

“Ahhh,” Tyrion said as if all was suddenly clear to him. “So, he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer?”

“He won’t,” she confirmed. “I didn’t ask him to come here, he went directly to my father for permission.” 

“That explains a few things,” he noted. “I was wondering why you’d choose a man you can’t stand being near.” 

“I don’t want him here,” she confessed bluntly, “but he thinks if he stays close and asks enough, I’ll change my mind.”

“Any chance that will happen?”

“None,” she swore, thinking of Arya and smiling. 

He contemplated her dilemma as he refilled the wine again. “You know, in the past I found myself in a similar situation once or twice and I’ve learned that showing your former lover that you have a current lover is often an effective way of convincing them to give up and move on.” 

Missandei advocated for something similar once, but she couldn’t do that. Revealing her relationship to Arya would be too dangerous. Daario was impulsive and volatile. She’d like to think he wasn’t vindictive enough to hurt her like that, but Jorah’s betrayal was fresh in her mind. There was a time when she would’ve sworn Jorah Mormont would never try to have her friend executed, but it happened. 

Oblivious to her chaotic and negative thoughts, Tyrion continued on, “Should you decide you wish to use this strategy to dissuade him, I’d happily lend my services and fill the role of the other man.”

As was often the case with this particular Lannister, Daenerys was almost positive he was teasing but there was just enough doubt to make her uncertain. That doubt and his talent as an actor left her scrambling to find a foothold while she thought up a reply. “Very generous Lord Tyrion.”

“It’d be my pleasure, Princess.” He emptied his glass and stood. “I am at your service, you need only ask, even if you require someone to kiss you.” 

The exchange had her smiling, but any happiness she felt became despair when she noticed Arya waiting outside the tent for the Master of the Coin to leave. They spoke briefly, though Daenerys couldn’t hear what was said. When Arya didn’t immediately enter the tent, Daenerys called to her. “Arya can you come in here please?” 

One look at her lover’s face and she knew she heard enough of her conversation with Tyrion to misinterpret it. “Yes?”

“How long were you waiting?” 

Arya stared through her, unmoving, unblinking, just staring. She grabbed Arya’s hand and worked the fingers until they were spread out instead of balled together. “Long enough to know I need to kill the Imp,” Arya remarked eventually. 

“You don’t,” Daenerys insisted. “Tyrion came to check on me because Daario ambushed me and Missandei at dinner.” 

This brought a flicker of the real Arya back to her. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, he just tried to force me to talk to him, so we left.” 

Arya was uncertain, fearing there was more. Daenerys could see in her eyes that despite the description of the encounter, her concerns remained. “That’s it?”

“That’s it, I promise. Missandei and I got up almost as soon as he sat down.”

“Where does the Lannister fit in?”

“He must’ve seen it, or heard about it,” she guessed, “he came by with wine to talk.”

“About kissing you?”

She sighed. “Not exactly. I told him about my past with Daario and he told me his favorite strategy for scaring away former lovers who want to be current lovers,” she recalled. 

“Which was?”

Daenerys sighed again. “He advised that I let Daario see me with someone else.”

“Does he know about us?” Arya asked unexpectedly. 

“I don’t think so, he offered himself if I needed someone to kiss.” 

“How noble,” she muttered sarcastically. 

She pushed and pulled until Arya was sitting where Tyrion had been. Before she could protest Daenerys dropped into her lap. “The only person I will be kissing is you.” 

“What about Daario?”

Daenerys shrugged before their lips connected. “What about him? Whether he is gone when we wake or serves Targaryen Kings for the next fifty years, he and I are never going to be together. He needs to accept that.” 

R-C

After a morning in the carriage Daenerys was riding her horse next to Arya. Highgarden was in sight. They were still a distance away, but she could see it. Her own excitement was tempered by the tension she could feel pouring off her lover in waves. 

She steered her mount a little closer to Arya’s. “I won’t ask if you’re okay,” she said quietly, “but can you at least promise to tell me if there is anything I can do?”

As Daenerys’s words settled, Arya pulled up a little harder and caused her stallion to break the steady pace they’d been enjoying. Daenerys smiled as she looked at the horse she bought. She still hadn’t told Arya she could keep it. It would have to be another day because this one was already busy enough. 

“Hm?” 

Daenerys wasn’t the least bit hurt that she wasn’t paying attention. She could only imagine how frantic Arya’s mind was - memories of the past, worries for the present, questions about the future all mixed together. She was closer to her sister than she’d been in years and every step carried them closer still. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, I’m sorry, I’m just worried.”

Rationally she knew all the reasons Arya had to be concerned. Valid or not, she was unnerved by the rare show of weakness. Arya was usually so supremely confident. “What about?” She wasn’t stupid enough to not know, she just wanted to give Arya the opportunity to talk, if she wanted to. 

“Sansa, it’s not… we weren’t…” she stopped talking and growled, annoyed by her inability to say what she felt. 

Daenerys tried to help. “You weren’t what?” 

“Sisters,” Arya said, before she amended, “close sisters I mean.”

Aware she was treading on dangerous ground Daenerys was cautious of every step. “Why not?”

“We were too different,” Arya confessed, “I didn’t understand her, but I loved her, I always loved her, even if it didn’t seem like I did.” 

With one hand Daenerys reached out and touched Arya’s forearm. “I’m sure she knows.” 

“I don’t think so. The first year I was in Dorne I made myself sick thinking about it. I knew I’d never see her again but what was worse was knowing she thought I hated her.” 

“Siblings fight,” Daenerys supplied gently, “it’s normal.” 

“We just didn’t understand each other,” Arya continued as if Daenerys hadn’t spoken. “She’s a Lady, a really Lady, she likes dresses and sewing and jewelry and I’m…” she waved a hand in front of herself as if it was entirely self-explanatory. “I’m me.” 

She hated seeing Arya like this, but deep down she knew nothing she said would change such long held beliefs. The only hope Daenerys had of mending what was broken inside Arya was getting to Highgarden, finding Sansa and reuniting the Stark sisters. 

R-C

After days of anticipation, she was pleased when they were actually through the gates. Not because they finally arrived and Sansa was within reach, rather it was because she finally had something to do. Jumping down from her horse, she assessed her surroundings, searching for dangers. Soon she’d help Daenerys down from her saddle to meet the line of Tyrells who would undoubtedly be waiting. 

She was still thinking of Sansa every second, worrying about her, wondering, but privately she hoped the mundane duties of a guard would occupy at least a fraction of her brain for a few minutes. Riding didn’t require nearly enough focus to keep her mind from wandering and as a result, she envisioned plenty of reunions with Sansa ranging from wild successes to catastrophic failures. She was tired of thinking about it. She wanted to get it over with, one way or the other. 

Their party was joined by Tyrell soldiers once they were inside the walls. If this went as these things typically did, they’d be taken directly to the castle where the Tyrells would be waiting. Their belongings would be delivered to their quarters and servants would see that the horses were properly stored in the stables. She had no objections to any of that, as long as no one tried to interfere with her keeping Daenerys safe. 

Arya walked next to Daenerys’s horse, keeping pace easily. With her right hand she guided her stallion, not wanting to break formation. When the soldiers approached it was instinct more than unease that drew her left hand toward her sword. 

A young man of approached almost warily. “Is everything alright m’lady?” he asked. 

She was dying to correct his error, she was not a Lady, and didn’t like being mistaken for one. However, her preferences would need to wait, first she had to deal with whatever brought him to her, if she didn’t, she might inadvertently embarrass Daenerys. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Is your horse lame? Are you in need of something?” 

He’d come to ensure she was well? “The horse and I are fine. I am Princess Daenerys’s guard and I prefer to be on my feet and close in the event of trouble.”

He nodded, and a smile appeared. She guessed it had more to do with him understanding her behavior and less about anything she’d actually said. “Do you intend to walk the remainder of the way?” 

“Yes,” she confirmed. 

“My name is Mikal, and with your permission I can escort your mount to the stables.” He lowered his voice and put a hand on one side of his mouth as if preparing to tell his deepest, darkest secret. “I’ll get him the best spot and something to eat before all the others pile in.” 

“I don’t want to be a bother,” she said, looking away from the castle long enough to assess this Mikal. He was short and thick but showed no signs of aggression. “I don’t mind waiting.”

“You’re no bother,” he assured her, taking a tentative hold of the leather attached to the left side of the horse’s head. “I’ll take him over there and it’ll be one less thing you need to worry about. You can focus on keeping the Princess safe.” 

“I’d appreciate that. Thank you.” Mikal said nothing more of it. He just subtly escorted Arya’s borrowed horse from the line and walked it down a sideroad, presumably toward the stable. 

“I distinctly remember getting you a horse,” Daenerys joked once Mikal was gone. She looked relaxed despite days of travel and as radiantly beautiful as ever. 

“You did and he’s a far better beast than any lowly guard should ride.”

“Is that why you’re no longer riding him?” she quizzed. “He is too good for you?”

“Actually Princess,” Arya said as Daenerys neared their destination. “I wanted to be here to help you do this.” When it came time for Daenerys to climb down from her horse, Arya was there, offering a hand, and a formal bow. She could have done it without the bow, but it had dual purposes – one was to annoy the Targaryen who would bristle under the extra formality and two to show a sufficient level of respect to the Tyrells who were watching closely. 

Daenerys was perfect capable of dismounting by herself, but Arya wasn’t going to miss the chance to get her hands on her lover, however brief or innocent the touch. Unless she was misreading the fire in Daenerys’s eyes, the Dragon shared the sentiment. 

She and Daenerys had only a moment before the Princess turned to greet their hosts. Olenna was there, along with many Tyrells Arya didn’t know. She shifted her eyes further back to the rows of staff and servants. She was seeking a mane of red. No matter how much Sansa had changed, her hair would remain distinctive, Arya was depending on her ability to recognize it anywhere. 

She didn’t see anyone with even a slight resemblance to her sister, but before she could dwell on it, Daenerys’s voice reminded her that she wasn’t alone. “No,” she said rather forcefully, “absolutely not.”

Arya gave Daenerys and the Tyrells all her attention. Quickly it became obvious Lady Olenna and the rest of her family intended to kneel for the Princess, including Willas who was maimed and walked with a limp. 

“While I appreciate the gesture,” Daenerys said, her voice building in power with every uttered word, “there is no need for that. House Targaryen and House Tyrell have been allies and friends for hundreds of years. It is in that spirit of friendship that I come to see you now.” She paused and actually glanced behind her. Others may have questioned what she was looking for, but Arya didn’t. She knew Daenerys needed reassurance and tried to provide it. When the Princess took a step toward the Tyrells, Missandei, Grey Worm and Arya all moved with her. “There is no need for anyone to kneel for me,” she said, giving her head a slight shake as she went. “Such acts of fealty are not required when friends call upon friends for long overdue visits, are they?”

“They are not,” Lady Olenna acknowledged, speaking for her side. “Lovely to see you again, dear,” he added under her breath. 

After Olenna Daenerys’s next stop was Willas. She held out a hand to him. “Lord Tyrell, I hope my decree saved you any undo pain or hardship. Are you well?”

He put his hand in hers, only briefly and Arya got the sense it was more out of respect than an actual need of aid. “I am fine, Princess thank you for asking and may I say, welcome to Highgarden.”

“Thank you.”

Although she went back the way she came to greet Mace and his wife, Daenerys did linger just long enough to catch Margaery’s eye. With a smile and a nod, Arya deduced that they were making plans to meet up later. 

Once that was settled, Daenerys focused entirely on Mace and Alerie. “Lord Tyrell, thank you so much for welcoming me into your home, I have been looking forward to this for a long time.” 

“As have we Princess,” he said politely, while his eyes were busy looking behind her. If Daenerys noticed she hid it well, but Arya saw, and she didn’t like it. Mace was looking for someone with real authority. Word had obviously not reached him that Daenerys would to be negotiating for the Targaryens. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Alerie Tyrell.” 

“Lovely to meet you Princess.”

“And you m’lady. 

“You must be tired. Shall I have your people shown to their rooms or is there something pressing you must do first?”

“A rest sounds lovely,” Daenerys said, “but we do not wish to impose.” 

“Nonsense,” the Lady with greying hair countered. “Follow me and we’ll see to it you’re all settled in.”

Daenerys thanked her, while Arya continued to give a large portion of her attention to any servants she encountered, studying them carefully until she was satisfied they weren’t her sister. 

It was only as she was entering the castle for the first time that she realized that if the Tyrells were smart, and they certainly seemed to be, they’d keep Sansa far away, at least initially. Exposing Sansa was risky, not only for the foster but the Tyrells as well. If seeing a Stark and being reminded of her existence angered the royals, they’d blame their hosts. Disgruntled Targaryens weren’t a priority for her, but Arya did care about Sansa. As she went down the hall, it occurred to her how cruel it would’ve been for Lady Olenna, or Mace to require her to be in attendance when members of the family that ruined hers came for a visit. She still yearned to see Sansa, but she was grateful she hadn’t been forced to stand there and serve Daenerys or anyone else. 

The interior of Highgarden was beautifully decorated. Everything she saw was immaculate. Even someone who wasn’t aware of the history or importance of House Tyrell in Westeros would quickly realize they came from wealth. That said, it wasn’t flaunted, it was understated and tasteful. 

Daenerys saddled up beside her as they walked. “You okay?” she whispered. 

“I’m good. You?”

Her eyes gave her away, the wonder, the unbridled excitement. “I can’t believe I’m here! This place is incredible.”

Margaery poked her head in from a row behind them. “Oh, trust me, you haven’t seen anything yet. If you’d like Princess, I’ll take you on a proper tour once you’re rested.”

“I’d love that.”

“How have you been?” Margaery asked, bypassing all inane discussion about travel, the roads and the weather. 

“Good,” Daenerys said with a warm smile. “You know Missandei, right?” she asked, holding her hand out to the handmaiden. 

“Of course,” Margaery greeted her kindly. “Lovely to see you again.”

“And you m’lady.”

“That,” Daenerys continued, “is the Commander of the Unsullied.” 

“Welcome to Highgarden,” she said to him, earning a nod and a barely perceptible smile. 

“And this,” Daenerys finished turning on her guard a bit more, “is Arya Sand, my newest guard and friend.”

“Grandmother mentioned a new guard,” she noted casually. “From Sunspear?” she verified after admiring Arya’s armor. 

“Yes, Lady Tyrell,” she recited formally. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re here Arya and I hope you enjoy your stay. If you need anything, just let me know.”

She could feel Daenerys’s eyes on her, but she refused to glance that direction. She reminded herself that Margaery’s request wasn’t an actual offer, it was a formality, a polite gesture of good will. Besides, even if she wanted to ask for Sansa, how could she without revealing her identity? She clamped her jaw closed so viciously her teeth rattled but at least she didn’t expose Sansa or herself to danger or death. 

R-C

Arya paced the Highgarden guest room like a trapped animal, each pass making her more agitated. Daenerys sat on the bed wishing she could help. “She’s here somewhere,” Arya said just before she turned. The Princess could tell she was pivoting at the exact same spot every time. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted. 

“Do what?” It was difficult to see Arya this distraught. From the day they met, she had been level-headed and cautious. Now that she knew who the soldier really was, Daenerys could understand the need for such attributes, but even when she was being protected by Arya Sand, she considered her friend to be unflappable.

“Nothing,” she confessed quietly, finally stopping, right in front of her lover. “I’m made for action, swinging a sword, thrusting a spear, dodging a dagger, I don’t know how to do this. To just stand here while my sister is somewhere in this castle.”

Her heart broke for the woman who had lost so much. “What do you want to do?” She took Arya’s hand in hers, feeling the now familiar callouses and cracks. “How can I help?” She was a guest at Highgarden, she’d been in her assigned room less than an hour and already she was willing to violate decency and break any rule to aid Arya. 

She laughed humorlessly a sound Daenerys didn’t approve of. “I want,” she stopped to think about it, “I want to go door to door until I fucking find her.”

Without consideration for the consequences she stood. “Let’s go then. Lady Margaery promised me a tour, I don’t think she’d mind if we got a head start.” 

She could see how badly Arya wanted to accept. She took a half step toward the door before she restrained herself. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause trouble between you and Tyrells, especially before the negotiations.”

Although she found it remarkably sweet that Arya was worrying about her at a time like this, Daenerys was less concerned. The negotiations didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except Arya and her sister. The rest were details. “It’s fine, let’s go have a look around.” 

“We can’t,” she said, trying to dissuade Daenerys half-heartedly. 

“We can.” Arya hesitated for a moment and then gave in. Daenerys didn’t know if she was persuasive or if Arya was out of patience, but it didn’t matter. “Tell me about your sister,” she said, “what should I look for.”

The response was immediate. “Red,” she declared. “Sansa has hair like fire.”

She trusted Arya implicitly and this wasn’t the time for games, but she still had to raise an eyebrow and pin her guard with a serious glare as she assessed her truthfulness. “Really?” Granted the only two people she knew from Arya’s bloodline were Arya and Aemon, but it was hard to imagine there was room for red hair among all those grey eyes and sharp features. 

“A gift from my mother,” Arya explained in a quiet, reverent voice. “She’s so beautiful, you’ll know her when you see her.” 

Regardless of her hair color, it wasn’t a stretch to think Sansa would be gorgeous, she came from the same place as Arya, and Daenerys’s opinion on her was undisputable. “Does she have your eyes?”

“No,” she remarked just before they turned a corner. “Sansa’s are blue, clear and deep like the water under a bright sun.” As they continued Arya said the most ridiculous thing the Targaryen had ever heard. “Her eyes are far prettier than mine.” 

With a noncommittal hum, she summarized what she knew. “Red hair, blue eyes, nearly as beautiful as you, got it.” 

“That’s not what I said,” Arya protested. The strength of her argument was weakened by the laugh that ran through it. Daenerys smiled too. She loved making Arya happy. 

“That’s what I heard, now let’s go, there are a lot of places to look.” 

The reply she got came in the form of a blinding smile, one that made Daenerys’s knees wobble as she stared. How had she been lucky enough to find Arya Stark? In any lifetime, any circumstance their meeting would be a blessing, but in this life, given the history between their families it was miraculous. Arya should hate her, but she didn’t and with every passing day Daenerys became more and more certain that what she felt for the other woman was the opposite of hate. If their purpose wasn’t so noble or important Daenerys would have postponed it and dragged her lover back into the privacy of the bedchamber. There would be time for that later, she promised herself. Arya’s needs first, then her own, and what Arya needed was to find Sansa. 

R-C

They weren’t very far into their hunt before Margaery approached them. “Good timing,” she sang cheerfully, “I was just coming to collect you.”

Daenerys desperately tried to act as if they weren’t doing anything wrong. “I was hoping to run into you too,” she said. “Arya and I decided to stretch our legs, I hope you don’t mind, too much time on a horse or in a carriage…” she trailed off, trusting Margaery to understand. 

She waved away the Princess’s concerns. “I don’t blame you. I love seeing new places but I hate the travelling to get there.” 

Daenerys didn’t exactly agree but she knew the reason for that was likely her sheltered upbringing. Travelling was still a treat for her, because she got to do it so rarely. “I quite enjoyed seeing all the places between King’s Landing and here,” she admitted. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said grabbing Daenerys’s arm and lacing it with one of hers. Several steps closer to wherever they were going next, she seemed to remember something. “Daenerys, this is my brother, Loras. He wanted to meet you, so I said I’d introduce you.”

Daenerys tried to hide her surprise. She hadn’t noticed Margaery’s brother, but she wasn’t exactly looking for him either. She offered the handsome young man the hand Margaery wasn’t occupying. “Pleased to meet you Loras.”

“You too, Princess,” he said with a bow and a smile. 

“We’re all friends here,” she asserted, “Daenerys is fine.”

“I thought you and Loras would make good friends,” Margaery commented before her brother released Daenerys’s hand. Though the words were simple enough there was a flicker in the Lady’s eyes that made Daenerys uncomfortable. She’d seen that look plenty in the Red Keep and it always came when someone was scheming. 

Before she could ask about it, or dwell on it, Margaery sent her brother in one direction while pulling Daenerys in the other. “You wished to meet her and now you have, so leave us.” He didn’t delay before going. “Where is Missandei?” she asked, as she looked behind Daenerys and past Arya for the missing handmaiden. 

“She’ll be along shortly, she’s just ensuring all of our things are located and unpacked,” Daenerys explained. 

“That’s too bad,” Margaery responded, sounding sincere. “I’ll give her a tour later, so she knows where everything is.” 

“You don’t need to…” Daenerys started to say. 

She didn’t want to hear it. “Just us for now.” She set her gaze on Arya. “Will you be joining us?”

“Definitely,” the guard said. Daenerys couldn’t contain her smile. She knew Margaery didn’t mean anything by it, she just didn’t know Arya, or how seriously the guard took her responsibilities. No matter how non-threatening Margaery Tyrell was or how safe Highgarden seemed to be, Arya wouldn’t be leaving her side and that was precisely how the Princess wanted it. 

R-C

No matter where it took place or the occasion being memorialized, feasts had a lot of the same elements; too much food, long-winded speeches, rich snobs in fancy clothes and hours spent talking without saying anything. That reality aside each kingdom she’d been in had slight, unique variations on the custom. 

In Winterfell for example, the timeline of the feast had a very distinct pattern. Oh, they may have been there to celebrate an agreement and look toward the future but without fail, every feast held while Ned Stark ruled Winterfell began with discussions of the past. Her father would speak at length about the house and the family he was honoring, talking about their many contributions to the North, their years as loyal allies, and their many successes. In some cases, he even discussed a shared failing or two. Only after he’d paid proper homage to the past, did Ned Stark allow those in his company to enjoy the present and toast to the future. 

Her time in Dorne taught her that not everyone took life as seriously as Ned Stark. Whether she was at the feast acting as a servant or occupying a seat as Oberyn’s guest, she learned the Dornish didn’t let a tiny thing like formality get in the way of a good time. Contrary to how things were done in Winterfell, official statements were made early so that when the events devolved – and they would – the business would already be resolved. She’d been shocked the first time a fistfight broke out during a meal at the Water Gardens, but it quickly became clear she was the only one who hadn’t known it would happen. Most didn’t even stop chewing. Of the few that did stand, each and every one did so to obtain a better vantage, not intervene. Someone once told her the famed Dothraki Screamers from Essos didn’t consider a gathering entertaining unless people died. The Dornish weren’t quite that extreme, but they were miles closer than anything she experienced in childhood. 

Celebrating in the Red Keep was as awkward as it was extravagant. The Crown spared no expense and the cost of a single plate could probably feed a family in Flea Bottom for a month if not more. On her earliest days in King’s Landing Arya noticed how tense everyone was. Originally, she thought it was because the nobles were rich pricks who lacked a sense of humor, but her opinion had changed a bit. Now when she stood near Daenerys’s chair, watching several hundred people at dozens of tables, she could feel the anxious undercurrent running through the lot of them. It remained as long as Aerys did. When the King was close, it was as if everyone feared earning his attention, staying exactly where he put them and speaking quietly while avoiding eye contact with any of the Targaryens. Once he retired everything would change, people would relax, drinks would flow faster, and voices got louder. Nobles from all over the Seven Kingdoms would pick up their drinks and carry them across the room to a different table to meet an old friend or tell an older story. It reminded Arya of how she and her brothers behaved when they were sure their parents weren’t around to catch them. 

Nothing she experienced in Winterfell, Sunspear or King’s Landing prepared her for Highgarden. It had the feel of the Red Keep, with the obvious wealth, so many nobles and the overtly political feel, but it reminded her of Dorne in temperament. People laughed openly, an older man who had the look of a soldier bounced a young boy on his knee and at the Tyrell family table, Margaery was sneaking treats to a small girl who scampered away as quickly as she received them. 

Strangest of all for Arya, and likely Missandei too was that they were given assigned seats at the table. She planned to find a clear line of sight so she could watch and guard from a distance but Lady Olenna insisted, so the Princess’s protector and her handmaiden sat near Daenerys and shared the meal with everyone else. 

The food was great and the conversation easy. The Tyrells were a friendly, easy-going bunch who seemed genuinely happy to have Daenerys there. Their willingness to welcome the Targaryen with open arms made it even easier for Arya to like them. Mace said little but listened intently as he ate. His wife didn’t address Arya directly, speaking to her husband and children exclusively except for one or two questions directed at Daenerys and Tyrion. Loras spoke of his most recent tournament victory, apparently, he was good at the joust. The whole family shined with pride as he recounted his success. The love they had for one another was obvious, but it didn’t stop the teasing. Willas loudly told anyone within range that Loras wouldn’t have won if he hadn’t bred such a magnificent horse for his brother to ride. The bickering was the best entertainment of the evening and amused Arya greatly until Margaery who just happened to be sitting between the brothers mediated. “You are very good,” she agreed, as Loras insisted for the third time that his abilities would have won the day even if he had a substandard mount. “You’re right, you probably could have won with any random nag from the stable but wasn’t it easier atop the stallion Willas bred especially for you? You should probably thank him.” 

The table held its collective breath for a moment before Loras ducked his head and his expression cracked into a smile. “You’re right, it was rather easy,” he joked, “it probably wasn’t fair to those who lined up against me.” 

With a good-natured chuckle Margaery looked as though she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “That’s not exactly what I meant, but it’s better than nothing.” She turned in her chair and focused on Willas. “Don’t worry,” she said in a false whisper that was loud enough for Loras to hear, “everyone knows the horse makes the rider.”

Willas grinned and that only widened when Margaery set her hand on top of his on the table. She tapped it twice before her words set in and offended Loras. “Hey, that’s not true at all! A great horse wouldn’t accomplish anything without me,” he contended hotly. 

Margaery smiled indulgently, unbothered by her brother’s ego. “Perhaps neither you nor Willas’s horse could have succeeded without the other?” she tried, posing it like a question in the hopes it would be easier to swallow. Arya listened, more than a little impressed with the Tyrell’s ability to facilitate peace. 

“I’ll agree to that,” Willas said. 

Arya could tell Loras wasn’t as inclined to concede. “I didn’t need his horse,” he said a moment later, proving the guard right. 

“Yes, you did,” Margaery retorted, sounding annoyed for the first time. Loras opened his mouth to speak but Margaery had more. “If you were so good without a horse, you would’ve won the melee,” she quipped, silencing whatever he intended to say. 

Arya bit her cheek to keep from laughing, Missandei covered her smile behind a napkin and Daenerys faked a cough that didn’t fool anyone, but while the visitors tried not to reveal their emotions, none of the Tyrells had the same instinct. Willas chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. Mace’s laugh was lighter and accompanied by a shake of his head. Alerie clicked her tongue in disapproval but made no attempt to hide her smile. Even Loras didn’t appear particularly upset with his sister, behind the pink cheeks and the downturned lips there was clear affection. At the far end of the table Olenna sat quietly, observing her family. Arya would be the first to admit, she was out of practice when it came to happy families, but it seemed to her that Lady Olenna looked pleased by the exchange and by her granddaughter’s handling of it most of all. 

“Daenerys,” Margaery said, pulling the Targaryen into their conversation easily, “tomorrow I’ll introduce you to my other brother, Garlan and his wife. We expected them back by now, but they were delayed.”

“Where are they?” Daenerys asked. 

“They snuck away,” Loras answered for his sister.

“Snuck away?”

Margaery was more diplomatic than Loras and explained gently, “It can be a little busy here,” she said, glancing around the large room as if to prove her point. “Sometimes they like to get away for a few days.”

“I asked that he be back before you arrived,” Mace added, wanting the Princess to know that fact. 

As she turned to address the Lord Paramount, Daenerys’s eyes passed over Arya and lingered there just an instant longer than was typical. “Oh, that’s quite alright,” she assured them. “I look forward to meeting them both when they return, but I can certainly understand the desire to get away from the castle from time to time.”

“That is very generous of you Princess,” Lady Alerie said politely. “No matter how good his intentions, he should have come back by now, he knew you were due.” 

As Daenerys tiptoed around an internal Tyrell disagreement Arya was relieved no one expected her to comment on such things. All she had to do was smile at the appropriate times, nod occasionally and keep anyone from hurting Daenerys. She’d leave the messy things, like family squabbling to the professionals. 

“It was probably the weather Mother,” Margaery remarked confidently. “We’ve had a lot of rain lately and you know Garlan wouldn’t want Leonette riding in it.” 

Although she looked like she was considering Margaery’s point, Alerie protested a bit more. “Still, the Princess…”

“Is certainly not worth anyone catching their death,” Daenerys supplied calmly, finishing the Lady’s thought. “Given the choice I’d rather meet your brother when he is happy and healthy, even if there is a delay.” 

It took a moment, but Daenerys’s ascertain that she wasn’t offended helped everyone to settle. Fresh wine was poured, and individual conversations broke out around the table. Alerie offered one more unnecessary apology that Daenerys quickly brushed aside. Willas engaged Tyrion in discussion about his horse and the modified saddle he used, while Margaery began peppering Missandei with questions about her homeland. Admittedly most of Arya’s attention was spent watching Daenerys, but from the corner of her eye she spotted Lady Olenna and the old lady was watching her. When their eyes met the matriarch raised her wine in a wrinkly hand and nodded to Arya as if to say, ‘welcome’. Positive she hadn’t done anything worth of Lady Tyrell’s notice she was a confused, but she nodded anyway, reaching for her own glass and lifting it higher than normal before taking a sip. 

R-C

Daenerys met Lady Margaery when Olenna brought her granddaughter on a trip to the capital. Admittedly she didn’t think there was anything special about the girl from the Reach at first. Their initial interactions were similar to countless others Daenerys had, polite conversation about their journey, praise for her beauty, compliments for her attire. The white dress hadn’t been especially pretty in the Princess’s opinion, but she thanked her guest, nonetheless. 

It was during her second visit that Daenerys began to see Margaery’s comments might be more genuine than she was used to. In the midst of an otherwise unremarkable conversation Margaery presented her with a gift, a silver pin in the shape of a rose. Daenerys assumed she was being given another token of affection she didn’t want or ask for, but Margaery quickly clarified. “I found this among my things,” she said as she reclaimed the pin and attached it to Daenerys’s dress. “I thought it would look great on that white dress you wore last time, but it’s just as perfect on the purple.”

She looked down at herself. Margaery had a point. The silver did accent the purple fabric nicely. More importantly, Margaery remembered what Daenerys had been wearing during their last meeting. Instead of purchasing a gift to try and sway her, she passed on a possession of her own, as if they were friends. In that moment Daenerys was speechless. She didn’t know if accepting the pin made her and Margaery friends, but she wanted them to be. 

After that Daenerys came to anticipate and enjoy each of Margaery’s visits. As she hoped, they became friends, exchanging letters by raven and courier when apart. Daenerys appreciated Margaery’s goodness. She was kind and sweet, and not only when people could hear. Margaery’s acts of charity often occurred when no one was around to witness them. 

Another admirable trait Daenerys noticed was Margaery’s razor-sharp intellect. Side by side at dinner or in the sitting room, they’d discuss sewing or music, but Margaery always kept one ear on other things. Later, behind the closed door of Daenerys’s chamber Margaery would recall every word she overheard. She’d ask Daenerys’s opinion on the trade deal their fathers were brokering, or if she agreed with Tywin’s position not to improve Flea Bottom. Some of her earliest political debates occurred with Margaery, while they sipped juice, ate snacks and discussed topics that should have been forbidden to them. They held many of the same views, including a deeply engrained desire to aid the less fortunate. Where they differed was that Daenerys viewed their debates as a fun way to pass the time and an interesting exercise. Margaery on the other hand, saw them as practice. Unlike Daenerys who didn’t think it possible to change her limited role, Margaery was determined to elevate her position. She wanted to and insisted she would play a significant role in governing the Reach. When asked how, she had few specifics. “One way or another,” she’d say, “I’ll teach them to hear me.” Without knowing if it would ever happen Daenerys found herself hoping. Margaery was giving, decent, smart and honest. The Reach and the rest of the Realm would benefit if she found a way to realize her dreams.

Not only did Daenerys enjoy Margaery’s intellect and generosity, she also took pleasure from her natural charm and deceptively witty take on the world around her. More than once one of Margaery’s comments left Daenerys and everyone else stunned speechless. Her views were insightful, accurate and amusing. She was funny in such a way that it was difficult to tell if you were supposed to laugh. It was easy to miss yet biting once recognized. 

She said things Daenerys couldn’t, set goals for herself that the Princess would never dare aspire to and remained committed to improving the Seven Kingdoms in any way she could. She was a remarkable woman, but it wasn’t only Daenerys Margaery sought to impress. She’d taken an immediate liking to Missandei too and strived to make the slave comfortable. When they gathered together, they’d sit around a table, drinking and laughing like old friends, without allowing things like titles to get in their way. The warmth with which Margaery welcomed Missandei was just one of the many reasons Daenerys found her endearing. 

As soon as the meal was finished Margaery was out of her seat and offering Daenerys an escape. “Let’s go,” she proposed. 

She couldn’t help it, she glanced down the table to assess the others. She should probably stay. Tyrion was to meet with Mace and discuss the upcoming negotiations, negotiations Daenerys was to lead, but the prospect of getting away with Margaery, Missandei and Arya was too tempting. She vowed to meet with Tyrion the next day to learn everything she missed. 

“Shall I get us some tea?” Missandei suggested kindly. 

Margaery escorted them to a quiet, out of the way corner of the castle, one she insisted was rarely used. “No one comes here,” she explained. 

Margaery sat in a high-back chair, while Daenerys took one end of a long bench. Arya seemed content to stand but Daenerys wanted her close, much closer. She held out a hand to her lover. “Come sit.”

“I just sat at dinner,” Arya reminded her. That was a nice treat, not only for those in Daenerys’s service but for the Princess as well. It was incredibly generous that Olenna or Margaery cared enough to ensure Missandei and Arya were fed. “Thank you,” Arya said, echoing Daenerys’s thoughts on the subject. She was speaking directly to Margaery. “It was very kind of you to include me.”

“Any friend of Daenerys’s is a friend of mine,” she said casually. “I spoke to my father before we ate, your men, the ones you brought with you, what did you call them?”

“The Unsullied?” Daenerys provided. 

“Yes,” she confirmed, blushing a bit. “The Unsullied, of course, I’m sorry.”

“They’ll remain outside,” Arya supplied. “Only Grey Worm and a few of his best will come inside the walls.”

“Grey Worm?” she repeated skeptically, looking to Daenerys for verification. 

She nodded sadly. “He is the Commander of the Unsullied and a dear friend, the one you met”

It took a moment, but Margaery’s confusion blended into a smile. “I think it was him spoke to, he told me he led them.”

“You went to see them?” 

“I went to tell them their dinner would be brought out,” she explained cautiously. “I’m sorry if I did anything…”

“No,” Daenerys insisted, smiling wide to try and reassure her friend. “That was very nice and I’m sure Grey Worm and the others appreciated it.” 

“Arya,” Margaery said, looking to the guard, “would you mind going to make sure the Unsullied have everything they need?”

Rather than answering her, Arya looked to Daenerys for a decision. She wanted direct contact, not more distance, but some things took priority. She didn’t think anyone at Highgarden would mistreat her men, but she wasn’t opposed to the idea of making certain. “It’s okay Arya,” she said to her guard and lover. 

“Are you sure?” 

She extended her hand to Arya for the second time, and this time she took it. “Go, you can check on the Unsullied and be back before my tea gets cold.” 

She could feel the uncertainty hanging over her. “Will you two be alright?”

“We’ll be fine,” Margaery promised. “I really would appreciate it Arya,” she continued, “I don’t think I’ll be able to relax until I know everyone is properly fed.” 

Daenerys had laced their fingers together, but she unwound them as she concurred. “Me either. Go and make sure Grey Worm and the others are alright, then come back to us.” As she finished, gazing deeply into Arya’s eyes she hoped the guard could hear the truth. When Daenerys said, ‘come back to us,’ what she really meant was ‘come back to me!’ 

“I’ll be right back, then,” Arya pledged, giving each noble a nod before turning for the door. Not even the knowledge that Margaery was there with them could keep Daenerys from appreciating the view as Arya walked away. When she finally stopped gawking, she found the Lady Tyrell watching her. 

They were alone for less than a minute before Margaery was out of her chair. “Finally, we’re alone,” she said with a grin. Daenerys anticipated questions about Arya but they didn’t come. “Now we can go!” she declared, holding out a hand. 

Daenerys gave her hand before she comprehended the words, then she hesitated but it was too late. “What?” She hadn’t planned to go anywhere. Missandei was on her way with tea and Arya would be returning before long too. 

Since Daenerys wasn’t accommodating, Margaery did the lifting, literally and pulled Daenerys to her feet. Once she was up, she linked their arms and physically dragged her to the exit. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere we want,” she responded. “Don’t you get tired of having guards and servants around all the time?”

It was a trick question. Margaery knew how Daenerys felt, because Daenerys told her so repeatedly, but that was before, before Arya. “Margaery….”

“Come on,” she said, not letting Daenerys finish. “We’ll sneak away for a few minutes and be back before they miss us.”

Her objections were drowned out by Margaery’s laughter as she guided the Dragon Princess around her home. 

R-C

“We should get back,” Daenerys said. She was far less subtle than either of the earlier attempts. 

“It’s fine,” Margaery disagreed, looking out at the farms in the distance. There wasn’t much to see, a partial moon and a collection of stars that would have been beautiful if she wasn’t so worried about Missandei and Arya returning to the sitting room to find her gone. 

“It’s not, Arya will….”

“Since when do you worry about your guard’s feelings?” she teased. 

It was a joke, but it cut a little deeper than Margaery likely intended. Daenerys didn’t enjoy being followed, but she was never heartless. Even before Arya, she’d cared about Jorah’s feelings. “It’s different,” she said simply, as she fought to keep the bitterness concealed. 

“How?”

“It just is,” she contended weakly. “You know what it’s like at the keep, no one remembers I’m there most of the time, but…”

“But with Arya it’s different,” Margaery predicted. 

Fully aware of how dramatically she was underselling Arya’s importance she answered. “Arya is my friend,” Daenerys attempted after a sigh, “like Missandei. When we’re together it’s not a Princess, a handmaiden and a guard, we’re just Daenerys, Missandei and Arya.” 

“Sounds nice,” Margaery confessed casually. 

It was, far nicer than the Lady from Highgarden realized. Before she could compose another transparent argument to lure Margaery back inside, back to Arya, it occurred to the Princess that she would never get a better opportunity to ask about Sansa. Alone, with Margaery, where no one would hear, she could try and discover the whereabouts of Arya’s sister. If that information also helped ease Arya’s annoyance with her for disappearing, well then that was just a bonus. 

If the secret she was about to share was solely hers, she would have trusted Margaery with it already, but Arya was more important and required a higher level of care and caution. “Can I ask you something,” Daenerys asked slowly, “it’s private and I’d need your word that it’ll stay between us?”

Margaery took a moment to collect herself before a sly smile spread across her face. “Of course, that’s why I brought you out here, so we could speak alone, like we used to.” 

Daenerys nodded and pushed ahead, unsure of the best route. “I went to Dorne with my father,” she began. 

“Grandmother told me. She said you enjoyed it.”

“I did,” she confirmed, unable to keep the smile off her face as she thought about what that trip led to. “While I was there, I heard a story that mentions Highgarden.”

This certainly had Margaery’s attention. “Oh?” She took Daenerys’s hand and leaning in a little closer so they could gossip more easily. “What story?” 

Would Arya be grateful or furious when she learned what Daenerys was doing? She didn’t know but she was willing to take the risk. They only had a few days in Highgarden before they needed to return to the capital. Unless Arya planned to check every room and every face for her sister, they were going to need help. “While I was at the Water Gardens, I met someone, who told me about the Starks.” 

Surprise was Margaery’s primary emotion. Whatever she thought Daenerys might say, it wasn’t that. “T…the St…Starks?” she stammered, sounding nothing like the confident woman Daenerys had come to know. 

“Yes, I was told one of the Stark children was fostered here.” The easy smile Margaery wore while she encouraged Daenerys to flee her guard, the one that seemed permanent as they whispered together, vanished as if it never existed at all. Her brow furrowed and her eyes darkened. Daenerys immediately wished for the words back, but she’d come too far. She had to see it through, even if it damaged her friendship with Margaery. “D…did I hear incorrectly?” 

“Why do you care!?” Margaery spit harshly. Daenerys knew her friend could be passionate and even rude, but she’d never been on the receiving end of such things. “Do you wish to punish her even more than you already have?”

Her first instinct was to insist that she would never, could never harm Sansa, but before she could get her mouth working, she identified the source of Margaery’s anger. Daenerys saw it often, usually when the topic of her father came up. She was being held accountable for the actions of those who shared her name. if Margaery was doing that to her now, it could only be because she knew Sansa, knew her and liked her enough to want to protect her. Daenerys swallowed down her original reply. “No,” she said, lowering her voice until it was nearly hidden under the breeze, “I think the Starks have suffered enough, don’t you?”

The nod that answered before anything verbal and seemed almost instinctual. “Ye… wait… you do?”

This conversation would only work if Margaery understood where Daenerys was coming from, so she gave a little more. “While I was in Sunspear, I met a young woman, she told me of her sister Sansa.” At the mention of Sansa’s name Margaery flinched, though her eyes bulged. Unsure of what this might mean, Daenerys hurried ahead. “It was her wish that if I ever found myself here, that I inquire about her sister’s wellbeing.” She paused but Margaery didn’t say anything, so Daenerys kept going. “I mean no disrespect, and I’m not trying to upset or harm anyone, I just wanted to honor the promise I made.” 

“That’s impossible,” Margaery eventually said. Her voice held none of the contempt from earlier, now she sounded tired. 

“What is?” Daenerys wondered, unsure which part Margaery had trouble believing. “Is Sansa not here?”

“She’s here,” Margaery confirmed, thrilling Daenerys in the process. She would be able to help Arya find her sister again! She imagined the smile on her lover’s beautiful face when the siblings were reunited, it allowed her to forget Margaery was there and talking. What she said next was impossible to ignore, if it wasn’t, Daenerys probably would have continued on in blissful ignorance. “I don’t know who you met but it wasn’t Sansa’s sister.”

There was a lot about Arya, about Sansa and their past that Daenerys didn’t know, but in this one instance, she had no doubt. Arya was definitely Sansa’s sister. “Of course, she was.”

With a grim set to her features Margaery shook her head, causing her hair to sway from left to right. “No, Sansa’s sister is dead.” 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I wanted to get the reunion in this chapter, but it just didn’t fit. The next will have what you’ve been waiting for, I promise. I always struggle writing Sansa’s character, in this story I ended up with a version of her that was a lot like the show, she will be happy to see Arya, but wary of Daenerys, which will ultimately lead to arguments between the siblings. In the series it was Jon who brought Daenerys and had to justify his actions, in this universe it’ll be Arya who has to contend with a very suspicious Sansa. Lastly, it occurred to me as I was editing this chapter that much like the earlier section devoted to Dorne, their detour to Highgarden could be (and maybe should’ve been its own story). I hope no one minds multiple, long chapters focusing on the Reach before heading back to the capital. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.   
RC


	36. Chapter 36

She laughed, an act committed by her mouth without consent from her brain. It was an empty sound, like Daenerys would be if Margaery’s claim was actually true. She knew her bitter laugh wasn’t an appropriate response, but then again, what was appropriate when someone tells you the woman you love, the person you were aching to see again was already dead? Arya, her Arya was most certainly alive. “Why would you think that?!” She managed to ask without snapping rudely, a major accomplishment in Daenerys’s humble opinion. She wasn’t talented enough to keep her frustrations from bleeding through, a detail Margaery surely noticed. 

When the answer wasn’t immediate Daenerys’s hand itched in a way she wasn’t familiar with. It took a moment to realize why. She wanted to strike Margaery, hit her friend to speed things along and compel her to talk. She closed her hand into a fist so tight her nails dug into her palm, leaving indentations. Just to be safe she laid her left hand over her right, trapping it in place. She waited, reminding herself repeatedly that Margaery wasn’t the cause of the problem, just its messenger. Despite that logical thinking, she couldn’t deny a desire to find whoever said Arya was dead and make them hurt. Her patience ran out. “Tell me what you know!” she demanded. 

Margaery’s eyes widened hearing the obvious order, but she hesitated, nonetheless. “Pr…promise me, that you mean Sansa no harm.”

Her anger cooled a bit when she realized all of Margaery’s avoidance was done in an effort to keep Sansa safe. Daenerys could hardly fault her for that, she had her own Stark to protect. “I swear it,” she pledged, looking Margaery in the eye to show she meant it. “I would never do that, to Sansa or Arya.”

Margaery’s mouth opened but no words came. She just stood there dumbly, looking at Daenerys as if she’d spoken a foreign language without warning. When she eventually said something loud enough for Daenerys to hear, it wasn’t the explanation she was expecting. “Arya,” she repeated. She watched as Margaery put the pieces of the puzzle together, taking two seemingly unrelated facts from her mind and binding them. “Arya, your guard is…” She stopped short of saying it, working through the majority of her debate in her head. “I should have seen it, but I thought Arya was gone, we both did.” 

They were back where they began. She’d been tolerant enough. She wanted to snap, yell and demand answers but she bit her tongue and reminded herself that Margaery was her friend. Margaery had been her friend for a long time and Gods willing she would continue to be even after they got to the bottom of this horrendous mix up about the Starks. After a deep breath to calm herself, she tried a rational explanation. “Margaery, I promise, I would never hurt Sansa or allow anyone else to either. One of the reasons I came here was to find her and make sure she was safe. Can you please tell me what you know?” With her frustrations burning so hot, the words tasted bitter as she framed it like a question instead of a command. A part of her mind she wasn’t aware she possessed took issue with the lack of a threat in her exchange with the Tyrell. What was wrong with her, why was it suddenly so important that she show her dominance? There were other ways to get results. Such thoughts were probably common for Viserys or Aerys, but they were new to her and she didn’t know what to make of them. 

“Sansa is here,” Margaery confirmed after some thought. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be difficult, but she and I are close, I wanted to know why you were asking before….”

With her lips closed tight she internally acknowledged how reasonable that was. If Margaery had come asking about Arya, Daenerys would have been wary too and just as reluctant. “Arya just wants to see her.” 

“Sansa would love that,” she gushed, sounding more like her usual self. “She’s been mourning Arya for a long time, it’ll be quite a shock to learn she’s alive.”

“Who told you Arya was dead?”

Her cheeks changed color as she answered. “No one exactly, but when we ran out of other options, it was the only thing that made any sense.” 

Daenerys listened intently, knowing in her gut that what she was hearing was vitally important. “What happened?”

Having gotten past her reservations, Margaery didn’t delay in telling the story. “Sansa has been trying to find her sister since she got here, she hoped Arya was fostered like her, but she didn’t know. Your father sent her away before deciding what to do with Arya.” She paused just long enough to give the Princess an apologetic smile for including that detail. “After we met, I offered to help her search, so I sent letters all over the Seven Kingdoms, but no one claimed to know anything. Eventually we concluded it could only mean Arya was killed that day in King’s Landing.” She was done before she changed direction and put Daenerys on the spot. “Are you telling me she was in Sunspear?”

“Yes,” she admitted, “my father sent her to foster there.” 

Margaery was immediately enraged, Daenerys braced for impact, but it wasn’t directed at her. “That lying snake. I wrote to the Martells more than once, thinking your father might choose them. I only got one reply and it said they knew nothing.” 

How was such a thing possible? More importantly why hadn’t Doran confirmed Arya’s presence when asked? “That doesn’t…” she trailed off. “Why would Doran do that?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to kill him if I ever meet the man. If he told the truth, it would’ve spared Sansa a lot of grief.” 

She recognized the passion she heard, it was the same sort she developed when jumping to Arya’s defense. The longer they discussed it, the more certain she became that Sansa had endeared herself to the Tyrells as seamlessly as Arya had Oberyn, Daenerys, Missandei, Grey Worm and Aemon. “Why lie?” she wondered. 

“I don’t know or care, whatever his motives, they weren’t good enough for me. If Arya was in Dorne, if he knew it all along, he was cruel to not tell us.” 

“What did he say exactly?” Daenerys asked, trying to give Doran the benefit of the doubt. 

“Like I said, I only got one reply for Sunspear despite sending multiple inquires, in it, Prince Doran said he didn’t have any fosters.”

“When was this?” she asked, thinking it happened only after Arya was with her, or after she’d gone into training. Perhaps then it wasn’t a lie as much as a carefully worded half-truth. 

“It was two years after Sansa got here.” 

The straightforward reply dashed any hope Daenerys clung to that there was an innocent explanation. “She was in Sunspear then, in the Water Gardens, working for Doran.” 

Margaery nodded along, like she anticipated as much, but said nothing further. She didn’t understand Doran’s game, his fostering of Arya was not a secret, so why hide it? Had it been for Arya’s benefit? She didn’t need to ask her lover to confirm that she never knew questions were being asked about her, and from Highgarden no less. Anyone with common sense would realize it was Sansa trying to reconnect to her sister, so why did Doran oppose that? “Did the letters say you were writing on Sansa’s behalf?” It was becoming difficult not to interpret Doran’s actions as malicious. All she had left was the vague notion that maybe he didn’t understand the significance of the letters. 

“Definitely, they were in my hand, with my seal, but I made it perfectly clear I was writing for Sansa, a friend who was in my service.” 

With that she’d run out of ways to justify Doran’s behavior. He’d taken Arya into his house, made her work as a servant in the Water Gardens for years, and apparently prevented her from learning that her sister was trying to contact her. It was despicable and if true, Daenerys would have some harsh words for the ruler of Dorne the next time their path’s crossed. Perhaps Arya would have insight as to why Doran would want to keep this information from her. Whatever the reason, it could wait, more pressing was bringing Sansa and Arya together, after far too long.

“You said you know Sansa, do you think you could arrange a meeting, some place out of the way, where she and Arya could speak in private?”

With a wide smile Margaery nodded. “We can go now if you like.”

“You know where she is, right now?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, her smile turning into a smirk. “She’s in my chambers waiting to have dinner with me.” 

Daenerys considered herself reasonably intelligent, yet those words confounded her. “Your chambers… dinner?” she mumbled. “You already had dinner, didn’t you?”

Linking her arm with Daenerys’s again, she leaned close and lowered her volume. “That was for show,” she said unapologetically, “people would notice if I didn’t attend or eat, so I take the occasional bite and talk a lot while moving the food around on my plate, but I save my real appetite for when I dine with Sansa.” 

Daenerys was still having trouble connecting the dots. “You eat with Sansa every night?” 

“Usually,” Margaery informed her calmly. Though they were already speaking in whispers the Tyrell lowered her voice further, “not long after Sansa arrived here, she became my handmaiden. After that, we became friends, then close friends and eventually lovers.” 

Lovers? Daenerys had always liked Margaery, always felt a certain bond with her, Margaery was one of the few people who could relate to the Princess when she felt isolated and undervalued. Now it was clear they had more in common than just that. They both began relationships with someone in their service, Daenerys with her guard and Margaery with her handmaiden and the two women were sisters. Her unwillingness to discuss Sansa at the beginning of the conversation was a lot more forgivable now. In light of what she’d just heard, Daenerys could hardly blame Margaery for not wanting to invite a Targaryen into Sansa’s life without assurances she’d be safe. 

Her mind was racing, she had so many questions fighting to be first, she spoke none of them. When the silence became awkward, she knew she needed to ask something, anything. “Can Sansa not eat with everyone else?” she inquired foolishly. 

“Normally she does, but today we weren’t sure if she’d be welcome.” 

As logical as the concerns were, Daenerys was still hurt. She couldn’t stop a defense from bubbling up and slipping out. “I never would have….”

Margaery pulled her friend in for a hug. “I know that,” she said softly. “I know and I told Sansa she could trust you, but we didn’t think you’d be coming alone, we were expecting the Hand, your brother or even the King himself to come along to conduct the negotiations.” 

Although she knew very little about the negotiations she’d be conducting, they didn’t matter in that moment. “I don’t blame Sansa for being cautious. I’ll stay out of the room, I’ll do whatever it takes to make her comfortable,”

“Once she learns you brought Arya back to her, she’ll forget you’re a Targaryen,” Margaery predicted. 

That statement should have upset her, or at the very least annoyed her on behalf of her family, but it didn’t. Any bad feelings Sansa Stark had for the Targaryens were well-earned. Though she thought it unlikely anything could make Sansa forget who her father was, Daenerys allowed herself to hope. It was selfish, but she wanted to make a good impression and that would be difficult if all she saw when she looked at Daenerys was the King’s daughter. It wasn’t just Sansa either, there had been many times in recent memory when Daenerys secretly wished everyone she met or spoke to could somehow forget she and Aerys had the same blood in their veins. She pushed that thought away to be dealt with later, for now, she had Arya. “Come on, Arya’s probably looking for us, let’s go get her and take her to see Sansa.”

Margaery nodded in agreement. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it, I knew her name, I saw the grey eyes and long face but I just didn’t make the connection.”

She tried to absolve her of any guilt. “Few people expect to meet a woman they think is already dead.” 

With a chuckle Margaery tightened her hold on Daenerys’s arm. “You’re right. I can’t wait to see Sansa’s face, she’s going to be so happy.” 

“She isn’t the only one, Arya’s been anxious ever since we got here, checking every person that walked by to see if they bared even the slightest resemblance to Sansa.”

“Normally you would have seen her by now, but we thought it best to keep her away, until we knew who was with you.” As she finished, she looked down, clearly embarrassed to be admitting to Daenerys that they feared members of the royal family. 

“I understand,” Daenerys assured her. “After everything, I just hope she can forgive me for the role my father had in what happened.” 

“Don’t worry,” Margaery said as they headed back to the room where Arya and Missandei expected them, “I have already told her about you.” 

She was a Princess, more than that she was the one and only Dragon Princess. There were a large number of people who wanted to be her, she’d always known that and accepted it as another part of her life she couldn’t control. Lately however, it struck her how badly she wished it wasn’t just idle fantasy. She wanted to be them too, to be free of the burden of being a Targaryen. 

They ran into Arya quite far from the room where they’d last been together, a sure sign that she’d been searching a while. She was furious. Daenerys tried a preemptive strike. “I’m sorr….”

Arya cut her off. “Where have you been?” Her stormy eyes moved off Daenerys’s face and settled on her arm, specifically the one looped around Margaery’s.

She stepped forward, slipping out of Margaery’s reach but the damage had already been done. “Arya, I’m sorry…”

“I’ve been looking everywhere. Missandei is off searching a different part of the castle. We thought something happened to you!” 

Her ire rose with every word and making things worse Daenerys didn’t have a suitable defense. “I know, and I’m sorry but…”

“Seven Hells,” she hissed, “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t do shit like this.” Daenerys tried to cram another apology in the first opening Arya gave her, but she wasn’t fast enough. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are, but maybe getting away from me was the whole point.” By the end Arya’s intense gaze was set on Margaery. 

“Arya,” she said softly. When the guard didn’t look at her she tried again, a little louder. Lastly, she reached out and laid her hands over Arya’s arm. She tried not to be offended by the lack of a response. Arya had every right to be angry. “Do you trust me?”. 

Arya finally looked into her eyes. She stared back, trying to speak without words, to tell her lover that her disappearance would prove worthwhile. “Of course, I do.” 

“Then trust me. I know you’re upset, and you have every right to be, I will answer all of your questions I promise, but right now we have somewhere we need to go.”

Arya scoffed. “Are you kidding? I went to check on the Unsullied, like you asked me to, and I come back to find you missing. Now you reappear and you want to forget you broke your promise to me, and go to some appointment you have?”

Daenerys didn’t really like having this conversation in a hallway, but mercifully they were relatively alone, with only Margaery nearby. They had always been close, but their connection was bound to strengthen now that they had the Stark sisters in common. 

“Arya please!” Daenerys implored. “You know me, know me better than anyone else, so ask yourself, would I act this way, would I treat you like this, if it wasn’t important?”

The seconds Arya spent contemplating Daenerys’s argument felt longer than they were. With a sigh Arya shook her head and narrowed her eyes. Daenerys could see she wasn’t happy, but she was finally willing to listen. That was something. “Where are we going?”

R-C

Guilt, that’s all there was. They walked down the hall with Margaery in the lead. Daenerys made a point to avoid physical contact, to leave space between them but it was too little too late. Another time she might’ve enjoyed seeing Arya a little jealous, to know the woman she adored cared enough to be bothered by her linking arms with Margaery Tyrell, but she couldn’t appreciate it in her current state. She disappointed Arya and that realization cut deep.

It was little comfort knowing she’d done it for Arya, that she took advantage of her time away to ask about Sansa. All that mattered right then was the repetitive thud of Arya’s boots against the floor. Was she stomping harder than usual or was it Daenerys’s imagination? In a futile attempt to smooth the waters she stayed at Arya’s side, where she could be seen and guarded easily. It didn’t make a difference. Arya refused to look at her and her presence provided none of the warmth Daenerys had come to cherish. 

She’d fucked up, badly. She’d apologize, as many times as it took to earn forgiveness, later. First Arya needed to see Sansa. 

When Margaery finally stopped it was in front of a set of dark wooden doors. Each one had a rose carved in the face and matching golden knobs. Margaery pulled one open and stepped inside. 

It was their turn to follow but Arya abruptly twisted in Daenerys’s direction. She thought Arya was going to make some sort of peace offering, she should’ve known better. “I’ll guard the door,” she said stoically, “you go ahead, Lady Tyrell is waiting for you.”

She sighed, actually Margaery was waiting for her. “I know you’re mad,” she said, understating Arya’s true feelings by a significant margin, “I know, and I don’t blame you. You can stay mad at me as long as you want, but please come inside.” She begged shamelessly for Arya to agree. Inside Daenerys was panicking. She didn’t have the slightest clue how she would get Arya in that room if she was determined not to go. She could bring Sansa to her, but their reunion wasn’t something that should happen in a public hallway. “Please Arya, I’m not asking for forgiveness, but if you care about me, please come inside with me.”

She knew the instant Arya decided to accompany her, it came immediately after the words, “if you care about me.’ “Fine,” she said stiffly. 

Relieved Daenerys nodded and went for the door. Arya got there first, holding it for the Princess to pass through. The walked in on a conversation. “…. I can warm your food if you want,” a soft voice said, presumably to Margaery. It was coming from an unseen portion of the large room. Was this Sansa? “I didn’t know when you’d be back, and it got cold.”

“The food doesn’t matter,” Margaery insisted, “there are some people I want you to meet.” 

Daenerys peeked over her shoulder and found Arya with her arms crossed over her chest, looking none too impressed with any of this. Hopefully that was about to change.

“Wh…who, what did you do Margaery?” the voice asked. By the time she finished speaking both women had stepped in view.

Arya had described her sister before, the hair, the eyes, the beauty, but she was even more radiant than Daenerys imagined. With her red hair and smooth skin her beauty rivaled Margaery’s. She was wearing a simple, but flawless blue dress that made her eyes sparkle. There was no doubt, this was Sansa. 

The elder Stark fell into her role as a hostess and offered a tight, but polite smile. “Very nice to meet you,” she started to say, before she seemed to comprehend was standing in front of her. Her eyes darted back to Margaery. “What’s going on?” 

To her credit, Margaery didn’t falter. She wrapped her arm around Sansa’s shoulders and pulled her to her side. Words were spoken but Daenerys was too far away to hear them. Whatever they were, they gave Sansa the courage to face her again. She took a step to her left and then sank to a knee. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Princess, I’m S…”

“Sansa,” Arya gasped, her disbelief evident. 

The woman beside her was no longer the disgruntled guard she’d been. Her crossed arms hung loose at her sides. Her eyes stared unblinking at her sister for an endless moment. She felt bad for witnessing it. This didn’t belong to her, not just because she was a Targaryen but because she wasn’t a Stark. The idea that she didn’t belong multiplied when she detected the glassy quality in her favorite pair of grey eyes. 

Opposite her Sansa was looking at Arya like a riddle. Her brow scrunched and she squinted as she sought to understand Arya’s significance. She obviously noticed the resemblance but couldn’t comprehend it. Given that she thought Arya was dead, it had to be a shock. 

“Stand up,” Daenerys instructed, waving to try and hasten the process, “there is no need for that.”

Although she stood, Daenerys didn’t miss the way Sansa glanced at Margaery, as if to confirm Daenerys’s words were sincere. 

Arya was suddenly in motion. She rushed to Sansa and wrapped her in a hug. “I can’t believe it’s really you,” she said as she squeezed the startled handmaiden. 

“Um, hello to you too,” she squeaked out weakly. 

Arya noticed and released her. “Sansa it’s me,” she said placing herself directly in front of her sister’s eyeline, “it’s me, it’s Arya.”

There was a momentary flicker of something akin to hope on Sansa’s face before she snuffed it out. “Arya,” she repeated breathlessly, “Arya’s dead!”

Daenerys cringed and nearby Margaery did the same. She thought nothing was more important than getting Arya to Sansa as quickly as possible, but maybe that had been a mistake. Perhaps she would have benefited from hearing what Daenerys knew, about how Sansa searched for her and came to the conclusion she was gone.

“I’m not dead,” Arya declared, “Dorne might be far away but it isn’t the afterlife.”

Her joke eased none of the tension. “It can’t be,” she said more to herself than her sister. “I searched for years and then…”

Margaery moved back to her place at Sansa’s side and again offered her the comfort of an embrace. “This is real San,” she promised, “we were wrong, we got it wrong.”

That did it. Sansa’s mask cracked and all the emotions under the surface were visible, the pain, the hurt, the hope, the grief, the joy. “Arya?” she said again, studying the stranger in front of her. “Gods, can it really be you?”

Arya was patient, giving her time to adjust. “It’s me.” When Sansa remained unsure Arya sought to convince her. “Who else would know your direwolf was named Lady and you wanted to marry a Prince?”

With tears shining in her eyes Sansa barked out a laugh. “A lot of people knew that.”

“Okay,” Arya acknowledged, “but would they know my wolf was Nymeria? Would they know your friends used to call me Horseface and you bite your fingernails when you’re nervous?”

Before Arya finished Sansa was back in her arms. “By the Gods,” she said as her younger sister held her. “I can’t believe this. I mourned you, I mourned all of you.”

With a tender touch Arya stroked red hair. “I know, I miss them too and I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me, but I’m here now.”

As the Starks cried together Margaery crossed over to stand next to Daenerys. “Let’s give them a minute,” she suggested, keeping her voice low so not to interrupt. 

“Definitely,” Daenerys agreed. 

R-C

Arya had no desire to enter Margaery Tyrell’s bedchamber, but she went because Daenerys asked her too. Yes, she was mad, but she couldn’t stop caring. 

When she heard the voice discussing food, she thought it was a trick, some game her mind was playing to torment her. She believed that until she saw the body that voice came from. There was no dispute, no question, no doubt, she’d found Sansa. She was older and more beautiful than Arya remembered, but still every inch her sister. She had the eyes of their mother, fire-red hair and a regal poise that couldn’t be taught. Oh, the Septa had tried to teach it, to Arya, with disastrous results. While she struggled to manage even the most childish interpretation, it all came naturally for Sansa. She didn’t need the Septa, their mother or anyone else to guide her. Her time in Highgarden hadn’t changed that. 

A distant corner of her brain wondered why Sansa was with Margaery Tyrell, but it didn’t seem important enough to ask about, not then. 

She stared long enough to hear Sansa question what was happening and see her kneel needlessly in front of the Princess, she just couldn’t move. She’d never been an affectionate woman. In fact, with the exception of Daenerys hugging someone felt strange. That said, she threw her arms around Sansa as soon as she got them working. She hung on tightly, still struggling to believe it was real. 

How many times had she dreamt of this moment, how many times had she imagined what they’d say to one another? Too many to count and somehow, she remained woefully unprepared. Sansa’s statement about her being dead made it hard to focus. Why would she think that? Who told her and why? She’d been gone when Arya was brought before Aerys, was it as simple as Sansa assuming the worst? She tried to joke, but Sansa remained as stubborn as when they were children. She was determined to get her way, only this time, she wasn’t insisting Arya clean up her half of their shared room, this time she was asking Arya to prove she was who she claimed to be. 

Her initial attempt to reassure Sansa was rebuffed in typical Sansa-fashion, by calmly stating that anyone would know those things about her. As she delved deeper into their history, the memories came but she didn’t fight them, not this time. She wasn’t alone anymore. 

At some point Daenerys and Margaery gave them some privacy but neither Stark really paid them any mind. They cried together over a loss only they could understand. No one else knew their pain or felt it as acutely as they did. After years of shouldering that burden alone, now she had Sansa to help. 

“Are you okay?” she asked when they were sitting side by side at a table. The food in front of them was ignored. “Do they treat you alright?”

The question seemed to catch Sansa off guard. “Who?”

She rolled her eyes. “The Tyrells. Do they treat you well?” She couldn’t deny that Sansa looked good, she was well-fed, appeared happy and had nice clothes, but Arya knew there was more to a person than what was visible on the outside. 

“Of course, why would you ask me that?”

Arya released a breath she’d been holding for ages. What was happening to Sansa at Highgarden was a constant theme in her nightmares. She’d toss and turn, imagining all the horrible things the Tyrells might do to punish an unruly Wolf. 

She didn’t answer the question, so Sansa posed another. “What are you doing here? I thought you were dead. 

She took a deep breath before she began untangling that particular knot. “I was sent to foster, same as you. Why would you think I was dead?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” she countered bitterly. “Everyone else is.” She stared at the breastplate Arya wore. “The Martells?” she verified. 

She nodded. “He sent me to Sunspear, to Prince Doran.” 

“And he gave you back to the Targaryens?” Sansa guessed, her pretty face contorting into a scowl. 

“Not exactly.” She looked down at herself and touched her breastplate, right over the marking of the sun. “In Dorne I trained to be a soldier.”

“Really?” Sansa smirked at her sister. “I bet you loved that.”

“I did,” Arya confirmed, deciding to leave out the years spent cleaning chamber pots. “I had just finished my training when the King came to Sunspear.”

With a grim look on her face Sansa laid one of her hands over Arya’s. She was struck by how different they were. Soft, smooth as silk, so unlike her own. “How bad was it?”

It was strange to think back to that day now. She’d been so happy to complete her training, so angry when the Mad King summoned her and so offended when Daenerys took her into her service, but it was hard to see the events as anything other than a blessing. They brought her to Daenerys and for that she was eternally grateful. “The King demanded a guard return with him to the capital,” she recalled, declining to mention her near death. “I was chosen.”

“Why you? Why would Prince Doran send you, he knows who you are, that’s…”

She turned their hands over so hers was on top and she gave Sansa’s a squeeze to stop her worrying. “It’s okay, Doran didn’t have a choice. The King chose me.” 

“So now you serve him?” she said, unable to keep the contempt from her tone. 

“No,” she disagreed emphatically. “I serve the Princess.”

“What’s the difference?” Sansa wondered bitterly. 

Arya smiled as she thought about Daenerys. “Everything.”

R-C

It was while they were giving Arya and Sansa some space that Daenerys and Margaery reconnected with Missandei. “There you are!” she shouted as she hurried over to the Targaryen. “Are you alright?” Before she could reply Missandei noticed who was missing. “Where is Arya? Has she not found you yet?”

She walked up and calmed her excited friend with a firm hand on her shoulder. “Everyone is fine,” she promised to set things straight. “Arya did find me, she’s with her sister, we’re giving them a few minutes alone.”

With a wide smile Missandei exhaled. “She found her?” Daenerys nodded in confirmation. “That’s wonderful. I’m happy for her.”

“Me too,” Daenerys agreed. 

It was quiet for a few moments until it was obvious the handmaiden had more she wanted to say. “While I was looking for you, I saw Tyrion, he wishes to speak to you when you’re available.” 

Her instinct was to go immediately, to find Tyrion and resolve whatever issue needed her attention but could she do that? She’d already left Arya behind once and she didn’t want to do it again. On the other hand, she didn’t want to interrupt the reunion with the Realm’s business either. They were owed the chance to get reacquainted after so many years. “Do you know what he wanted to discuss?”

“No,” Missandei admitted, “but it seemed important.” 

She nodded, resigned to the reality of her situation. “Alright, just give me a moment to let Arya know where we’re going.” 

R-C

Arya loved her sister deeply. The true depth of her feelings may not have been known to her until they were separated, but it was clear now. Despite that, the longer the conversation went on, the harder each of them had to work at it. Once the initial surge of emotions was gone, after all the tears had run dry, Arya was reminded why she and Sansa quarreled so often. They couldn’t communicate. It wasn’t a lack of love, they both cared plenty, their problem was they couldn’t relate to one another. Sansa’s proper, Lady-like behavior was as strange to Arya as it had been when they were girls and now that Arya had realized her dream and become a soldier, Sansa was just as unsure about how to interact with her. 

They exchanged stories about the years they’d been apart, but it was clear to Arya that both were careful to avoid negative subjects. They were tiptoeing around each other and although she hated it, she didn’t know how to stop. Fostered in different houses, in different kingdoms Arya and Sansa grew to be completely different people. To be fair, it probably would have happened regardless of where they were raised but the divide between them was still massive, even when they were in the same room. 

One of the things she learned was that upon her return to Sunspear she’d probably need to murder Doran. Why he hadn’t told her that her sister was trying to make contact was a mystery. Oberyn wouldn’t have kept it from her, which meant Doran hadn’t told his brother. It begged the question why? What did he gain from keeping the siblings from sending letters? 

“Are you happy here?” Arya asked. Everything Sansa told her gave the impression that Highgarden wasn’t a bad place to be, but she needed confirmation, needed to hear it explicitly stated that Sansa hadn’t suffered. She was the younger one, but protecting Sansa was the right thing to do, she knew that. It was what her brothers would do, what her father would want of her, and what her mother would pointedly request if she could. 

“I’m as happy as I can be,” Sansa answered after giving it some thought. “They don’t treat me like a foster, and I know it could be worse.” 

That was definitely true. “I’ve missed you,” Arya confessed when she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I know you probably don’t believe that…”

She hadn’t noticed her hand was shaking until Sansa stilled it with her own. “Of course, I believe it. Why wouldn’t I?”

She closed her eyes and pushed the words out. “When we were children….”

That’s as far as she got. “You just said it Arya, we were children. I knew that wherever you were, you missed me, just as I missed you.” 

Until right then she hadn’t realized just how badly she wanted to know that Sansa missed her, but the confession lifted an unseen weight from her chest and made it easier to breathe. “As soon as I told Daenerys who I was, she started trying to arrange this trip so I could come and look for you.”

It was quiet and Sansa glanced more than once at the door to verify they were still alone before she said what was on her mind. “How can you do it? Don’t you worry the King will kill you?”

That was a valid concern, but she swallowed back that admission. It wouldn’t help Sansa to know how many times the Mad King almost killed her. “He thinks I’m a Sand,” she explained. “When I was called before him, I knew I couldn’t tell him who I was, so I lied and told him I was a bastard.” 

She expected a reprimand. There was nothing honorable about lying to royalty about who you are, and Sansa would surely take offense that she hadn’t been brave enough to admit she was a Stark. That’s how she thought her sister would feel, but Sansa’s reaction proved how unknowable Sansa still was to her. “That was clever,” she remarked with a secret smile, like she was proud Arya thought of it. 

“I have my moments,” she quipped, smiling back. 

“But wait, you said the Princess knows who you are.”

“She does,” Arya confirmed, “I told her.”

As unpredictably as ever Sansa erupted. “Why would you do that?! She could tell her father!”

“She won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she insisted. “I know Daenerys and my secrets are safe with her.” 

The door opening halted whatever dismissive thing her sister was going to say next. Daenerys’s silver head poked in and she kept her eyes down, telling Arya she heard at least some of what the sisters were discussing. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said quietly. Arya resisted the urge to growl. That wasn’t the tone Daenerys typically used when they spoke, it was the one she saved for when Tywin was belittling her, when Rhaegar was marginalizing her or when Aerys was ignoring her. The last thing Arya wanted was to hear that soft, meek voice aimed at her. “I just wanted to let you know I need to go and meet with Tyrion.”

“I’ll be right there,” Arya said at once, already rising out of her chair. 

“No,” she said in opposition, finally looking up to meet Arya’s eye. “You should stay with your sister. Margaery will get some of the castle guards to accompany us.”

“I don’t mind,” Arya pointed out. “Sansa and I will have lots of time to talk.”

“Arya, you should stay,” Daenerys repeated a little more intently. “I want you to.” 

She and Daenerys would need to talk about this, but for the time being, she relented. “You can’t go alone.”

“I’m not alone,” she promised, “Missandei and Margaery will be coming with me, and as I said, we’ll ask a few of the Tyrell guards to join us as well. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

“There is no danger in the castle Arya,” Sansa added. 

She held back a sigh but not by much. Sansa just didn’t understand. To her Daenerys was nothing more than her father’s daughter, she didn’t know that she was different, or special, or that she was important to Arya. She couldn’t know how seriously Arya took her job as Daenerys’s protector and how uncomfortable she’d be sitting across from Sansa while she knew Daenerys was wandering around Highgarden. “Be careful,” she pleaded, “please.” The last word came out a little more desperate than Arya would’ve liked, but it couldn’t be helped. She needed Daenerys to be safe. Nothing mattered as much. 

“I will,” Daenerys swore, “I’ll be back soon.”

“I don’t know how you can do that,” Sansa said when they were alone again. 

“Do what?”

“Smile at her like that. She’s a Targaryen, after what her father did, and her brother, I could never do that.” 

Arya was hoping they could avoid this topic, but apparently Sansa was still too stubborn to let something go. Until she understood Arya’s reasons, she’d never be able to accept Daenerys. “I haven’t forgotten,” she assured Sansa bluntly. “I hate the King too, but Daenerys is different. She’s not like them.”

“She’s certainly got you fooled,” Sansa grumbled under her breath. She made no real effort to keep Arya from hearing her opinion. 

“You don’t even know her.” 

“I know she’s one of them. She may hide it better than they do, but she’s no different.” 

It wasn’t possible for Arya to disagree any more than she did. “You’re wrong.”

“Is it because she’s pretty?” Sansa accused. “Is that why you can’t see her for who she really is?”

“I have spent everyday with her for months, I see her just fine,” she contended. “You just met her.”

“I don’t need to know her, to know exactly who she is,” Sansa fired back. This was familiar territory. Arya didn’t know whether to be relieved or sad that they could still bicker like this. It was just like countless times before when they couldn’t agree, only this time it wasn’t about their favorite hobbies or some rude comment one girl made about the other, this was about Daenerys, and to Arya that mattered. “What could she have possibly done to make you forget everything her family has done to ours!?”

Just like when they were girls, Arya grew frustrated by Sansa’s unwillingness to see reason. To her it was impossible to look at Daenerys and see just another Targaryen. Each and every day Daenerys did something to show she deserved to be judged on her own merits. It annoyed her that she couldn’t make Sansa see that. She knew their brief interaction wouldn’t be enough to convince her sister, but she did wish her word was good enough to appease Sansa for the time being. 

She had wanted to spare Sana the pain of hearing how she almost died, how the same man who ruined their family came back into her life and nearly finished the job, but it couldn’t be avoided anymore. She wanted Sansa to see who Daenerys truly was, and for that to happen she’d need to tell her more than the watered-down version she already knew. “Daenerys saved my life,” she admitted. 

This had Sansa’s full attention. “Wh…what?” 

“If it wasn’t for her, I’d be dead right now.” Arya elaborated, “While she was in Dorne, she saved me.”

“What happened?”

Arya went back in her mind. “It started on the day I finished my training.” 

R-C

Tyrion was on a tail end of a meeting when they located him. He was sitting across from Mace Tyrell and his son Loras. Both Tyrion and Mace tried to speak at the same time, while Loras remained silent. Unlike her grandson Olenna didn’t mind sharing her thoughts. She wasn’t at the table like the others, she’d just been walking by and decided to voice her feelings. Although it seemed amicable enough Daenerys sensed some tension in all involved. Too far away to hear, Daenerys looked to Margaery for clarification but found her unwilling to meet the Princess’s gaze. 

What were they talking about? Her curiosity peaked when she neared the table and the discussion abruptly stopped. Mace noticed her first, standing up. “Princess Daenerys,” he said holding out an arm, “how was your tour of Highgarden?” She couldn’t say why, but his delivery felt forced, like he was trying too hard. 

“You have a wonderful home Lord Tyrell,” Daenerys said respectfully, “and Lady Margaery is a terrific guide.” 

“Very good.” Mace looked to his right and put a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. “Have you met Loras yet Princess?”

It was a simple question but one that made almost everyone around her uneasy. Tyrion’s smile dulled, Margaery coughed and cleared her throat in an obvious attempt to get her father’s attention, Lady Olenna shook her head in quiet disapproval and Loras himself flinched when Mace steered the conversation to him. What was going on? “I have,” she noted before looking at the handsome young man. “Nice to see you again.”

“You too,” he replied. 

The awkwardness of the moment remained until Tyrion broke it. “Princess, might I request you fit me into your busy schedule this evening? We have much to discuss before tomorrow.” 

She didn’t know what Tyrion intended to speak with her about, but she did see Mace’s overt nodding in agreement and the way Loras looked away. 

“Surely the girl is tired after all her travelling, the negotiations can wait,” Olenna tried. 

The negotiations, of course. With everything that happened with Arya and her sister, she’d pushed the negotiations to the back of her mind. She smiled kindly at the elderly woman. “That’s quite alright, I’d like to get our business settled as quickly as possible so I can enjoy the remainder of my time here.”

Again, the expressions around her didn’t match what she expected to see. Margaery and Olenna were shocked, Tyrion looked guilty and Loras blushed as he avoided her eyes again. What was happening?

“I’ll find you later and we’ll sort out all the particulars,” Tyrion advised. 

Eager to get away from the odd encounter she nodded and stepped away, with Margaery and Missandei following after. She thought about Arya, how were things going with Sansa? Were the sisters enjoying their reunion?

“Are you looking forward to the negotiations?” Margaery asked her. 

“I’m nervous,” Daenerys confessed, but only after making sure no one other than her two friends would hear her. The guards they enlisted were a respectable distance away, giving them a privacy she rarely experienced in the Red Keep. 

“That’s normal,” Margaery assured her, linking their arms again in a show of support. 

“I’ve never led a negotiation before, I’m not sure how it’ll go,” Daenerys fretted. 

“You’ll do fine, my father wants this to work, so he will make it as easy as possible.” 

Margaery’s assurance helped. She’d always wanted a larger role in politics, and she’d been both excited and terrified when it was decided she would handle the negotiations, but now that they were upon her she was unable to quell the doubts that echoed in her head. What skills did she have that made her capable of this? She had no experience and apart from being a Targaryen, no discernable talents. She was in too deep and she knew it. “I don’t know.”

“I know,” Margaery retorted. “Trust me, you’ll be fine. Loras is just as nervous.” 

Loras? What did he have to do with any of this? Was he learning the art of negotiating as well? Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if there was another novice at the table. Before she could inquire a familiar voice intervened. “Daenerys,” Daario shouted, far too loudly for a quiet corner of a castle. 

She unwound her arm from Margaery’s and offered Lady Tyrell a quick but sincere apology before she stepped forward to deal with Daario. “I thought you were staying with the Unsullied outside the walls.” She was being intentionally polite, the truth was she ordered him to stay with the Unsullied, so naturally it made sense that he’d be inside at the first opportunity. 

“I grew bored,” he said with a smirk. “You know how it is.” Daenerys was still deciding what to say when Daario’s eyes settled on Margaery. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Violet eyes closed and she fought to control her temper. She’d been losing her handle on her anger quite frequently of late and the more it happened, the easier it became each time. It was a challenge to contain her rage in Daario’s company. “Lady Margaery Tyrell, this is Daario Naharis of the Second Sons.” 

While Daario gave her his most charming smile, Margaery’s response was polite, though not unkind. “The Second Sons. That is a mer…”

Daario cut her off. “It is, I came from Essos to serve Daenerys.”

Her eyes rolled skyward in response. What other reaction was appropriate when someone rewrites your past so thoroughly. Daario had not come to serve her, he came to kill her. “Daario serves my father,” she clarified. 

Margaery picked up on the strain between them. “I see, well welcome to Highgarden Daario.”

After bowing his head Daario took a difficult exchange and made it worse. “I heard Highgarden has some of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms and after only a day here it’s clearly true.”

As he spoke to Margaery, Daario’s eyes drifted to her. His lips curled upward into an uneven smirk. Was he trying to make her jealous by mentioning other women? If only he’d find another woman to occupy his time, he’d stop obsessing over her. 

“There are many beautiful women here,” Margaery agreed. “Whatever your preference, I’m sure you’ll find something you like.” 

“Are you offering?” Daario wondered, flirting openly. Again, he kept looking to Daenerys to assess her reaction, but he also openly admired Margaery’s figure.

Margaery’s friendly smile became a little tighter. “That’s very kind, but I’m afraid I’m spoken for.” 

She had anticipated Margaery would refuse Daario’s advance, but she hadn’t expected she’d do it that way. Was she telling the truth? Was she speaking about Sansa? Margaery was the single most sought after woman in the Realm, if she was committed to anyone there would be a long line of disappointed suitors that extended far outside the Reach. 

“That’s a shame,” Daario said before his focus returned to Daenerys and stayed there. “What about you Daenerys,” he proposed, “I know you’re unspoken for, what do you say we go for a ride around Highgarden?”

Was he asking in front of Margaery in hopes it would influence her answer, or had he forgotten the vigorous and repeated times she told him they were over? She was envious of her friend, of her ability to use that justification to escape him. Daenerys wanted to claim she too was spoken for, in the hopes she’d convince Daario he was wasting his time, but she couldn’t, not without putting Arya in danger. “I have plans tonight,” he said plainly, making no effort to soften the blow. 

“Come on,” he pressed, “we need to take advantage of this chance while we can. When was the last time you went anywhere without your shadow anyway?”

“My shadow?”

“Where is she, that gruff guard, who growls and scowls every time I see her?” he clarified. 

Daenerys smiled, not at his description, but because she realized he was talking about Arya. Her amusement heightened when it occurred to her that he was right, each time he did see Arya she was angry and only too happy to express it. What he didn’t understand was that when he wasn’t around, Arya was much more amenable, she smiled and laughed and made sure Daenerys did the same. 

“Arya is taking care of something for me,” Daenerys said, “she’ll be back any time now I suspect.” 

“All the more reason to leave before she does.” 

He reached for her hand and she snatched it away. “Don’t!” she spit. How dare he do this now, in front of Margaery, it was entirely inappropriate and unacceptable. “I told you to remain with the Unsullied, those were my orders!”

He let his arm fall back to his side, but he was still defiant. “Come on, I was just…”

“Disobeying me,” she finished for him. “Yes, you were.”

“Daenerys, be reasonab…”

“I strongly advise you return to the post I assigned you,” she suggested. “The King has little use for men who can’t follow instructions.” 

The implication was clear. A part of her was sick as she threatened to wield her father’s illness like a weapon against a man she once cared for. Another part, a larger part couldn’t help but take notice of how quickly Daario’s bravado faded, how suddenly he said goodbye and fled. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Daenerys said to the Tyrell once Daario was out of sight. She did regret that her friend had to witness her spat with her former lover. 

“Think nothing of it,” Margaery replied, waving away Daenerys’s concerns with a dainty hand. “Come now, let’s go check on our respective Starks.”

She was sure Margaery had questions and given what she’d just seen, they were valid, but she asked none, choosing instead to redirect them both. Daenerys was only too happy to go along with the new plan since it led straight to Arya. 

R-C

“Is that what we’ve come for?!” She wanted to scream but her anxiety made it come out as a shriek instead of the furious rage she’d been trying to convey. Though she posed it like a question, it wasn’t. She knew the truth when she heard it, and this sounded right. Making an already difficult situation worse was the fact that it cleared up many minor details that had been bothering her. If she’d been skeptical or suspicious maybe this whole thing could have been avoided. 

It seemed so obvious now, now that she knew what to look for. With hindsight she could see how she'd stepped right into a trap without ever realizing it was there. Worse than that, she got herself caught then thanked the hunter for his generosity. How many times had she asked her father for permission to travel? Dozens, hundreds? It didn’t matter because regardless of the destination or her reasons for wanting to go, she was always denied. Sometimes her father told her ‘no’ himself, other times Tywin was the messenger of bad news, and occasionally it fell to Rhaegar to refuse her. She felt like a fool for not seeing it sooner. She should have been smart enough to question why after refusing her every request for years, he was suddenly willing to accommodate this one. She thought it was a testament to the importance of House Tyrell and their power that her request was enough to get the King’s attention, now Daenerys knew how naive her thinking had been. After so many years in the Red Keep, with her father and his advisors she should have foreseen that the only way to change Aerys’s mind would be to make him a better offer. She thought he was being kind to her, hearing her plea and granting a concession to make his daughter happy – more crap, more lies. This trip had never been about what Daenerys wanted, her father agreed to it, because for the first time, one of Daenerys’s requests aligned with his own interests. 

She struggled to identify her wide-ranging emotions. She fluctuated from furious and enraged to heartbroken and devastated so quickly it stole the air from her lungs. What there wasn’t in that mess of conflicted feelings was any surprise. Daenerys was hurt by how she’d been used and felt stupid for missing the signs along the way, but it wasn’t a shock to learn the King was willing to use his only daughter like a prop. It wasn’t surprising that Rhaegar, Varys, Tywin and everyone else went along with it. No one in court had the courage to resist when her father set his mind to something. 

One after the next she was bombarded with flashes of memories. All the strange looks and awkward conversations she’d had since arriving at Highgarden made a lot more sense when viewed under the light of this new information. 

How long had they been scheming together and who? Mace and Tywin definitely, along with her father but was that where it ended? Margaery’s eagerness, Lady Olenna’s generous suggestion that she visit the Reach, was any of it genuine?

It came hard and fast, a weight on her chest that felt crippling. From there her vision blurred around the edges. What little she could see was spotted and dimmed by fog. Her ears continued to work, but everything she heard sounded remarkably far away. It was as if she was listening from her perch in a boat while those around her were speaking from the sea floor, hundreds of feet below. Whatever they were saying, it didn’t seem important, not when compared to the words that were stuck in h her brain since Tyrion first spoke them – ‘we’ve come to arrange your marriage.’ 

All this time, she thought she’d come to visit friends, to see a tiny portion of the Realm and everyone else was plotting to sell her like a harvest of grain. Whatever she thought she’d come for, the real reason she was allowed to leave King’s Landing and visit the Reach was because powerful men wanted to wed her to Loras Tyrell. 

Daenerys knew her limitations. She wasn’t the smartest woman in the world, and she lacked the life experience of others, but she’d always considered herself to be above average in intellect. So, she knew long ago that one day she may be required to marry and when that day came, loving or even liking her potential husband wouldn’t be a requirement. For her marriage was a transaction to be bartered over like any other. She’d spoken about it once with Arya, and…

Her thoughts stopped short and changed direction with a sharp turn. Arya. Her prior objections to marriage, the feelings and opinions she had, all of that was before Arya, before Arya came into her life, before Arya became the single most important person in her world. Her heart was racing as she thought about her lover. This time her pounding heart had nothing to do with desire or longing, this time it was caused by dread and fear. Arya was in the room with her. She rejoined Daenerys just before her meeting with Tyrion, just in time to learn exactly what would be negotiated. As hard as this was for Daenerys, she could only assume it was worse for Arya. Her palms were damp with a cold sweat, as her face heated up and every intake of air was at a premium. Arya, what must Arya be thinking? How could she even begin to apologize for this? She always knew they wouldn’t have long together, but she thought they’d have a few more weeks. She never dreamed that the wedding that would divide them would be hers and not Viserys’s. Panic bubbled up as she wondered if she’d kissed Arya for the last time. Would they be together again? Would Arya even want to be after Daenerys was pledged to Loras Tyrell?

R-C

Arya would be the first to admit, Daenerys’s meeting with Tyrion wasn’t her main priority. While she stood guard, several feet behind the Princess’s chair, her mind was on her time with Sansa. It had been an emotional exchange for both sisters and as relieved as Arya was to know Sansa was alive and well, every answer she was given birthed two new questions about the years they were apart. 

She barely noticed when Missandei poured wine for two and then excused herself. She was only watching to make certain Tyrion didn’t reach for a knife or any other weapon and put Daenerys at risk. Beyond that, the details were lost to her. Her mind was on the sister the Gods saw fit to give her back, the one she missed desperately but had a hard time relating to. Was Sansa glad they’d found her? They disagreed on many things, most significantly, Daenerys, but Arya was still relieved to see her. Sansa seemed happy with her life, maybe Arya’s return was an inconvenience, maybe Arya’s presence would disrupt Sansa’s carefully structured existence. Her sister had been through enough, she didn’t want to make it worse. 

When the pivotal moment came Arya only heard one word – marriage. That snapped her focus back to the present and removed Sansa from the forefront of her mind for the first time since they saw one another. Marriage? Who was getting married? The distraught look on Daenerys’s face told Arya all she needed to know. Arya felt sick, so sick she was dizzy. Unfair as it was, she couldn’t command her body to obey. This shouldn’t be a surprise, she always assumed Daenerys would get married someday, she’d have kids and raise a family, it was just happening much, much sooner than Arya planned. She had no doubt Daenerys would be a loving wife and a spectacular mother, Arya just figured she’d be back in Dorne long before it happened. 

Tyrion’s repeated attempts to coax a response out of Daenerys helped Arya move past her own feelings and spend her energy on the one of them that truly mattered. Daenerys was staring straight ahead with a pained expression etched deep into her gorgeous features. Her breathing came in short, uneven pants, her cheeks and neck were red, while her lips remained sealed in a thin, unhappy line. 

“We need to discuss this,” Tyrion was insisting. Though he clearly felt strongly, Arya could hear the effort he keep the sting out of his comment. “The negotiations are set to begin tomorrow.”

That was what Daenerys had been sent here to negotiate? Why would the King and Tywin allow Daenerys to negotiate her own marriage? She thought back to that moment in the throne room, before they left. Tyrion had spoken up in Daenerys’s defense, saying she’d been a great help to him and suggesting she was capable of handling the negotiations with the Tyrells. Others tried to object, but the King agreed, naming Tyrion Daenerys’s second in command for the endeavor. 

She twisted her head in the Master of Coins direction. She liked Tyrion, had from the start, so it was hard to believe he knew what they were coming to arrange when he recommended Daenerys for the job. Her instincts said he hadn’t known, but she didn’t survive this long relying on the goodness of people, especially nobles. If Tyrion knowingly put Daenerys in this position Arya would string him up personally before they ever made it back to the Crownlands. 

“Daenerys please,” Tyrion continued on. While Arya was lost in her thoughts she hadn’t missed much. Daenerys remained frozen and Tyrion was still trying to get through to her. When he extended his arm to touch her Arya was there grabbing his wrist before he made contact. She shook her head. “I just want to help.”

Being Tywin’s son undoubtedly made Tyrion a good liar, but Arya kept wanting to put her trust in him. “Did you know?” she whispered. She was speaking to him, but her grey eyes were glued to Daenerys. Time seemed to be of little help, instead of slowly returning to herself Daenerys became more withdrawn the longer this went on. Arya was well past concerned. 

“Know what?”

Was he serious? She turned to him and glared. “You’re too smart to play the idiot, did you know what we were coming here for?”

“No,” he said, after shrinking back from Arya’s anger. “Not until after we left the throne room.”

His admission didn’t help him any. He’d known days before anyone else and hadn’t said a word. He could have warned Daenerys, or informed Arya but he kept it quiet and waited until they were at Highgarden to spring the trap. She was beginning to question her initial opinion of Tyrion Lannister. “So, you did know,” Arya accused hotly, “the whole way here you knew about the wedding and said nothing!” By the end she was no longer in control of the volume she was using. She’d forgotten why she needed to be, until she heard Daenerys whimper. 

Just like that what Tyrion knew and when he knew it was no longer important. Arya squatted down next to Daenerys’s chair and smiled, hoping to provide some comfort. There was no response. She reached out and brushed her hand across Daenerys’s cheek, startled by how cool her skin was. She’d originally intended to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear, but the cold cheek and the vacant look behind her eyes caused Arya to take more drastic action. “Hang on,” she whispered to her lover before she stood tall and faced Tyrion. “Get out!” she ordered. 

“What?” He tried to smile through it, but she could see she he was unsure of what to do or say. “Listen Arya, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything I just didn’t want Daenerys to worry until…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Arya said, meaning it. “She’s in no condition to do this now.” When he didn’t look motivated, she put a hand on the back of his shoulder and gave him a not so subtle push toward the door. “Go, we can talk about this later, once she’s ready.”

Tyrion took two full steps away from the table before he turned back. “The Tyrells are expecting the negotiations to begin…”

“She’ll be ready,” Arya predicted with no idea how she was going to make that happen. 

“I’ll need to speak with her first,” he added. 

“Fine,” Arya snapped, having reached her limit with this. Daenerys was hurting and Arya was talking to the Imp instead of helping her. “We’ll see you in the morning and negotiate in the afternoon.”

Satisfied Tyrion began moving again. Before he left he looked back and gave the angry guard a sad, resigned smile. “Tell her I’m sorry,” he said just before he was gone, closing the door between them. 

Arya hurried to the door and locked it. On the way back to Daenerys she stripped off her armor, dropping it to the floor at random intervals along the way. She squatted down next to Daenerys’s chair again, this time wearing only the thin underclothes that went under her gear. “It’s okay,” she said gently, setting her hand on Daenerys’s. “You’re okay. We’re alone now, it’s just you and me.” 

Some or all that message seemed to reach Daenerys, to get through whatever was haunting her. There was a moment where her whole body tensed as she became aware of her surroundings. “Arya?” she whimpered weakly. Even before the soldier could respond Daenerys had turned her hand over under Arya’s and was melding their palms together. 

“I’m here,” she promised, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” 

The speed with which Daenerys surged forward reminded her of their first kiss – their first real kiss, after Arya was nearly executed – this time she popped out of her chair and threw herself into Arya’s arms. The way she clung to the Northern woman was unlike anything Arya ever experienced before, it was almost painfully, especially when Daenerys’s fingernails dug into the flesh on the back of her neck, clawing at her to make sure Arya stayed. “I’m sorry,” she said without relinquishing her grip. “I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t, I never would’ve…”

She trailed off, but Arya understood. She should have guessed, of course Daenerys wasn’t upset for herself. She’d just learned she would be required to wed and naturally her worry was for Arya. Most women would be thinking about how this would change their life, how it would affect them, but not Daenerys, she put others first, pushing feelings of her own to the background. “It’s okay,” Arya assured her, “we’re going to be okay.”

R-C

The reality that Daenerys had come to the Reach to negotiate her own marriage brought a wide range of emotions out of the frazzled Princess. First was sadness, then anger, which was followed by despair. Shouting vulgar words at the top of her lungs was the next suitable way to release her frustrations, after she’d run out of tears. 

It was common for Arya to think she was inadequate when it came to emotions. She was used to wishing she knew what to say or how to say it to ease Daenerys’s pain or lessen the weight she was carrying. In this instance, she knew what was right. She didn’t have to wonder or even second guess her choice, she just knew. It’s why she held Daenerys in her arms, in the center of the bed and said nothing as one hour became two and then three. She didn’t interrupt when Daenerys screamed or try to provide comfort, she just held her. She wasn’t an expert on feelings, but Arya did know that nothing she could say would help. She was powerless to stop the union being plotted and it would be wrong to give Daenerys false hope by suggesting otherwise. She could tell her lover that everything would be okay, but that too was wishful thinking, Daenerys was too smart to fall for that. Unable to provide any meaningful aid Arya was left to serve as a silent companion. She didn’t speak, and rarely moved, but she did hope Daenerys got some relief from her presence. Selfish as it was, Arya wanted Daenerys to be comforted by the fact that they were together. 

“Do you think I should get married?” Daenerys asked, breaking the quiet they’d slipped into. 

Arya considered the question. She didn’t like the idea of Daenerys marrying anyone, but she wasn’t a fool. The Princess was the most sought after bride in Westeros. It was a question of when not if she got married. Had Arya hoped she’d be far away by the time Daenerys pledged herself to someone, yes, but she wasn’t dumb enough to believe it wouldn’t happen eventually. She and Daenerys never had a future, she knew that, maybe that was why the pain was bearable. “Do you want to get married?”

The bed dipped slightly as Daenerys rolled over. They’d been lying with Daenerys’s back against her chest, but suddenly she was met with puffy, red eyes and a tear-stained face. Still, Daenerys looked stunning. “Of course not,” she answered keeping her eyes on Arya’s the whole time. “I had no idea that was the negotiation we were coming for. I can’t believe no one told me.” 

Arya held that same grudge. Oh, she’d heard Tyrion’s excuse, but it didn’t absolve him from a portion of the blame. “Yeah, well we can deal with that later, the more urgent problem is the Tyrells.”

“They invited me here to arrange a wedding!” Though they were speaking in whispers, her voice held a certain edge that made it known she was upset by the subterfuge. “I thought they were my friends…”

She’d made a conscious effort not to give the Princess false hope, but here she found herself willing to make a distinction, at least temporarily. “We don’t know who arranged it,” Arya acknowledged, “it may be that Margaery and Olenna didn’t plan it.” Arya had a hard time believing neither woman knew what they were bringing Daenerys into their home for, but they were the Targaryen’s friends, and before she removed two from that small group, Arya wanted to be certain it was deserved. 

It was silent for a long time after that as Daenerys once again got lost in her head. Whatever she was thinking about caused her to pose a question very similar to her first. “What do you think I should do?”

“My opinion doesn’t matter,” she said simply, “I don’t know this Loras and I can’t say if he’ll be a good husband or not.” 

For whatever reason Daenerys decided to deal with only the first part of her claim. “Your opinion is the only one that matters,” Daenerys decided, “to me.”

She paused to see if Daenerys would add more, but she didn’t. This left Arya searching for a suitable reply. While she scoured her mind, Daenerys looked at her expectantly. She assumed Daenerys needed some reassurance, so she tried to provide it. “Perhaps this Loras will make a good husband, I don’t know, I do know a guard who is quite skilled with a sword and a spear who would intervene if necessary.” 

For a fraction of a second, she thought it had worked. Some pink colored Daenerys’s cheeks, and she smiled, but it didn’t take root. It was gone in a blink. “What if I say no?” she considered aloud. “I am in charge of the negotiation, I could return to King’s Landing and tell Father Loras is a poor match.”

She was right, at least in the short term, that strategy would work. Arya finally understood why people were so surprised when Aerys named Daenerys to lead the negotiations. Both Rhaegar and Tywin had tried to dissuade him, but the King was determined. If Tyrion was being honest, he didn’t learn the true nature of the trip until after that, but it was logical for the Crown Prince and the Hand of the King to know in advance. It would also explain why neither wanted Daenerys to act as negotiator. “That’s true, you could do that, but it would only delay the inevitable, not stop it.” 

“I know,” she admitted, sounding defeated. “At least next time I’d be prepared. I feel like a fool for not knowing.”

“I didn’t know either, am I a fool?” Arya asked. She didn’t think telling Daenerys she wasn’t at fault would be much use, so she tried to address the problem from another angle. 

“No, but you’re a guard. Your job is to protect me, I have to conduct a negotiation and I didn’t even know I was the thing being bartered.” 

Fearing that Daenerys was perilously close to falling into an ocean of guilt, Arya tried to redirect them. “Do you know Loras well?”

“Not really, I have met him a handful of times, maybe more, but we’ve never really spoken at length, just polite pleasantries.” 

“Then might I suggest a good first step would be to spend some time with him, have some conversations and get to know him.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, her brow creased. “You want me to spend time with Loras?”

“It seems like a good start,” Arya supplied. 

“Do you want me to get married?!” Whether she meant it that way or not, it was a fiery accusation. 

The anger burned away quickly, and Arya saw the hurt underneath. She didn’t want to lie, she’d promised both Daenerys and herself that she wouldn’t, so how was she supposed to respond? “I want you to be happy.”

She had planned to elaborate but didn’t get the chance. Daenerys leaned in and kissed her. In addition to their usual flavor there was a saltiness that came from crying. Arya kissed back fiercely, aware her chances to do it may be coming to an end. “I am happy, with you,” Daenerys confessed as the kiss finished. She settled back into her original position before continuing. “I am sure Loras is a good man, both Margaery and Olenna keep him in high regard, and I trust their opinions, but I don’t love Loras and I don’t think I ever will. I don’t want to be with him, or kiss him, all I want is you.”

At a loss for words Arya answered with a kiss, softer and slower than their last, she maintained their connection until she couldn’t. The dark room was silent when they were finished. Although she delayed it as long as possible, she still owed her an answer. “I want to be with you too, but even if your father never finds out I’m a Stark, he’d never allow us to be together.” 

“It isn’t up to him!” she yelled. “He’s not here and I’m the one who gets to decide.”

She reached out and brushed a strand of silver away from Daenerys’s cheek. “Yes, you do get to decide,” she agreed, “this time.” 

“What do you mean?”

She tried to pull her hand back, but Daenerys grabbed hold and pulled it to her chest. “It means you’re right, you have the ability and the authority to refuse this marriage proposal, but what about the next one?” She let that sink in, before finishing. “If you oppose this marriage do you think Tywin will let you negotiate the next time they select an offer?” 

“No,” Daenerys whispered quietly. 

“No, he won’t. He’ll handle the negotiations himself and you’ll be married off in much the same way Viserys was, with little say.” 

“I can’t avoid that,” she predicted, “if Tywin decides I’ll marry, I’ll be trapped.” 

“Maybe,” Arya allowed, “maybe not.”

“Wh…”

Since she knew what Daenerys intended to ask she provided the answer. “If you were already married or pledged to marry, then Tywin and your father would have no reason to try and match you to another noble.” 

“You do want me to get married!” Just as it had been the first time, this was an accusation. “Who do you think I should marry exactly?”

Arya was unbothered by Daenerys’s flaring temper. In another place discussing another topic she might have found it attractive, but this was serious, so she focused. “As I said, I want you happy, with Loras or anyone else.”

“Only you can make me happy!” she proclaimed boldly. “Do you not feel the same way….”

“Of course I do,” Arya said, cutting her off again. She didn’t want Daenerys to think her feelings weren’t deep and enduring. Unfortunately, her love couldn’t change their circumstance. “I enjoy every second we’re together and I’m happier than I’ve ever been, but we need to look at this realistically.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying this is a once in a lifetime opportunity Daenerys, so you should be certain before you let it pass.”

“What are you talking about?” Her anger flared again, and Arya saw a spark in her eye. “You’re not making any sense, just say it plain.” 

She sighed and then paused to make sure she was using the right words. “As we established, this is likely your only chance to negotiate a potential marriage.” 

“So?” she whined, not yet seeing the logic. 

“So, it becomes your only chance to decide the terms of your marriage for yourself.” She let Daenerys consider that before adding, “I don’t know if Loras Tyrell is a good man or an idiot, I don’t know if he’d make a fine husband or a terrible one, all I know is this time, and only this time, you’ll get to have a say in the bargain. If you turn down this offer and Tywin arranges another down the line, you won’t be asked your feelings on the man or anything else.” 

Slowly Daenerys came to see the wisdom Arya was offering, it showed on her face. “You’re right, this may be my one chance to have an opinion, but I don’t know, I don’t know Loras, I don’t know anything.”

Arya was sure the smile she offered her lover was a little sadder than she originally intended but she pushed through anyway. “You don’t have to decide tonight. Meet Loras, get to know him, see if he’s the sort of person you might be able to co-exist with peacefully. Maybe he’ll be understanding if you explain how you feel.” 

“He won’t agree,” Daenerys guessed, visibly disappointed. “He wants a wife. No man would agree to let his wife keep a lover in secret.”

Arya was speechless. What she wanted Daenerys to discuss with Loras was her reluctance to marry, and the way she was being pressured by her father. It had been Arya’s hope that Loras would understand and be accommodating, but Daenerys heard an entirely different message. She tried to ignore the increase in her heartrate when Daenerys spoke of staying with Arya after she was married. Whether she was in Sunspear or King’s Landing, she assumed their physical relationship would be over. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that Daenerys might keep her as a lover after she was wed. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She didn’t want to do anything that might damage Daenerys’s reputation, but any arrangement that allowed her to be with the Princess was favorable to Arya. She vowed to sort out her feelings on the subject later, if and when there was an actual wedding upcoming. Until then there was no point obsessing over phantom arrangements or imaginary husbands. Except not all of the husbands were created by her mind, Loras was very real and by this time tomorrow he could be promised to the woman Arya loved. He seemed handsome enough, if one was attracted to that sort of thing, a little too pretty for Arya’s liking, but it wasn’t her the Tyrell needed to impress. She heard he competed in tournaments and regularly won the joust, he carried himself with a confidence and was quick to smile. No husband or partner would ever be good enough for Daenerys in Arya’s view, herself included, but the Princess could do worse than a Tyrell, even if Loras did tend to tense up each time Daenerys’s name came up in conversation. 

“What are you thinking?” Daenerys asked her abruptly. 

Unwilling to explain where she had wandered, she tried to placate Daenerys with a not-so-subtle change of topic. “Actually, I was thinking it has been a long day, and tomorrow will likely be longer, so we should probably get some sleep.” 

With a gentle hum of content agreement Daenerys stayed where she was. Arya smiled at the older woman and then rolled away. 

In a flash Daenerys’s relaxed muscles were rigid and she was clinging to one of Arya’s arms. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

Looking back over her shoulder she smiled warmly at her lover before kissing her lips. “I was just getting undressed. I’m not going anywhere.”

Daenerys’s response was immediate, she grinned widely, leaned in Arya’s direction for another kiss and let her hands wander from Arya’s arm to her breasts. “Let me help,” the royal requested. 

She didn’t know what the future would bring. Maybe Daenerys would agree to marry Loras, maybe not, maybe that would mean the end of the relationship between Daenerys and Arya, and maybe it wouldn’t, maybe they were doomed or perhaps they still had a chance. It was impossible to say, all Arya knew was that they had tonight, and for that long at least Daenerys was hers. She wasn’t going to waste it. 

R-C

Daenerys had fallen asleep almost immediately after collapsing in Arya’s strong arms. She held her lover just as tightly as she had when Daenerys was crying, this time however it was solely for Arya’s benefit. She clung to her in a desperate attempt to remind herself that she hadn’t lost Daenerys yet. To prove she was still there, she traced lines over the Princess’s smooth skin and felt the unnatural heat that allegedly came from dragon blood. Whether Daenerys married or not, Arya vowed to remember this moment, the weight of Daenerys in her arms, the contented smile on the Targaryen’s lips, even the thin coat of sweat left over from their lovemaking. It had been frantic and passionate with each woman eagerly trying to find oblivion in the other. Arya would always recall it fondly, but she took pleasure from the fact that Daenerys seemed just as affected as she was. 

Rest wouldn’t come to her, her mind was too busy. She reviewed her past with Daenerys, going back to the beginning. They had a less than ideal start and Arya found herself smiling more often than not. It was as if Daenerys was sent by the Gods, just for her. Arya hadn’t asked for her, she initially resisted the idea of her, but ultimately. she was grateful and lucky that Daenerys entered her life. She would never regret her time with the Dragon. If it ended tomorrow or went on for the next fifty years, Arya could see their time together was special, the kind of special that caused ripples through everything that came after. In one way or another, she’d carry Daenerys with her, just as she did her parents and her siblings. 

She was tempted to dwell on Daenerys’s apparent disinterest in marrying. More than once she said the only person she wanted was Arya, and while the guard wanted to believe her, she knew Daenerys just didn’t understand. Simply because she and her husband didn’t fall in love at first sight didn’t mean it wouldn’t grow over time. Being forced into a politically based, arranged marriage didn’t preclude love from ever occurring. It happened for her parents, she heard the stories countless times, so she knew Daenerys’s ascertains though sincere were hollow. She didn’t want anyone but Arya now, but would that always be the case?

She cursed under her breath as she realized she waited too long. She’d known their days were numbered, she accepted it, but assumed it would be her return to Dorne that separated them, not a wedding. She thought she’d have more time, to find the right words, to gather her courage, to find some way to explain. 

She probably loved Daenerys Targaryen when she confessed her identity to the daughter of the man who nearly killed her. She definitely loved her when Daenerys came to her early the next morning and accepted her. She wanted to tell her, to say those words and mean them, to leave nothing unspoken between them, but she wasn’t brave enough. Each time she tried she lost her nerve, distracted by Daenerys’s beauty or her intensity. She was fire in the form of a woman, a smothered, flickering, unsteady flame that grew into an all-consuming blaze. Arya had witnessed the change, she’d been by her side and even when Daenerys was too hot to touch, she couldn’t keep her hands away. Being burned seemed like a fair trade for everything Daenerys brought into her life, love, happiness, peace, three things she thought she’d never know again. 

She loved Daenerys, but couldn’t tell her, not now. If she revealed the depth of her affection now, it would look and sound like a transparent attempt of a lover trying to keep her close. Daenerys would assume her potential marriage was the reason for the declaration and she’d dismiss it. Arya didn’t want that. When she told Daenerys she loved her, Arya wanted there to be no question in the Targaryen’s mind that she meant it. 

Her arms flexed around Daenerys and the Princess snuggled into Arya even more as a result. The soldier wasn’t going to complain. She couldn’t tell Daenerys she loved her, but she didn’t have to remain silent either. There was middle ground and she was lying on it. Daenerys was asleep, likely dreaming if the slight smile on her face was any indication. She wouldn’t hear anything Arya chose to confess in the quiet confines of the Highgarden guest room. She could unburden herself, and Daenerys would never know. It would be her secret. She’d get to tell Daenerys how she felt, without her misinterpreting the motive for the admission. It wasn’t a perfect plan, Arya not only wanted to say the words, she wanted to hear Daenerys say them back. That wouldn’t happen, because she was asleep, but privately Arya hoped this practice would embolden her. Perhaps this was the first step on a long path that ended when she was finally ready to admit her love for Daenerys when the royal could actually hear it. 

With a gentle touch Arya traced her cheek with a finger. “I never thought I could be happy,” she explained in a whisper. “I’d see Oberyn with Ellaria, and I was happy for them, but I never once yearned for what they had, because I didn’t think it was possible. Who could care about me?” She let the question hang in the air. “I hadn’t planned on you,” she said, fully aware of how true it was, “how could you, how could anyone get past all the walls I built up? You did and you made it look easy, you were so kind and giving and good that I didn’t stand a chance.” She laughed humorlessly and ran her finger along Daenerys’s jawline. While she was breathtaking when she was furious, her eyes alight with fury and her face shining, she was equally attractive in rest. Arya knew just how lucky she was. “So beautiful,” she said more to herself than the sleeping Dragon. “By the time I knew what was happening, it was already over. No matter what happens next, I’m yours. Side by side or separated by thousands of miles, I’ll always be yours. You single-handedly brought my sister back to me. I’ll never be able to repay you for that. I love you Daenerys Targaryen, our families may be enemies and I may be shaming my father, but I don’t care, I love you.”

There was more she wanted to say, more she had to say, but she was frozen momentarily by Daenerys adjusting her position in Arya’s arms. She held her breath and waited for Daenerys to settle. With her head on Arya’s shoulder and warm air teasing the side of her neck, Daenerys relaxed, and Arya though the danger had passed. “Mmm,” the Princess hummed sleepily. She might’ve been inclined to assume she was responding something happening in a dream but then Daenerys uttered two words that would shake her entire world. “Me too,” she mumbled. 

Arya’s entire body went rigid. She held her breath again and questioned if she’d heard that correctly. She paid careful attention to the Princess’s eyes, waiting for them to open, and for her to admit she heard, but it didn’t happen. Daenerys’s eyes remained closed and her even breaths didn’t falter. She was still sleeping. Seconds stacked up into a minute and then the minutes piled on one another. She couldn’t say how long she laid there waiting for something to happen. It was eerily quiet in the dark. 

Had Daenerys heard her? Had she actually confessed mutual feelings? It seemed so, but Arya was reluctant to believe. Daenerys was probably dreaming. Whatever she said, even if it was the words Arya heard, she wasn’t speaking to the guard and definitely wasn’t answering Arya’s declaration. Unless she was. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Figured I’d take advantage of the people who said they wouldn’t mind longer chapters. I originally had a different ending selected for this but decided to stuff Arya’s confession in on the end, even if I had to put a whole other scene first. I hope no one objects. 
> 
> Lots more Highgarden to come. A ton of Sansa, more Margaery and even some Loras. 
> 
> See you then. 
> 
> RC


	37. Chapter 37

She was no stranger to awkward situations. She’d gone from being a Northern noble to cleaning chamber pots in Dorne. She thought herself capable of enduring anything the Gods could devise for her, until Daenerys. 

She’d barely gotten any sleep and despite that, she practically jumped out of bed as soon as it became obvious Daenerys was awake. She scrubbed extra hard as she washed and tried to think of anything other than her and those two little words mumbled in the dark. Me too. 

Maybe her ears were playing tricks on her. Daenerys had been sleeping and could have been talking to anyone about anything. Even if she did hear what she thought she did, it didn’t mean Daenerys was willfully sharing a similar sentiment. By the time she’d strapped on her armor, she was ready to believe almost anything her mind could conjure up, anything except that Daenerys heard her heartfelt, private confession. 

Arya was always glad to have Missandei around, but never more than then. The handmaiden kept Daenerys occupied with questions and idle conversation, allowing Arya to go largely unnoticed. She secured her armor extra tight, hoping the uncomfortable bite of the bindings against her skin would give her something else to think about. Once she was dressed, she lingered near the door, anticipating the moment she could escape the stifling confines of the large room.

“You need to meet with Tyrion,” Missandei reminded the Princess softly. 

“I will,” Daenerys promised, “but we have another stop to make first.”

“Where?”

She was giving the back and forth only a minimal amount of attention, which put her at a disadvantage when a pair of thin arms wrapped around her from behind, meeting against her stomach. “What’s wrong?” 

She knew it was Daenerys, knew no one else would dare touch her in such an intimate way, and still the highly trained guard tensed. She didn’t want to lie but couldn’t tell the truth either. ‘Nothing to worry about Princess, I’m just obsessing over whether or not you heard me declare my love to you last night when you were sleeping!’ 

“Did I do something wrong?” Daenerys asked when no reply from Arya came. She lowered her voice to a whisper and took the blame for Arya’s sour mood. “Last night, I thought everything was okay but…”

There were many things Arya still didn’t know, but she was certain she didn’t want Daenerys to hold herself accountable for any of this. Arranging her features into an interpretation of a smile, Arya twisted inside Daenerys’s arms and looked into her eyes. What she saw was almost painful. “Last night was perfect,” she recounted honestly. 

“Are you upset about Loras?” 

What she really wanted to know was if Arya was okay with her marrying Loras Tyrell? Was it the lack of sleep or her own petty nature that made her want to tell Daenerys exactly what she thought about Loras and the proposed marriage? The words were on the tip of her tongue before she pulled them back. Daenerys’s situation was hard enough without Arya making it worse. Whether she agreed or not, what it would ultimately mean for Arya those were things to be addressed later. Until then, Daenerys needed all the support she could get from everyone around her, including Arya. “I’m not upset,” she said, sticking to direct statements that weren’t dishonest. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t get much sleep last night, I’m a little on edge.”

It was remarkable how quickly Daenerys could adapt and change. In a fraction of a second, she went from worrying that she’d done something wrong to being concerned for Arya’s welfare. “Really?” she inquired, keeping their exchange private. “I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. I thought you’d be right behind me.” 

She wasn’t telling Arya anything she didn’t know. It was seeing Daenerys so peaceful that compelled her to share her feelings. “I’m okay,” she said, working to sound convincing. “Shall we go find the Imp?” It was a transparent attempt to change the subject and although she saw through it, Daenerys allowed it to happen. 

“Later,” Daenerys said, pressing a kiss to Arya’s lips. “Tyrion can wait.”

There was an edge in Daenerys’s voice that made Arya take notice. She was upset. “Okay,” she said carefully. “Where will we be starting then?”

She gave her lover one final kiss and then released her. Once they were standing apart, she answered. “I need to see Olenna.” 

R-C

Lady Olenna was in a sitting room. She’d been speaking to an assembled collection of young girls, undoubtedly passing on some of her wisdom to the next generation. It appeared to be instinct more than interest that pulled her eyes to them as they entered but once she spotted Daenerys her whole demeanor changed. Quickly she rose from her chair. She stopped just long enough to say something to a middle-aged woman and then she made her way toward the Targaryen. Behind Olenna’s back the other adult took the seat she vacated and continued the lesson. 

“Daenerys,” Olenna called as she made her way over, “how did you sleep dear? You must’ve been tired after so much tra…”

“I slept fine,” Daenerys replied coldly, cutting off Olenna’s effort to smooth the waters between them, “thank you.” Although she ended with gratitude, there was a bite to her greeting that couldn’t be ignored. She was tired of being polite, tired of biting her tongue until it bled. She thought back to the scroll Olenna sent for her nameday. Then she’d encouraged Daenerys to embrace her inner dragon. The old Rose might come to regret that advice. 

She was angry and she didn’t have the energy or the desire to hide that fact. She’d been brought to Highgarden under false pretenses. She thought she was coming as a guest for a casual visit, but all along they’d been plotting to marry her off. 

Much of the night before was a blur, beginning when she learned what she’d really be negotiating and ending when she collapsed in a spent heap next to Arya. The hours in between were clouded. One of the few fragments of conversation she was confident in was when Arya advised her to make the most of her current authority. The context was lost to her, but she recalled Arya telling her that she was in control this time. She was leading their delegation and as such had a measure of power. 

If she was right, and Arya usually was, then Daenerys needed to seize the moment. She wanted answers. She wouldn’t stop until she had them, manners be damned. Her many questions would be resolved to her satisfaction by any and all she felt owed her, starting with Olenna. Had she known when she extended the invitation what the trip would entail? 

“That’s…” she paused and adjusted. “I’m glad,” she said simply. “Do you have a moment, I’d like to…”

Daenerys interrupted her for the second time in as many minutes. “Not here,” she decided, looking pointedly toward the ongoing lesson. 

“Follow me,” Olenna instructed, leading the four women to a place they could talk. Along the way, she looked at her companions. Missandei’s expressive eyes shined understanding but advised caution too. Daenerys nodded to confirm the message was received. Her friend knew her well, knew she was angry and knew why, but she also knew Daenerys had the habit of letting her anger lead. The Princess reminded herself she could get answers without destroying the centuries of friendship between the Tyrells and the Targaryens. 

After Missandei, Daenerys sought out her lover. Arya’s stoic face cracked into a smile when she felt Daenerys watching her. Daenerys smiled, her whole outlook improving the instant she remembered Arya was with her. She looked suggestively toward Olenna, wanting Arya’s opinion, even if it had to be unspoken. Missandei’s points was echoing in her ears and she expected more of the same. There was no reprimand in Arya’s gaze, no fear or threat, she just nodded in agreement. If it were anybody else Daenerys would assume she didn’t understand what the Princess was asking, but with Arya there was no doubt. She knew and she was giving Daenerys permission anyway. 

Olenna stood next to a chair and motioned for the women to sit. Arya declined, moving off to the side. She didn’t think it was accidental that she chose to stand between Olenna and Daenerys, in perfect position to intervene if necessary. 

As etiquette demanded, Olenna waited to sit until after her guests had. Missandei thanked her before she took a seat. There was plenty of room next to the handmaiden for Daenerys, but she remained on her feet. With a sigh Olenna folded her hands in front of her and tried to calm the Dragon. “I understand why you’re upset Daenerys, I never…”

“Never what” she barked sarcastically, “never thought I’d actually show up or never thought your son would try to marry me off when I did?”

“Honestly, both,” she responded, meeting Daenerys’s stare bravely. 

Daenerys hadn’t expected that. Since she learned the truth about the negotiation, she assumed Olenna had a hand in it. After all, Olenna had been the one urging her to visit and little happened in Highgarden without her knowledge. “You’re saying you didn’t know?”

Rather than answer, she held out an arm and gestured for Daenerys to sit a second time. Satisfied she’d made her point, there was no need to continue the standoff. She took her place next to Missandei and across from them Olenna released a breath she’d been holding. She sat down too. “I’m sorry Daenerys,” she said, sounding sincere. 

While the apology was nice, especially if it was real, it did little to remedy the situation. “You invited me here, it was your idea for me to come, is this why?” 

She paid careful attention to Olenna’s expression, wanting to read as much as she could from it. She was saddened by the question but not surprised. Her words matched. “No dear,” she said kindly. “When I suggested you come, it was only because I thought you’d enjoy it.”

Daenerys had too many questions to let one good answer distract her. “You said that you were surprised I showed up, why?”

Again, Olenna appeared sad and this time the emotion stayed. “Daenerys,” she began, “I have been inviting you to Highgarden for years. I’ve spoken to your father, your brothers, Tywin Lannister and even that old Northern guard you used to have.” She paused and gave Daenerys a much-needed moment to comprehend all of that. Was she telling the truth? If she was, then Aerys, Rhaegar, Viserys, Tywin and Jorah had all been conspiring to keep her locked up in the castle. It wasn’t hard to believe. How many times had she asked for permission to travel? Each time she was refused, they knew Olenna was willing to welcome her and they said no anyway. The old woman wasn’t finished. “When I invited you, I had no secret motivation, I didn’t know of this marriage scheme until last night.”

Everything Olenna was telling her sounded honest, but she remained skeptical. “How is that possible? Your son may rule but everyone knows you wield the power.”

With a light laugh and an accompanying smile Olenna waved away the comment. “You are too kind my dear and too right, usually.”

Daenerys didn’t appreciate the cryptic tone or the confusing words. “Usually?”

“My son didn’t tell me of his plans, likely because he knew I wouldn’t approve.” She leaned forward slightly. “I didn’t’ think it possible for him to keep something from me. I won’t make that mistake again. Trust me dear, we’ve already spoken at length about this, and he knows he was wrong. If you wish to forget this marriage nonsense, we will. Neither Mace nor anyone else will mention it again, I swear.” 

Daenerys was beyond tempted. The idea of just forgetting all about this talk of unions and going back to the life she’d had before Tyrion told her was plenty appealing. She wanted to jump at the offer before it was rescinded but she restrained herself. Something, in the back of her mind was nagging at her, telling her it wouldn’t be quite so simple. She tried to think, to spot the flaw in her logic, but nothing was immediately apparent. It was hard to focus on anything other than how happy she and Arya could be if this marriage was never discussed again. Getting to pretend none of this was real felt like a gift from the Gods. The uneasy feeling remained, spreading from her head to her gut, settling there like a rock. What was she missing?

“Lady Tyrell,” Arya said formally, bowing her head slightly as she stepped forward, “would you mind if I borrowed the Princess for a moment?”

“Of course not, take all the time you need. In fact, I think I’ve kept you long enough.” She adjusted her focus from Arya to Daenerys and then continued, “I know it’s far too little, much too late, but I am sorry you were caught in the web of my son’s ambitions. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want anything to do with the lot of us.” 

Daenerys was conflicted, not about Olenna and the Tyrells, but about the next step. She believed Olenna so far, and had more questions for her, but she needed to speak to Arya, she couldn’t turn her away. “Don’t go,” she said, catching Olenna already on her way to the exit. “Missandei will keep you company while Arya and I speak and then we can continue our conversation.” 

Her habit of watching Olenna’s face afforded her the chance to see the shock before it was concealed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, stay, we won’t be long.” As she said that she glanced at Arya for confirmation that their detour would be brief. Her guard nodded to promise it would be. 

The room was big enough that Daenerys and Arya could step away without actually going into the hall. “Is everything okay?” she wondered 

“It’s fine,” Arya assured her, “we’re fine, I just thought you might want to talk before you accepted Olenna’s offer.” 

It was oddly comforting to feel like someone knew what she needed before she did. She suspected being so transparent would be less tolerable, if it were someone other than Arya who could see through her so completely. “It sounds perfect,” she noted. 

Arya smiled, reaching for and taking one of Daenerys’s hands. “I know you want to forget all of this, and I would too, but I don’t think it’ll be that easy.” 

She didn’t pull her hand back, but she was a little disappointed Arya wasn’t eager to go back to how things had been before. “You think Olenna’s lying?” she guessed, decreasing her volume even further than it already was. 

“I believe every word,” Arya specified, “I don’t think she planned this, and I believe she was angry when she learned of it.” 

It pleased her to think Olenna was the true friend Daenerys thought her to be. She breathed a sigh of relief knowing she hadn’t misjudged the Tyrell. Olenna’s invitation was exactly what she claimed it was, her son was the one who took a friendly gesture and distorted it for political gain. She squeezed Arya’s hand. “Then what’s the problem?” She didn’t see the downside, if Olenna was genuine, and willing to forget all this marriage crap, why didn’t Arya want her to do it? 

The sad smile Arya gave provided advanced warning that she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear. “The Tyrells may be willing to forget about marrying you and Loras, but they aren’t the ones I’m worried about.” 

It took a moment, but she finally saw the true obstacle laid out before her. Arya was right, the Tyrells were only part of the problem, half to be exact. To bring Daenerys to Highgarden for the purpose of arranging a marriage Mace would need approval, and he’d obviously gotten it, if not from her father directly, then from Tywin. Olenna might be willing and able to keep her son in line, but no one in the capital would be able to exert similar control over Tywin. If he wanted this union, he wouldn’t be happy to discover it was postponed indefinitely. She finally understood that sick feeling in her stomach from earlier. Her body knew before her mind that she couldn’t accept Olenna’s offer, no matter how badly she wanted to. “Tywin,” she acknowledged under her breath. 

“Probably, or maybe Mace discussed it with the King personally, either way…”

Daenerys had heard enough. “Either way, they want a wedding.” Her shoulders sagged and any relief she’d been enjoying vanished. Experience had taught her that Tywin wasn’t the sort to be placated. If he wanted her married to a Tyrell, he wouldn’t be satisfied until she was. It was a depressing thought. “I’m stuck.”

Suddenly she was being pulled into Arya’s arms and squeezed tight. Daenerys hugged back, but even Arya’s presence wasn’t enough to cheer her. “You don’t have to agree.” 

Daenerys tensed. She leaned away so she could see Arya’s face. “What!? You just said…”

“We talked about this last night,” Arya reminded her, unaware of how little Daenerys actually retained. “Just because he wants you married doesn’t mean it has to be this time, or this man.” 

Luckily, Arya was referring to the one part of their conversation she was certain she remembered accurately. “Right, but he’ll never let me negotiate again.”

“No,” Arya agreed sadly, “he won’t.” 

Daenerys stayed there, in Arya’s arms, trying to calculate where that left them. She didn’t need to marry Loras, but if she didn’t, she’d lose her only chance to be heard. “I can’t pretend none of this happened, can I?” she realized. 

“You could.”

“I shouldn’t though” Daenerys clarified. 

Arya’s eyes said plenty, but her mouth was limited. “Only you can decide that.” Daenerys opened her mouth to respond but before she could, Arya gave more. “Whatever you decide, I’ll be here.”

It was that sentiment that gave her the courage to face the future. If she had Arya, she knew she could get through anything the world threw at her. She wanted to refuse the marriage on principle, just to see Mace put in his place by a collection of strong women, but she needed to think past her short-sighted goals. This was serious and whatever choice she made would affect every aspect of her future, probably for the rest of her life. She only had one chance to get this right, to consider Loras as a potential husband and act as the negotiator for her own wedding contract. As she weighed her various options, she cursed her decision to come to Highgarden. If she hadn’t, all of this could’ve been avoided. Her brain was quick to point out that she had reasons that went beyond the selfish. She had come for Arya and for Sansa. She’d done a good thing for the woman she loved, making her own suffering worthwhile. She untangled herself from Arya and then pinned her with an intense stare. “Why are you here?” she blurted out. 

Without any sort of warning or explanation, Arya had no hope of understanding what she meant. “Where else would I be?”

“With Sansa,” Daenerys responded forcefully. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time here. Go and see her.” 

“I’m not wasting anything,” she retorted, “I’m your guard and you are here, so I am too.”

She made it sound just that simple. If Arya was going to rely on her duty, Daenerys could work with that. “Then as my guard, I order you to locate Sansa and scout the area to ensure it’s safe for when I visit later.” 

“Daenerys,” she tried, “I’ll see her later. It’s fine…”

It wasn’t fine. After years apart, Arya and Sansa were finally in the same place. They should be spending time together, but instead Arya was with Daenerys, while she tried to decide if she wanted to marry a stranger. “No, I’m the one who is fine. I’ll be fine, you can go.”

“My job…”

For once Daenerys didn’t want to hear it. The time Daenerys and Arya had was limited, but the amount Sansa and her sister had was far less. She wouldn’t let Arya spend it watching Daenerys hold meetings. “No,” she ruled firmly. “Go Arya, find Sansa, spend as much time with her as you can, while you can.”

Grey eyes moved to the door and back. “No, your safety…”

“I’ll send for Grey Worm,” she proposed, willing to do whatever was necessary to make Arya agree. “I’ll be safe, and you’ll get to see your sister.”

“I already saw her.”

She frowned. Why did she have to be so damn difficult? “You know what I mean.” They stared at one another. Not surprisingly Daenerys broke first. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Go see your sister, I want you to, please.”

“Where will you be?” 

Although she hadn’t yet admitted defeat Daenerys could smell it. The only reason Arya would need to know where she was going, was because she didn’t intend to be there with her. “I’m going to finish talking to Olenna, then I need to track done Margaery, and Tyrion.”

“Margaery?”

“She’s my friend,” Daenerys explained, “I need to know if she schemed behind my back.” 

“I should be there,” Arya said, threatening to undo all the progress they’d made. 

“You should be with Sansa,” Daenerys corrected.

“Are you…”

“Yes!” Daenerys cried, frustrated by her Wolf’s stubbornness, while simultaneously flattered she cared so much.

“I won’t be long,” she predicted. “I’ll find you before lunch.”

“Take your time, I’m sure you and Sansa have a lot to talk about.” 

“Thank you.” she said emphatically. The way she was looking at Daenerys was unique, warm and welcoming, tender and loving, it was an intoxicating combination that she’d never seen Arya use with anyone else. It was entirely hers and it made Daenerys feel like the luckiest woman in the world. 

R-C

She didn’t like leaving Daenerys’s side, especially in a foreign environment but the Princess had insisted. A small part of her was relieved to have something else to think about. Finding Sansa was a reprieve from frantic concerns about Daenerys, Loras, their maybe-wedding and of course her admission.

Had Daenerys heard her? Had she meant it when she said, ‘me too?’ Meant it the way Arya hoped she did? As they got ready for the day, she paid careful attention to the Targaryen, anticipating a new awkwardness between them. If she had heard what Arya said, she couldn’t act like nothing had changed, could she? There was no unease to speak of, no additional tension, at least none that came from Daenerys. Arya’s nerves made her reluctant to initiate contact, but Daenerys had no such reservations. She forgave Arya’s strange behavior and kissed her frequently. When she reached the conclusion that her private admission was still secret she didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed. Arya’s anxieties consumed her even after she left Daenerys and Missandei and wandered off alone. 

She checked another room without success. It wasn’t all that surprising, much of the castle was still a mystery to her. It would have been easy enough to ask someone, but Arya stubbornly tried to locate Sansa on her own. 

The more failures she tallied the more tempted she was to seek the aid of someone who knew Highgarden better, but she could never quite bring herself to stop one of the many people she passed. They’d been living separate lives until yesterday, Sansa believed her dead, so it made sense that she wouldn’t know where her sister spent her days, and yet that truth ate away at her. It felt wrong. She couldn’t locate her own flesh and blood without help. She wasn’t stupid, she knew a few hours couldn’t miraculous heal all that was damaged between them, but she yearned for a sign, some clue from the Gods that they’d be okay, that they weren’t too broken to fit back together again. It wasn’t logical, she knew that, but that didn’t change how she felt. To her the fact that she couldn’t track Sansa was tangible proof that they were practically strangers. Her father would be disgusted with her. 

After aimless wandering, she abruptly recognized where she was. Her feet carried her back to the place she was reunited with Sansa the night before. She stood outside the door, staring at the roses carved into the wood. Could she knock? What if was interrupting? Would Sansa be upset that Arya sought her out? Should she wait for the elder to make contact? 

Margaery was an intelligent young woman from a prominent house, it stood to reason she’d have business to tend to. Would Arya be bothering her? Normally she wouldn’t let a minor thing like a noble’s feelings alter her course, but this was different. In their brief time together, she had seen that Margaery and Sansa were close. Arya worried that inadvertently angering the Tyrell might cause problems in her relationship with her sister. 

She knocked hard and fast before she could change her mind. “Come in,” a familiar voice called through the doors. Were her ears deceiving her or was her sister really in there? She sounded amused. 

It took a moment before she remembered what she was supposed to do next. Carefully she turned the knob and moved the door, stepping inside. “You’re late,” Sansa accused, although it was clear she was smiling. 

She stopped just inside the door, not feeling comfortable enough in Lady Margaery’s personal space to venture further. The hands hanging at her sides were shaking in a way very unbecoming for a soldier. She quickly tucked them behind her back to keep her embarrassment secret. She could hear movement but couldn’t attribute it to a person, be it Sansa, Margaery or anyone else. She just waited, noting that the footsteps were moving toward her. 

“I thought you were going to bring back breakfast so we could eat together,” Sansa said. 

It was only as she repeated the words in her mind for a second time that Arya realized Sansa thought she was someone else. “Um,” she began, unsure of what to say. ‘I came to see how you are,’ is what Arya planned to use to announce herself, but in the time between when she chose the phrase and when she opened her mouth she was distracted, by Sansa’s laugh. 

It was a light, relaxed, utterly happy sound and when she heard it Arya was speechless. She saw flashes of distant memories then, one after the next, freshly fallen snow, a warm smile, the touch of a light kiss against her forehead, an intense pair of blue eyes. Sansa’s had their mother’s laugh. It made her smile, remembering the grace, beauty and quiet strength Catelyn Stark embodied. From Arya’s earliest memory until her final moments their mother was one of a kind. 

Oblivious to the blissful torment Arya was suffering, Sansa finally revealed herself, coming from a door on the left side of the room. What was in there and what Sansa was doing were questions for another time. Arya had found her. 

“I was starting to think you’d gone off to your first meeting without giving me a proper goodbye, but then I remembered you’d never d…Arya!” Everything about Sansa changed the instant she looked up from the book she was holding to see her sister there. “What are you…” She trailed off without finishing but didn’t seem to notice. “How did you get in here?”

She chuckled darkly. “You told me to come in actually.” 

Sansa put the book down without looking at it. Empty handed now, she crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at her sibling. “I didn’t know it was you, obviously.” 

That wasn’t surprising. “Who did you think it was?”

Rather than answer, Sansa posed a question of her own. “What are you even doing here anyway?” The thinly veiled contempt reminded Arya of the past when exchanges like this one were common. 

“Looking for you,” she justified. The words while accurate were said with annoyance bleeding through. Arya worked desperately to gain control of that particular emotion. She didn’t want to fight with Sansa, not when their time was so short, but at the first opportunity they fell back into old habits. 

“Is Daenerys with you?” she asked, looking around Arya’s body. 

“I am under orders from the Princess to spend time with my sister,” Arya explained. 

“Really?” she wondered skeptically. 

“She sent me to find you, I didn’t know where to look, then I recognized where I was.” 

“Why would she do that? Why does she care?” 

Instead of being bothered by the inquiries and the harsh tone that accompanied them, Arya smiled. She felt the same way in the beginning, in Sunspear. Like her, Sansa had been raised with a healthy dislike of all Targaryens. Add to that the hard life of a foster and it made sense that she thought the worst of Daenerys. 

“Daenerys isn’t like her family. She isn’t selfish, petty or cruel. She cares about me.” She waited to see if Sansa would respond, but when she didn’t, she went on alone. “The reason we came here was because Daenerys wanted to try and help me find you.”

That thawed Sansa’s exterior a bit. “What?”

They’d gone over some of this the night before, but it wasn’t all that shocking that Sansa hadn’t really paid attention to Arya’s defense of Daenerys. “After I told her who I am,” she explained, “I told her about us, all of us.” Sansa raised an eyebrow as if she doubted Arya’s recollection. “All of us,” Arya repeated. “When she found out I had a sister fostered in Highgarden she went to the King and requested she be allowed to take Olenna up on her invitation.” 

Remembering how it happened only served to remind her of the real reason they’d been invited, Daenerys’s marriage. She pushed that thought away. She could obsess over Daenerys and Loras later, she was with Sansa now. 

“You like her,” the elder Stark realized, raising her voice, “you wouldn’t keep defending her if you didn’t.” 

“She’s very important to me,” Arya agreed carefully, not sure if now was the best time to confess the true nature of their relationship. “I wouldn’t be able to survive in the capital without her.”

Sansa’s response was the definition of non-committal, she didn’t oppose Arya’s position, but she wasn’t moved by it either. “So, you came to find me?” she summarized, redirecting them away from the Princess. 

“I was hoping you’d let me help you today,” Arya said, feeling uncharacteristically shy. 

“Help me,” Sansa verified, “with what?” 

She shrugged. “Whatever you’re doing.” In truth she didn’t care one bit what they did, she just wanted to spend the day in Sansa’s company. It occurred to her that she never would have thought that in Winterfell, but things were different now, not the least of which was her. Since Sansa didn’t look inclined to accept, Arya made another attempt. “Perhaps we could start with breakfast. Are you hungry?”

“You want to have breakfast together?”

“You said you were waiting for someone to bring you breakfast,” Arya recalled. “They still haven’t arrived, so why don’t you and I go downstairs and find something?”

Sansa’s cheeks matched her hair when Arya brought up the things she overheard. “Oh, yeah, that was… that was nothing.” Her first instinct was to inquire and learn more about Sansa’s life and the people in it, but she refrained, if only to keep the peace. 

“So breakfast then?” 

After a moment of consideration Sansa nodded, even granting Arya a brief smile. “I’ll just leave a note for Margaery and then we can go.”

She’d leave a note for Margaery, because this was her bedchamber. Since knocking and learning Sansa was inside, Arya’s attention had been on other things. She hadn’t thought about why Sansa was there or what it might mean. Now it was all she could think about. The note could be explained away as polite, but not breakfast. If Sansa was meeting anyone else for breakfast, why would they choose to do so in Lady Margaery’s bedchamber? It was only logical if Margaery was the one Sansa had been waiting on. 

Without permission a chuckle slipped through her lips. All her life she clung to the notion that she and Sansa had nothing in common. It had taken a while, but it seems she was finally proven wrong. 

R-C

“You didn’t know then?” Daenerys asked her friend, working to keep the accusations to a minimum. She’d already denied it once, but Daenerys needed to hear it again. 

Daenerys, accompanied by Missandei, Grey Worm and a second Unsullied had found Margaery on her way to breakfast. Daenerys pulled her aside and sought answers to her questions. She was being rude, but it was necessary. She needed to know the status of her friendships, before she could proceed. She believed Olenna when she said she hadn’t known until it was too late and now it was Margaery’s turn to convince her. 

“I found out when Grandmother did,” Margaery replied. “Are you saying you didn’t know about it?”

“I knew nothing until I got here,” she insisted. 

“I thought you knew, I asked you about the negotiations.”

“I thought I was being asked to negotiate a trade agreement,” the Princess admitted. “Only after dinner did I find out what was really up for sale.” 

Margaery’s attractive face showed empathy. “I’m so sorry Dany,” she said gently, reaching for the Targaryen’s hand. “I just assumed someone in King’s Landing would have told you.” 

She couldn’t fault Margaery for that. It was a reasonable assumption. The fact that no one in the Red Keep cared enough to warn her was sad, but not Margaery’s doing. “Your father has been making arrangements for a while then?”

Margaery hesitated, likely in an effort to avoid making things worse. “Not that…”

Daenerys interrupted whatever half-truth was coming and tried to set her at ease. “It’s okay. You can tell me. I just want to understand before I decide what to do.” 

“For years my father has talked about binding our family to yours. Marriage is the easiest way to do that.” 

It only sounded easy because they weren’t the ones getting married. Daenerys nearly erupted before she remembered that Margaery was answering a question she asked. She tried to calm her fury. In the handful of times she met Mace Tyrell nothing led her to think he was so manipulative. Like most of his family, he seemed friendly, kind and easy to talk to. She had no idea he was the sort to scheme in the shadows. Just one more man on the long list who thought he’d use her to achieve their goals. It was infuriating. Margaery was looking at her, expectantly, so she pushed words out through her gritted teeth. “He’s right,” she managed to say, “I suppose.”

“After he learned that your brother was marrying a Martell from Sunspear, he began sending ravens to King’s Landing.” 

Those scrolls probably went unread until Daenerys and the others returned from Dorne, so was that when the plotting began? Was it Tywin alone? Did her father give his blessing? Was Rhaegar involved? There was a lot she wanted to know, but everyone with the answers was hundreds of miles away. “Thank you,” she said, “for helping me make sense of this.”

“I’m sorry this happened,” Margaery supplied. “When Grandmother and I invited you, we didn’t know.”

“I know that,” she said, meaning it. “The blame isn’t yours.”

Although visibly relieved that Daenerys didn’t hold her responsible, there was more Margaery wanted to know before they changed the subject. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet,” she confessed. She still needed to speak to Tyrion before she made any decisions. He was the one person on the trip who definitely knew before she did. Whether he had good news or bad, it was undeniable that he had more information than her. 

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t worry too much. Father will get over it if you refuse and Loras won’t be upset either.” 

Daenerys wanted to ask how she knew what Loras would feel but she didn’t get the chance. “Is something wrong with Arya?” she asked. “Yesterday she was your only guard but today you have two and she’s missing.” 

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, and it was easier to breathe. Just thinking about Arya had a direct impact on her. “She’s fine,” Daenerys assured the worried noble, “I wanted her to spend some time with Sansa, so she went to look for her.” Holding out a hand she gestured to the Unsullied. “The guards were a compromise.” 

“Sansa is upstairs, I came down to get us breakfast…”

She didn’t finish and Daenerys knew why. She had been on her way to get breakfast when the Princess accosted her and demanded they speak in private. It was her turn to apologize. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t very considerate, I just needed to ask you…”

“I would do the same thing in your place,” Margaery promised. “It’s alright. Sansa will understand,” she paused to think for a moment before finishing, “I just hope Arya was able to find her.” 

“You mentioned yesterday that Sansa serves as your handmaiden,” Daenerys remembered. She meant to share that detail with Arya but after her meeting with Tyrion, both women had other things on their minds. 

It may have been odd for the noble and not the handmaiden to get the food, but Daenerys found it sweet. Further evidence that Margaery was kind and decent and that she cared deeply for Sansa. She envied her friend if she could get breakfast for her lover without being harassed. Daenerys would never be so lucky in the Red Keep. 

Margaery smiled wide. “Sansa was my handmaiden briefly but that was long ago.” 

She was certain her confusion was showing on her face. “Oh, I’m sorry I must’ve misunderstood.”

“Don’t worry,” Margaery countered, dismissing the apology, “it happens all the time.” She held out her arm in the direction she wanted them to go. “Shall we?”

“Where to?”

“We will head toward my chambers,” Margaery decided. “We’ll make sure Arya found Sansa, and if she hasn’t, we’ll go looking for her.”

That seemed fair. It had the added benefit of giving her more time with Arya, who she was missing desperately even though it hadn’t been very long. “Sure,” she agreed. 

“I really need to thank you,” Margaery said as they walked side by side. Missandei and the guards were a couple of steps behind. 

“For what?”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Sansa happier than she was last night. She rarely speaks of it, but I know that what happened to her family still haunts her.”

She was confident Margaery didn’t bring it up to make Daenerys feel bad, but the shame was intense all the same. 

Thankfully, Margaery didn’t need a response to keep going. “She mourns them all, but when she thought Arya was dead, she didn’t get out of bed for days. I know this trip isn’t what you want Dany, but you’ll have my gratitude forever for bringing Sansa so much joy.” 

“It was the right thing to do,” she remarked quietly. She could relate to what Margaery was saying. Just as Margaery had helped Sansa send inquiries all over the Realm to gather information, Daenerys had rushed to her father as soon as she realized a trip to Highgarden might allow Arya to find her sister. 

“I can’t get over how different they are,” Margaery quipped, lowering her voice to a whisper as they passed a cluster of nobles. 

“They are different,” she conceded, “but they’re also the same.”

“How so?”

Daenerys began climbing the staircase. “You said you’d never seen Sansa happier than last night, well, Arya enjoyed it just as much, trust me.” 

“Really?”

She thought back, eagerly willing to remember the words she heard Arya say when she thought Daenerys was dreaming. She’d woken and been on the verge of drifting off again when Arya’s voice reached her. She stayed awake to listen, loving that voice but when she realized what the words meant, sleep became impossible. Every ounce of her self control was utilized to avoid screaming, or shouting, to keep from throwing herself at Arya in a fit of passion and desire. Nothing Arya did was accidental, including the admission. She was telling Daenerys when she thought the Princess was asleep, because she wasn’t yet ready for Daenerys’s response. That was okay. She could take her time. She needn’t worry. Daenerys loved her too and would gladly tell her so. “She’s missed Sansa terribly,” she said forcing her mind back to the present, “she’d all but given up hope that they’d see one another again.”

“Let’s see how they’re doing,” Margaery said, as they stopped in front of her door. She pulled it open and went in, leaving Daenerys and her small party to follow. 

The room was large, so Daenerys’s first instinct was they were simply out of view. The more time that passed without either sister revealing themselves, the more nervous Daenerys became. “Where could they be?” 

From a few paces ahead, Margaery was unbothered. “Don’t worry,” she said, picking up on Daenerys’s concern, “Sansa probably wanted to get to work. I’ll bet Arya’s with her.” 

She reviewed what she knew about the oldest Stark and was left wanting. She had been Margaery’s handmaiden but was no longer, so what did she do for work? “Is it nearby?” Even if it wasn’t, Daenerys knew she’d still be going. She wanted to see Arya. 

“It’s close,” Margaery assured her, “come on, I’ll show you.”

“What does Sansa do?”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

R-C

“You work here?” she asked, disbelief coloring her awe. The space was small, but neat, with rows of hooks displaying the various products for sale. Flawless dresses hung off figures made of fabric, filled with hay, crafted in the shapes of women’s bodies. Each garment looked designed expertly for its host. There were colors she couldn’t name, shades that lingered between two she was familiar with. There was a counter in one corner of the room, in front of a decorative wall-hanging. Arya recognized the picture depicted as Winterfell. Where was she? Sansa slipped behind it quickly and appeared comfortable. The door behind her sister’s back was plain, so much so that it was the last thing Arya noticed. She guessed it led to a storage room of some sort. 

“You’re surprised,” Sansa said, sounding amused again, as she had when she thought Arya was Margaery bringing breakfast. It brought her happiness to know this time there was no confusion. Sansa was pleased by her. 

“It’s not that. I just…”

“It’s okay,” Sansa told her. She laughed good naturedly. “I suppose it’s strange for you to see me like this.” 

Arya tried to catch up. Sansa had forgone the breakfast Arya offered, insisting she needed to begin her day of work. Arya planned to accompany her wherever she went but was unprepared for where they ended up. They were no longer inside the castle, but they were very close. It was hard to imagine how Sansa had been able to purchase such a prime location. She could only think of one likely explanation. “The Tyrells make you work here, selling dresses?” 

Sansa’s smile vanished in a blink and her face twisted into an expression of annoyance, one Arya saw in her childhood frequently. “They don’t make me do anything.” 

They were alone so Arya didn’t understand why Sansa wasn’t being honest with her. “You didn’t buy this place with your own gold, and you’re a foster, you couldn’t work here without permission.” 

“You’re right,” Sansa acknowledged, making Arya smile. The swell to her ego didn’t last long, because her sister wasn’t done. “You’re also wrong.” 

“What does that mean?”

“The Tyrells did help me set up this shop.” 

“I knew it. Why didn’t you just say so?” 

She rolled her eyes before responding. “I was granted approval to work outside the castle, but you’re wrong if you think the Tyrells are forcing me to work here.” Arya was trying to reconcile Sansa’s words with her own experiences as a foster when she elaborated. “We’re partners. I make dresses because I want to. This is my shop.” 

Arya was immediately skeptical. Her life as a foster hadn’t included many actual choices, even if Doran gave her the illusion of freedom. Was this different? “What do you mean you are partners?”

“You were right, when I began making dresses I didn’t’ have the necessary gold to purchase supplies, I certainly didn’t have enough to move in here. Margaery went to her grandmother and we struck a bargain, the Tyrells provide me with the shop and any gold I need for supplies and in exchange we share the profits.”

She was stunned. It sounded like a true partnership, but she was a foster, how could that be? Arya needed to be sure no one was taking advantage of her sister. She liked Olenna and Margaery was important to Sansa, but she wouldn’t allow anyone to treat her sister unfairly. “What share?”

“Half,” Sansa said without delay, stunning Arya again. “I give half of what I earn to the Tyrells in exchange for the shop and the materials. Believe me, I get the better end of the arrangement by far.” 

Arya was reeling. Why would the Tyrells help her? She was a Stark? If they wanted her to make dresses, they could simply order her to do so. If what Sansa was saying was true, they were treating her like a valuable ally and not a traitor’s daughter. “You want to make dresses?” she needed to know. 

Sansa smiled again, indulging her sister’s questions. “I’m not a nobleman’s daughter anymore. The last time we saw each other my grand plan for the future including marrying a Prince. After King’s Landing that couldn’t happen.” 

She was right. The sister she shared a room with did want nothing more than to be married to an influential man and raise his children. For the first time it dawned on her how severe a change that must’ve been for Sansa. “I like it,” she said, looking around the shop. “I wouldn’t wear any of them, but they’re nice.” 

Appreciative of the attempt, she let the remark pass without comment. “There is something to be said for a hard day’s work.”

“How did you get started?” 

“I worked briefly as one of Margaery’s handmaidens.” Sansa’s eyes, so reminiscent of their mother’s got a faraway quality to them. Arya didn’t interrupt, she just waited to hear how it happened. It was becoming clear that being a foster in Highgarden was nothing like Sunspear. She was genuinely curious. “She was kind to me, kinder than I deserved. I was grateful, so I made her a dress.” 

“You just made her a dress?” Arya verified. Although Sansa was making it sound easy, she had no doubt it wasn’t. If she had the desire to craft a dress, she wouldn’t know where to start, it was a tad surprising to learn Sansa did. “Just like that?” 

“You may remember,” Sansa explained, “but I was always able to sew, and that’s a large part of it. I had been given gold to purchase things I needed for my room, I used it to buy the silk and other items I needed instead. Then I worked on it at night, after my duties as a handmaiden were finished.” 

Although the woman being described had little in common with the sister from Arya’s memories that made sense, because the years had changed Arya too. “Wow.”

“I almost didn’t get it finished in time,” she recalled with a proud smile, “but two days before it was needed, I presented it to Margaery as a thank you for her kindness.” 

Seeing the close bond between Sansa and Margaery it wasn’t hard to predict the Tyrell’s reaction to the gift. “She approved?”

“She gushed about the dress for days,” Sansa said with a chuckle. “I thought she was just being polite. That first dress wasn’t like these,” she noted motioning to the ones waiting to be sold. “I have come a long way since then, but despite my inexperience Margaery was grateful. She dismissed me as her handmaiden and immediately commissioned five new dresses. We went out that very afternoon to choose the fabrics.” 

“When did you get the shop?”

“It took me several weeks to finish the dresses Margaery ordered, but by the time I had, Margaery had informed her family about my talents and they had agreed to finance my efforts.” With a bright smile she summarized, “I was very lucky.” 

Shocked as she was, it wasn’t her primary emotion. More than anything else Arya felt relief. She was glad her sister only spent days as a servant and not years. She was pleased to discover the Tyrells took care to treat her well. While they were apart a large part of her fear was rooted in the belief that Sansa’s life in Highgarden would be the same or worse than what she endured in Sunspear. There was no resentment when she learned Sansa prospered. If one of them needed to suffer hardships, Arya was glad it was her. 

Lost in her thoughts Arya wasn’t ready for the next topic of discussion Sansa wanted to broach. “Have you seen anyone else?” she wondered. “Did any of the others survive?” 

As she asked, she busied herself smoothing out a dress on the far side of the room. Arya went to her, expecting that the information she had to deliver would be difficult to hear. “We’re the last,” she said from right behind Sansa. She put a hand on her shoulder and turned her. “When I was put on the ship…”

“Are you sure?” she pressed, wearing her pain visibly. “I know Robb and Rickon were killed, but Bran might’ve…”

Arya pulled her into a hug. “He’s gone,” she whispered. “His injuries were too great.” 

She saw her siblings in her mind. Robb, the stoic heir so similar to their father it was difficult to tell them apart at times. He was serious and rigid, soaking up as much knowledge as he could in preparation of the day he’d be required to lead. He’d been groomed to rule Winterfell after their father was gone, but he died first, stabbed in the chest.

Rickon was the youngest of them, still small enough to be carried in his mother’s arms but not young enough to be spared. 

Bran was the hardest to think about. She remembered him young and happy, as he’d been before they were summoned to King’s Landing. He was generous and funny, loved to joke and had an underlying restlessness that Arya could relate to. What became of each of them was tragic, but Bran’s fate was by far the worst. He didn’t get the quick, clean death of a sword or a dagger. When he was brought before the King, Robb was already dead and every Stark in attendance knew what awaited them, but he didn’t fight or flee, he knelt in the blood of those who went before him and awaited his end. It was cruel and evil to use the hammer on an innocent boy. Their father paled when he knew what the King intended, pleading openly for a mercy that wouldn’t come. Six blows from the hammer were more than enough to render him crippled and too damaged to survive.

“We’re all that’s left.” 

A sob shook her entire body. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised. I thought I was alone until you came but I still let myself hope. I was taken away before you were sentenced, before Bran….” She stopped short of saying Bran was dead and chose to move on. “I knew it was unlikely, but in my darkest moments I allowed myself to think I wasn’t the last of us. A lone wolf couldn’t survive, Father always told us so.” 

Arya understood. It was natural and wholly understandable for Sansa to want to keep hope alive, no matter how remote the possibility. “You aren’t the last Stark,” Arya said hugging her fiercely. “Two wolves are still a pack. You’re not alone.” 

R-C

“She has a shop?” Daenerys verified in wonder. “That’s incredible.” Margaery told her on the walk over how she’d assisted Sansa in setting up and starting her business. Daenerys was envious and impressed in equal measure. Such a simple thing to support one’s self and yet it was something Daenerys would never know. She didn’t doubt that it took plenty of hard work and commitment. It also didn’t surprise her that a sister of Arya’s had both in abundance. 

“The dresses she makes are beautiful,” Margaery complimented. “I’m certain you’ll see something you like. She has many already made.”

“I’m sure they are,” Daenerys said while looking away. Not only did she already have too many dresses, something told her that Sansa wouldn’t enjoy the idea of selling one to her. She could hardly blame her, after all her father had done to the Starks. It was a minor miracle that Sansa was willing to be in the same room with her. 

She probably should have told someone she was leaving, but there was no danger. Grey Worm and one of his men were with them, and soon enough they’d be in Arya’s company. Daenerys could think of no place safer. 

It didn’t take long to reach Sansa’s shop. It occupied the center in a row of three, and had a colorful sign announcing her trade above the door. Daenerys was admiring it when she realized she was close enough to hear the conversation happening inside. “I still think about them every day,” Sansa said. “I see Father’s face in a crowd or hear Mother’s voice in my head.”

Daenerys recoiled. It was wrong for her to listen to this, she knew that, but she couldn’t help herself. She was being presented with an ideal opportunity to hear Arya’s unguarded thoughts. One of Daenerys’s deepest fears was that her father’s role in the ruin of Arya’s family would one day cause a rift for them. Arya rarely spoke about it, but when she did, she insisted Daenerys wasn’t to blame. While she wanted to believe that she worried the woman she loved did hold some resentment because of who her father was. She couldn’t pass up the chance to find out. She reached out and put a hand on Margaery’s arm. When the Tyrell looked at her in question, she shook her head, motioning for Margaery to remain silent. 

“I dream about them,” Arya replied. Her voice was muffled by the door, but Daenerys would recognize it anywhere. “I see them and talk to them. They happened occasionally in Dorne but it’s almost every night lately. Being back in King’s Landing, I guess I should expect it.” 

“I can’t believe you went back there,” Sansa said with acid in her tone. 

“I wasn’t exactly given a choice. I am just a soldier who was summoned before the King.” 

“You really think he didn’t know who you were?” 

While they waited for Arya’s response Margaery looked to Daenerys, clearly debating whether or not to enter the shop and end their chance to listen. Daenerys pleaded with her eyes. Margaery relented and did nothing to announce them.

“If he knew I’d be dead,” Arya declared. Her confidence made Daenerys flinch. Margaery looked at her again, this time in sympathy. “He doesn’t know, I only told Daenerys and Missandei and they’ll take my secrets to the grave.” 

“You really trust her? I know you said she saved your life but she’s a Targaryen…”

Daenerys was beginning to think seizing her opportunity to hear Arya’s thoughts might have been a mistake. Maybe she was better off not knowing how Arya felt. 

“I do trust her, with my life.” Sansa was beginning the first syllable of a retort when Arya said, “I love her, which is not unlike how you feel about Margaery I suspect.”

Daenerys didn’t need to see to know Sansa was blushing. “I… uh… um… how…” she stammered. The Princess looked to her right and saw the Tyrell blushing too, but even as she avoided Daenerys’s eye she could tell Margaery was smiling. 

“I’m happy for you,” Arya assured her sister. “I’m glad you aren’t alone here.” 

“It was the last thing I expected to find,” Sansa admitted, recovering from the sudden change in the conversation, “it likely can’t last, but I’ll gladly take whatever time I can with her.” 

Daenerys was looking to Margaery. No longer shy, she was radiating love and warmth as she listened to her lover’s high praise. Sansa may have been worried that it was temporary, but one look at the Lady Tyrell made it known she had no intention of letting Sansa slip away. Daenerys was happy for her friend. Daenerys knew better than anyone just how substantially one person could change everything. Her head whipped around to look at the door when Arya added, “That’s how I feel about Daenerys too, even if she is a Targaryen.” 

“We should go,” Margaery hissed in a low whisper. 

Daenerys didn’t disagree. She wanted to see Arya, but it was obvious the sisters needed more time to talk. She nodded her agreement and backed away from the closed door. The last thing she heard was Arya saying, “You’d like her…”

R-C

“I don’t know Arya well,” Margaery said once they were back inside the walls of the castle, “but if she’s anything like her sister, it’s probably best that we never reveal that we heard any of that.” 

“You’re right.” Daenerys shuddered to think what Arya would do if she learned she’d been spied on. It had been wrong, no matter how good it made her feel to hear the compliments. 

“I’ll keep your secret, if you keep mine.”

“Agreed.”

“What will you do now?” Margaery asked. 

“I need to speak with Tyrion,” she said. She’d delayed as long as she could, too long in fact. 

“Will you be telling my father you aren’t interested in marriage?”

“I’m not sure,” Daenerys said sincerely. “I need to speak with Tyrion and discuss the matter with your brother as well.” 

“I didn’t know what my father was planning, but I understand your reluctance, especially after hearing what Arya said.” 

“I wanted to tell you,” she hurried to say. Margaery was her friend, and she didn’t want to upset her. “We just worried what might happen if anyone found out.” 

“I understand,” the Tyrell replied. 

“Does anyone know about you and Sansa?”

Margaery thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “We don’t put it on display,” she said, “but those closest to us know.” 

Given how close they were, it was hard to imagine that group didn’t include Olenna. She couldn’t help but wonder how the matriarch felt about it. “Really?” 

“It’s less strict here than it would be in King’s Landing,” she acknowledged. “In Highgarden private business stays private.” 

Daenerys was envious of Margaery again, imagining how much easier it would make things if she didn’t have to hide her affections from everyone but Missandei. “That must be nice.”

Picking up on Daenerys’s mood, she skillfully redirected them. “It is. I’ll leave you to your meeting, but when you’re through, I can take you to meet Loras if you’d like.” 

She wasn’t sure but couldn’t deny that it would be nice to have some support. It definitely sounded more appealing than walking up to Loras and asking him questions. “I’ll find you when I’m done,” she pledged. First, she needed to locate Tyrion and hear his opinion on this union. 

R-C

“I’m sorry,” Tyrion began before Daenerys had even taken her seat. “I know I should have told you, I meant to, I was just waiting for the right time.” 

She liked Tyrion. He was the reason she got to meet and spend time with more than just nobles. She owed him a great deal, but she couldn’t quell the betrayal she felt. He knew they were coming to arrange her marriage, knew that Daenerys was oblivious, and he kept it from her. He would have to answer for that. “How long have you known?”

While she waited for the answer, she noticed the Master of Coins didn’t have a goblet of wine in front of him. It was early, but that rarely stopped Tyrion from indulging. Perhaps it was a sign he was taking this seriously. 

“I didn’t know until after I agreed to join you,” he explained. “My father told me just before we left the keep.” 

“So, you didn’t help arrange it?”

“absolutely not,” he insisted, looking Daenerys straight in the eye. “I was surprised to tell the truth. I thought Viserys’s wedding would be enough for the time being.” 

She hadn’t explicitly thought about it, but if she had, she would’ve agreed. Having just arranged one royal wedding why would Tywin rush into another? She was older, but why not wait until Viserys and Eliza were married and settled before pairing Daenerys off? “Why didn’t you tell me before we got here?” If he was being honest and hadn’t known about it until the day they left, he still had plenty of opportunities to inform Daenerys and didn’t. She needed to know why. 

“I was going to,” he said, “but you were so happy to be outside the castle I wanted to wait.” 

That was an understandable, even kind reaction but it didn’t really answer her question. “So you thought it better to see me blindsided by the proposal after I was already here?”

“No!” Tyrion claimed passionately. “I only intended to wait a couple of days before telling you, but each day you were happier than the one before and I didn’t want to change that.” 

“Why did you care?” she snapped harshly. She wanted the words back immediately. That was unnecessary, Tyrion was her friend and just because she was angry didn’t mean he was heartless. 

Before she could apologize, Tyrion was responding. “I don’t envy you, growing up in the Red Keep with your father and mine. I knew how much this trip meant to you and I didn’t want to ruin that. I planned to tell you before we arrived, but I just ran out of time.” 

She had been poised to apologize when Tyrion’s justification stole the air from her lungs. Ready to move on, she nodded and then asked, “What do I do now?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t want to get married,” she said emphatically. 

“Then don’t,” Tyrion retorted. “Lady Olenna found me this morning and we spoke. She is willing to forget a marriage was even discussed.” 

Daenerys knew that, but Olenna wasn’t the real problem “What do you know of Loras?”

The question caught Tyrion off guard. “What… would you like to know?” he wondered, recovering quickly. 

“Is he a good man? Would he be a good husband? Is he vindictive or cruel?” She counted the questions on her fingers as she verbalized the first ones to cross her mind. 

“Princess,” Tyrion said warily, “are you considering going forward with this?” 

“It occurred to me last night that I have some say in the matter. For whatever reason my father agreed to let me come here and negotiate my own marriage. That won’t happen again. If I decline to wed Loras, I’ll be removed from the process and be told who to marry.” 

“That is not unlikely.” 

“I’m not saying I’m going to marry Loras,” she decreed with as much confidence as she could, “but I’d like to learn more about him before I decide.” 

“I’ll tell you what I can,” he vowed. “I don’t know him well, but our paths have crossed many times over the years. By all accounts Loras is a good man, a bit arrogant maybe, but not mean.” 

As she listened Daenerys silently wished Arya was there with her. It would have brought her comfort and strength to be able to look over and see the woman she loved nearby. That was a selfish desire though, it was a mercy that Arya was with Sansa, it allowed her to be spared the indignity and pain of being present while Daenerys contemplated the potential marriage. “I know he’s a skilled fighter.” The majority of their interactions happened when Daenerys was allowed to attend a tourney. 

“He’s very good,” Tyrion ammended, “few can claim they defeated my brother in combat and Loras has more than once.” Daenerys was impressed. She’d been around Jaime Lannister most of her life and his prowess in battle was well known. 

“Does he have lands? Does he manage a keep or holdfast for his family?”

Tyrion thought a moment. “He does not, though I’m sure he will. He resides here to the best of my knowledge, but the Tyrell’s holdings are vast, I’d wager he won’t remain here much longer, married or not.” 

She nodded in understanding. She’d be lying if she said the prospect of being able to move to the Reach wasn’t pleasant. As an added bonus, she’d be near Olenna and Margaery. If Arya joined her, she could be close to her sister as well. As soon as that thought entered her head, she forced it out. Arya couldn’t stay. She had a life in Dorne she deserved the chance to live. 

“I don’t think he’s the sort of man who would raise his hand against his wife,” Tyrion foretold. “He’s praised across the Seven Kingdoms for his sense of honor.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she said, more to herself than to him. Just because the majority of smallfolk shared an opinion didn’t make it accurate. Most of the Realm believed Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna Stark and they still hailed her brother as the future King. 

“It isn’t proof,” Tyrion accepted, “but it matches everything I’ve seen with my own eyes.” 

“I don’t love Loras,” Daenerys said plainly, needing to be clear, “I’m not sure I ever will but marrying him might be what’s best.” She swallowed hard and asked the question she’d been wanting to voice since they sat down. “Do you think Loras would be willing to enter a marriage of convince?” 

Something about Tyrion’s expression confused her. “Have you not heard the rumors?” he eventually asked. 

“I put little stock in rumors.”

“Yes, well luckily for you I don’t restrain myself with such rigid morals,” he joked with a smile. 

“What does that mean?”

Tyrion leaned closer to her and lowered his voice significantly. “For years it has been whispered that Loras’s interests don’t include women.” 

Normally Daenerys avoided gossip, but the Gods would forgive her for hoping Tyrion was right, wouldn’t they? She lived a sheltered life, one where she was restricted and highly controlled, so it wasn’t at all surprising that details like this passed her by. What were the odds she wondered, that both Margaery and Loras would favor unconventional relationships? Just minutes before Tyrion informed her of Loras’s preference, she’d been with Margaery, discussing the young woman’s interest in Sansa. It reminded her of Dorne and how sex was viewed different there. Was Highgarden similar? 

This was important. She didn’t want to assume it was true unless Tyrion was sure. “Really?”

“It’s never been confirmed of course, the Tyrells are faithful practitioners of the Seven, they could never admit it publicly but I’m told that privately it’s fact.” 

With effort she managed not to get too far ahead of herself. She needed to stop and think rationally. One misstep could upset everything. One thought kept repeating in her head. She asked Tyrion to clarify it. “Why would Loras agree to marry me?”

Tyrion’s reply was careful. “What makes you think he got any more say in it than you did?”

She hadn’t considered that. Loras was a man and in her experience men were treated differently from women. All else being equal she felt a stab of empathy for the Tyrell if he’d been forced into this as she had. 

“The good news,” Tyrion said, getting them back to the larger conversation, “is that Loras would likely be willing to negotiate with you.”

“You think so?”

“Like you he probably fears his eventual marriage. Given the chance, he’d probably welcome an opportunity to discuss the terms of the union with his wife beforehand.” 

As usual Tyrion’s opinion was shrewd and logical. Daenerys ran through her various concerns and almost all of them had been settled. Only one remained so she raised it to Tyrion directly. “You were sent here to act as a negotiator, in the event that I couldn’t,” she reminded him. “What would you say to our fathers if I return to King’s Landing without a plan to marry?”

He had an answer ready. “I’d tell the King and his Hand that unfortunately the negotiations failed. Despite valiant attempts from all involved, an agreement couldn’t be reached.” 

“You’d lie for me?” she verified. 

“It wouldn’t be a lie,” he contended, “but yes, I would.” 

A lot still needed to be decided, but Daenerys knew enough for the time being. She trusted Tyrion’s judgement and the Lannister was giving his approval to move forward cautiously. Next, she’d find Margaery and go meet her would-be-husband. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This chapter was a lot of conversation and a lot of internal thoughts, I hope it wasn’t too difficult to read, or get through. 
> 
> Sansa being a dressmaker rather than a handmaiden was a choice I made as I wrote. It seemed to fit, and as she said, her prior plan of marrying a Prince no longer seemed likely. I decided to give her a smoother transition than Arya had. Figured life as a foster depended largely on where you were sent. Let me know what you think. 
> 
> The meeting with Loras will be in the next chapter, after some more Daenerys and Margaery, and Arya and Sansa. 
> 
> See you then.


	38. Chapter 38

“Anything I should know?” Daenerys questioned gently as they walked toward the sitting room where she was to meet Loras. 

Her tension was obvious, and Margaery did what she could to cure it. “Relax, you needn’t worry. No Tyrell is going to force you into an unwanted marriage, you have my word.” 

She should have let the comment pass, grateful for the sentiment. She didn’t. The wound was too raw. “I think your father might disagree with you about that.” 

Margaery’s attractive face contorted as if she’d unexpectedly bitten into something sour. “Don’t worry about him, contrary to what he likes to think, he isn’t in charge.” 

So much of that statement begged to be followed up on, but Daenerys needed to focus. She could learn about the various Tyrell power struggles later. For now, her sole concern needed to be Loras. “I’m thankful to you and your grandmother for supporting me in whatever I choose,” Daenerys said honestly. 

“I was horrified when I learned what my father had done. You’re perfectly capable of deciding your future, you don’t need Mace Tyrell or anyone else to do it without your consent.” 

“I appreciate that.” While she agreed wholeheartedly with her friend’s opinion, Daenerys knew it wasn’t only Margaery’s father who thought she was incapable of choosing a suitable partner. Aerys and his advisors were equally guilty. 

They walked in silence before Margaery restarted their conversation. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling, but you needn’t fear him. He is a good man, generous and kind. He is much more scared of you than you are of him.” 

Long seconds passed while Daenerys debated whether or not to ask one particular question. It was improper and rude to broach such a subject. Unladylike would be a vast understatement, but what choice did she have? Could she afford not to? She had no desire to offend anyone, under normal circumstances Loras’s preferences would be his own, but she was in the middle of this now, and she didn’t know how to get out without knowing for certain one way or the other. Either Tyrion was right and Loras wasn’t interested in a wife, or he wasn’t and it was all just spiteful rumors, if she was going to have any hope of successfully navigating this negotiation she needed to be sure. Margaery was the obvious person to turn to for answers, she was Loras’s sister and was a friend Daenerys trusted. She needed guidance and this seemed like a very important first step. The answer would dictate all that came after. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, dipping her toe into the water warily. 

Margaery’s easy smile didn’t falter when she said, “It’s true.” Daenerys was sure her mouth was hanging open. She hadn’t even asked yet. Had she somehow betrayed what she was thinking? “It’s true,” she said again, “and I think this may work, for the both of you.” 

Daenerys wasn’t nearly as confident about any of this. “Will he be upset if I ask him directly? I don’t wish to offend him.” 

“He won’t take offense,” she guessed, filling Daenerys with relief. What was coming would be much easier if they didn’t have to dance around one of the major issues between them. In the back of her mind a voice pointed out that if she expected honestly and openness from Loras, she’d need to offer the same in return. She’d need to tell him about Arya. “He’ll be grateful he can be honest about it.” 

Daenerys allowed the hope she was feeling to remain without snuffing it out. Perhaps this could work. She loved Arya and couldn’t imagine a time when she didn’t, even after the guard was back in Sunspear, but maybe that didn’t mean she and Loras couldn’t come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. 

Daenerys thought they were done but Margaery had more. “I want my brother to be happy,” she said when they were outside the sitting room door, “he is important to me and his marriage has been hanging over his head like a raincloud for years.”   
“I understand,” she assured her friend. 

“I wasn’t involved in arranging this marriage, but I think it could be a good thing. You love someone else and Loras wouldn’t begrudge you that. He wouldn’t stand in the way of your happiness. As your friend, I also want you to be happy, all I ask is that you grant my brother the same courtesy.” 

They were speaking in code. It took a moment for Daenerys to solve it. The severe look in Margaery’s typically kind eyes gave her additional pause. This was very important to her. She considered what Margaery was saying and understood where it was coming from. The details really needed to be discussed between her and Loras, but she could provide some comfort, plain as it was. “As you said,” Daenerys began putting her hand on Margaery’s shoulder, “I love someone else, provided he was discreet, I wouldn’t object to Loras doing whatever he needed to be happy as well.” 

“Thank you,” she said after a relieved sigh. Go on in, he’s waiting.” She opened the door for the Princess and as Daenerys passed through, she continued, “After you’re finished, how about we go to dinner, just the four of us.” 

Daenerys immediately pictured sitting at a table with Margaery and the Starks sisters, sharing a meal. It made her smile. “I’d love that.” 

“I’ll take care of everything,” she promised. “Go,” she encouraged, “I’ll see you after.” 

With a nod she corrected her expression and forced herself to take one step and then another, leading her deeper into the room and toward a man who might one day be her husband. 

R-C

“I wasn’t a very good handmaiden,” Sansa admitted as she sewed. Arya could only marvel, she was somehow able to keep the stitches straight while maintaining the conversation and looking down only occasionally, it was remarkable.

“Did that upset the Tyrells?” she asked cautiously. Early in her stay in Sunspear she thought proving to be a poor servant would get her assigned to a different post, but it only led to her being paired up with a more experienced servant and forced to work from dawn to dusk, day after day until she was sufficiently trained. 

Even in those dark early days, Arya always knew it could be worse. If Prince Doran had a taste for physical discipline she could have been beaten until she complied. She wanted to say the Tyrells wouldn’t do that to an innocent woman. but the truth was she didn’t know them well enough to judge them. 

“Why would they?”

“They wanted you to be a handmaiden Sansa.”

“Was that what it was like for you in Dorne with the Martells?” By the end it wasn’t the question it had initially been, it changed as Sansa realized that is precisely how things had been for Arya. 

“I was a servant in the Water Gardens for years,” she said. She tried not to show any emotion as she spoke about one of the most difficult times in her life. “I wasn’t given a choice.” 

“You must’ve hated it,” Sansa noted. “You never liked being forced to do anything.”

Sansa was right of course, but Arya didn’t want to dwell on it. Her experience didn’t matter, she wanted to hear about Sansa’s. “The world rarely asks women what they want, especially fosters.” 

The hands that were busy sewing stopped when Arya called them by their title. “Dorne may be like that but the Reach isn’t.”

Arya wanted to believe, for her sister’s sake, but her skepticism remained. “It isn’t?”

“You’ve met everyone,” she elaborated, “who do you think holds the power here, Mace or Olenna?”

“Lady Olenna is a formidable woman,” Arya acknowledged. 

“She is, but she is also kind.” Arya was inclined to agree. She thought about Olenna’s visit to the Red Keep and how she took the time to engage with Daenerys to learn her true feelings, instead of discussing trivial matters of no import. Olenna sent an emissary and a gift for Daenerys’s nameday along with that amusing letter. She may wield real authority, but she hadn’t traded her soul to get it. “When I first arrived, I was terrified. I didn’t know what was going to happen to me.” Arya wanted to comfort her but wasn’t sure how. She stayed silent and listened. This is what she’d wanted to know. “I met with Mace and Garlan and their wives and then I was shown to my room. Olenna found me there and told me that I was safe and that nothing bad was going to happen to me while I was in their care.”

All too easily she could imagine exactly what it must’ve been like for her elder sister. Her first days in Sunspear were filled with a crippling fear that never left and an all-consuming loneliness. She didn’t like to think of Sansa going through the same things. 

“She gave me gold and told me I was free to buy whatever I needed and then she suggested ways I might decorate my room.” 

Arya actively tried not to show her surprise. Their experiences were no longer similar. Nothing like that happened in Dorne. She didn’t have her own space for months and even then, it wasn’t an actual room, just an out of the way corner where no one would bother her. She’d admired Olenna from the start, but she was beginning to see that she owed the matriarch a debt. She couldn’t protect her sister, but it was okay because Olenna had. How many sleepless nights had she spent worrying about Sansa’s fate? 

“I didn’t want to take it, but she insisted, then she asked if I wanted to accompany her to the Sept.”

“The Sept?” 

“To pray for mother and father, for everyone,” Sansa explained, her blue eyes glassy with tears. “We spent most of the afternoon there, and she never once complained.” 

“Then what happened?”

“I was given the next week to learn my way around the castle,” Sansa recalled. “I didn’t have anything to do, so I just wandered the halls and tried to stay out of everyone’s way.” She was done until she thought of another memory to share. “I spent a lot of time in the Sept and I even found the Godswood.” 

The Sansa she remembered only visited the Godswood in Winterfell when required. She preferred the more civilized faith of the Seven. “Really? The one in King’s Landing doesn’t have a proper Weirwood tree.” 

“Neither did Highgarden’s, at least not then.” 

“Does it now?”

She smiled and nodded, finally returning to her sewing. “The Tyrells trade with most houses in Westeros,” Sansa commented casually, although Arya couldn’t guess how that pertained to this, “they know everyone.” 

“I believe it,” Arya agreed, hoping to encourage Sansa to continue. 

“I go to the Godswood when I miss our family,” she said, staring down into the fabric she was working on. “I still visit the Sept and I pray for them, but I feel closer to everyone in the Godswood, especially Father. Margaery accompanies me sometimes. She asks about them, about you, about Bran, Robb and Rickon.” 

She couldn’t help it, she reached out and put her hand on Sansa’s arm. The contact was enough to pull Sansa’s eyes off the garment she was crafting. “I miss them too. I haven’t been in a proper Godswood since leaving Winterfell.” 

“We’ll go,” she decided, “before you leave.” Their eyes met, blue on grey and wordless communication passed between them. This was good, they were talking without fighting. The petty grudges of the past weren’t controlling them. They weren’t finding things to disagree about. They were spending time together. Sansa’s bright smile made it clear that it meant as much to her as it did to Arya. “On one visit, when Margaery was with me, she asked me about Winterfell.” 

Arya felt empathy as she pictured it. Her mind filled with all the things she might say if someone, if Daenerys asked her about her former home. “What did you say?” She cleared her throat loudly hating how unsteady she sounded. While she waited for the reply her eyes drifted to the wall hanging depicting the North. 

Mercifully, Sansa didn’t comment on her weakness. “Everything,” she breathed, “we sat on a bench for hours and I told her everything I could remember.” She could tell it was an intense memory, so Arya didn’t interrupt. It took a while before Sansa’s eyes cleared, and she began to sound more like her usual self. “She confessed she’d never seen a heart tree, so I told her about it. The next month visitors arrived from the North to negotiate a trade deal of some sort, I’m not aware of the details, but at the request of the Tyrells, when the shipment arrived, it included seeds for a Weirwood.” 

“They planted a tree?” The longer they talked the more evidence she received that Sansa was surrounded by people that genuinely cared for her. It would make it a little easier to leave when the time came. Whether she was in King’s Landing or Sunspear she’d have confidence her sister was safe, happy and loved. 

“It’s still growing,” Sansa noted, “but it’s been years and it’s coming along nicely.”

“That was very kind of them to do,” she said sincerely. “I’d like to see that.” 

Smiling, Sansa replied with, “You will.”

It was quiet for a time, Arya let her work in peace. While she watched Sansa cut some fabric and then went to work taming the edge, she moved quickly and with confidence, trusting her hands and her abilities. Arya was struck by a wave of pride, proud of who Sansa had become, in spite of all that happened. 

“I thought Margaery would be here by now,” Sansa said as she set down her scissors. 

“I could go and look for her if you like,” she offered. She didn’t relish the idea of wandering around Highgarden, but she’d enjoy doing something nice for her sister. 

“No that’s alright, she probably got busy with something,” Sansa ruled after some internal debate. “If you want to go and look for Daenerys though, you can.” 

She was more than a little tempted. Like Sansa had moments earlier she decided against the proposal. “No, she has meetings this morning.” 

Sansa looked up from the silk and gave Arya an apologetic smile. “I heard about the wedding, are you alright?”

“It’s fine,” she assured her. “I know Daenerys doesn’t want to do it, but she doesn’t have a choice.” 

She expected Sansa to seize the opportunity and rant about how the Targaryen was undeserving of Arya’s trust, but she addressed it in a whole different way. “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” she said, sounding sincere as she kept her eyes on the fabric, “I don’t envy you. It’s going to break my heart when Margaery needs to marry.” 

“You think she will?” Arya heard herself ask, still thinking about Daenerys and her potential wedding. 

“One day,” Sansa predicted sadly. “I knew that from the start, but we pledged to try not to think about it.” 

A noble goal, if unrealistic. “Does it work?” She had so few people she could speak to about her relationship, she found herself hoping her elder sister had some wisdom to give. 

“Most days,” Sansa said with a faraway smile. “We made that bargain at the beginning, before…” she trailed off, avoiding meeting Arya’s gaze. 

“Before what?” 

“Before we cared, before we fell in love,” Sansa finished. “She says she doesn’t want to marry, but we both know it’ll happen. The Tyrells are too influential and wealthy to allow their beautiful daughter to remain unattached.”

It would’ve been humorous, if it wasn’t so tragic. Arya and Sansa had always been opposites. They went years without contact and still somehow managed to end up in nearly identical situations. “What happens to you then?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose it’ll depend on what Margaery wants.”

“What about what you want?” Arya pressed. 

“I want to be with her if I can,” she answered. The sincerity in her voice was undeniable. Her sister did love Lady Margaery deeply, Arya could only hope the Tyrell proved deserving of that affection. 

“Do you ever think about leaving?” she asked carefully, aware they were perilously close to a disagreement. 

“And go where?” Sansa clarified. “I used to dream I was back in Winterfell or some other faraway place, but that was long ago.”

“What about now?”

“Now, I’m happy here.” Tired of answering Arya’s ceaseless questions she posed one of her own. “What about you?” 

“Same as you,” Arya confessed. “Sunspear was the only home I had, for better or worse, I didn’t want to leave it.” She thought about trying to explain how she’d been given the chance to go, but that would require them to discuss her relationship with Oberyn and their trip to Essos, Arya didn’t think they was relevant enough to spend the time on. 

“But you did,” Sansa challenged. “You went to King’s Landing.” 

“I wasn’t given a choice,” Arya reminded her. “Prince Doran ordered me to go, and I serve him.” 

“I’m glad I never have to see that place again,” Sansa whispered after another length of quiet. 

“I looked for you when Olenna came,” Arya remembered fondly. “I hoped you didn’t have to come, but I studied the faces of everyone all the same.” 

“Really?” 

“I missed you Sansa, and I felt bad about the way we left things.” 

“We were children,” she said with a somber expression. “You were right to be upset, I regretted the way I treated you, I still do.” 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Arya insisted. “That was a lifetime ago, the future is what counts.” 

Sansa set the partially completed dress down and then stood up. Arya did too, out of habit. They embraced and Arya held on tight, not realizing until right then how desperately she needed this. 

R-C

Loras stood as she approached. Margaery didn’t enter with her and she immediately yearned for the additional support. Earlier she thought about how decent a thing it was that Arya was busy with her sister, to spare her from this but it left Daenerys feeling vulnerable and alone. Two Unsullied were guarding the door, but it was merely a precaution. Daenerys knew the danger she was facing wasn’t physical. Since she didn’t need either of their services Daenerys had given Missandei and Grey Worm the afternoon off. She sent her friends into the city with gold to enjoy themselves. Just because she was confined to the castle didn’t mean they needed to be, not during this trip. 

He looked uncomfortable as she neared the table, she could certainly relate. He was a handsome man. She’d heard many a visitor to the Red Keep gushing about the Knight of Flowers. As attractive as he was, she felt nothing for him, nothing except sympathy. He may not know it yet, but they had quite a bit in common. Their fathers wanted them to marry, to bind their houses together, but neither Loras nor Daenerys were interested. This went beyond the generalized awkwardness of an arranged noble marriage. If Tyrion and Margaery were right, there was little chance Loras would grow to love her and while she could appreciate he was handsome and probably nice enough, Daenerys couldn’t fathom loving him either, not in the way she currently did Arya Stark. 

“Princess,” he said kindly, “please sit. Would you like a drink?” He motioned to an open bottle of wine. It appeared he already started drinking before she arrived, she didn’t mind in the slightest. Whatever it took for them to get through this was forgivable. 

“Yes, please and Daenerys is fine. This will be difficult enough without being stifled by formality.” 

He poured her a glass of what was definitely high-quality wine while she took her seat. 

“I’m sorry my father instigated this,” he said to get them started. “Margaery told me you had no idea.”

She smiled, appreciative of the effort he was taking. “It was a surprise, but you have nothing to apologize for, as I hear it you didn’t have much more warning than I did.” 

He blushed a bit, but persevered. “My father has wanted one of us to marry a Targaryen since my eldest brother was born.” Although he worked to make it sound like a simple statement there was an undercurrent of understandable frustration she could hear. 

“I’m sorry you’re the one who got stuck with me,” she jested, hoping to lighten the mood. 

He laughed and she assumed it was only slightly forced. “You’re the most sought after woman in the Seven Kingdoms,” he said, making it her turn to blush. “I’m sure many men would love to be in my place right now, I should probably have my head examined for not being thrilled by the idea.” 

He was trying to take the blame. It didn’t escape her notice that he neglected to give a reason for his resistance. He’d probably gotten good at hiding it. It couldn’t be easy to have to worry that people might find out. In truth, Daenerys had sort of fallen backward into her own unconventional relationship. Before Arya she could never recall being attracted to a woman. She thought many women were beautiful before, but she didn’t desire them. She wasn’t sure if Arya represented a shift in her interests or if she was unique, an exception to the rule. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“Of course,” she said quickly, hoping it wasn’t evident that her mind had been elsewhere. 

“Why did you ask to see me? I heard my grandmother and my father arguing, she said that she was going to tell you that you could forget about this marriage.”

She nodded to show he had his facts right, and then took a moment to try and organize her thoughts. “She did tell me that, and I was mighty tempted.” 

“Why didn’t you?”

She sipped her wine. “Someone important to me gave me her opinion and it made me rethink my intentions.” 

“What was it?” he inquired before taking a drink of his own. 

Was that common curiosity she heard or was he searching for a way forward? “She reminded me that marriage is likely inevitable, whether with you or someone else, it will probably happen, for the both of us.” 

Loras had no trouble following her logic. “If you say ‘no,’ my father will probably marry me off to another Southern family, one he wants to improve relations with.” 

She didn’t need to know Loras well to see how he felt about the prospect. It showed on his face. “It will be the same for me. When that happens it’s probable that neither of our feelings will be taken into consideration.” She let him ponder that for a moment before finally getting to the point. “I was placed in charge of the negotiations here, so this time at least, I get to have an opinion.” 

“And you wish to marry me?” he blurted out before he caught himself and took a long gulp from his wine. 

She thought long and hard about how to respond before she allowed her tightly closed jaw to open and the words to slip out. This was it. She needed to explain what she was attempting to forge, to see if Loras was receptive. “If I must be married, I’d prefer to marry someone who knew in advance that romantic love was unlikely. I’d like a marriage where we worked together, one where being friends who support one another is enough to make both of us happy.” Remembering what Margaery asked of her, she finished, “Ideally, it’d be a union where my husband granted me freedom to be happy, while I did the same for him.” 

While she watched, Loras’s shoulders sagged and the annoyance from earlier disappeared. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you, I’m not making a very good impression, am I?”

She chuckled. “You’re doing fine. A lot is being asked of us, and if we agree to go forward, it will require a lot more. We aren’t always going to agree but if we promise to respect one another, maybe that will be sufficient.” 

“I don’t even know what to say,” he confessed quietly. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.” 

She laughed a little longer this time. “I understand, believe me. This will only work if we both agree. I won’t ask you to proceed if you are unsure.” 

“You were right,” he said even before she finished speaking, “about everything. We will eventually need to marry, if not one another, then other people and it’s also true that if we tell our families we plan to marry, they’ll let us breathe.” 

Daenerys for one wouldn’t be rushing to be wed, but she didn’t like her chances of delaying the marriage indefinitely either. She tried to provide Loras with a realistic assessment. “If we tell them it is our intention to marry, they may require us to do so.” 

“I know,” he accepted. 

“Marriage is about compromise,” she said, quoting something she read in a book once. “What happens in our home is no one’s business but ours. I understand you prefer to keep your personal life private.”

Wide eyed and tense, he hesitated, his hand hanging in the air near his wine. He was waiting to see if she had more to add but she didn’t. She trusted he knew exactly what she meant. It wasn’t her goal to embarrass him. “I do,” he eventually confirmed. 

“Me too,” she admitted. “If we were married, I would only ask that you continue to be discreet.” 

She saw the instant he realized what she was proposing. His whole expression shifted. “I would, of course.”

“If that’s true, I’d see no reason why we couldn’t live separate lives, as husband and wife,” she went on, fully aware she was getting ahead of herself. They weren’t ready to agree to anything, but Daenerys wanted him to comprehend what she was suggesting, because next she needed to bring up Arya. 

“You’d be alright with that?”

“I’d prefer it,” she told him bluntly. “I’m in a relationship currently. It’s serious and while I don’t know how much longer it will last, you’d need to understand that.”

He surprised her by smiling, grinning really. “That’s a relief,” he said before refilling her wine and then his own. “I worried that even if we agreed it was a marriage in name only, you’d feel differently in time.”

“That’s unlikely,” she said, not going so far as to call it impossible. “I’m in love already and if marriage is something I must do, I’d rather bond with someone who knows that in advance.” There was a pause before she asked, “Do you have a lover?”

He blushed crimson and looked away, uncomfortable with the question. Before Daenerys could apologize, he responded. “No, not presently, but I have, in the past.” 

By the time he got to the end, he was looking into her eyes again, a large step in the right direction. His cheeks were also returning to their proper shade. “I asked because as awkward as it is to discuss it, I wouldn’t mind if you did.” 

“What about kids?” he asked with no forewarning. 

In the process of taking a drink she nearly choked. She managed to swallow the liquid without making a mess but needed a moment to collect herself. “What about them?” 

“Our families will expect them.” 

Daenerys adored children and always dreamed of being a mother. She wanted to raise and teach and spoil her sons and daughters but the thought of creating them with Loras was unappealing to say the least. “They would, but I don’t think we need to worry about such things now. Not all marriages produce children immediately,” she reminded him, “we’d have years before people began to notice.” Secretly it was Daenerys’s hope that by then Rhaegar would be King and the pressures on her as the Dragon Princess would relent. Almost as an afterthought, she came up with a possible solution. “Perhaps we say I’m infertile, if it were my fault, few would question us openly about it, they wouldn’t want to anger the King.” 

Loras looked at the Princess with undisguised awe. “I never thought of that. Do you think it would work?”

She shrugged. “Probably.” Hopefully by the time it became necessary, they wouldn’t need it, but if it gave Loras some peace knowing they had a strategy, she was fine with it. 

“What do we do now?” he asked, clearly comfortable letting her lead. 

“Take some time and think about all this,” she suggested seriously, “I know I’m asking a lot, but you may decide it’s a better alternative than being paired to whichever young woman your father chooses next.”

Even as he nodded, she could see he wanted more information about what the next steps would be. She took a drink to buy herself the time to plot it out. “If we decide to continue, we’ll take things slow. We can exchange letters and you can visit me in King’s Landing if you want.” 

“You could accompany me to a tourney too.” He seemed to realize only after he said it how it might sound. “No, I don’t…” he stammered in a rush, “I just thought that if we were seen together, we might be able to delay the actual wedding.” 

She smiled to show there were no hard feelings. “That’s a good idea, I love travelling so if it’s possible, I’ll take you up on that offer.” 

“Tournaments are great,” he said, more relaxed than he’d been at any other time. “The food, the crowds, the music, it’s incredible. You’ll love it.” 

“I’m looking forward to it.” She pushed out her chair and stood. Across from her Loras got to his feet as well. “Thank you for being so understanding,” Daenerys said, “whatever you decide, you’ll have my support. I have to meet your sister for dinner, so if you’d excuse me.”

“Of course.” She got several steps away before a running Loras caught up, just inside the door. “Do you need help finding your way?”

His engrained manners and deep reserve of charm were on full display and suddenly Daenerys understood how no one discovered his secret. Rumors persisted but there was no proof, because Loras was able to act the part people expected of him, not unlike how Daenerys filled a role as Princess. Without the crippling tension of their conversation weighing him down, she got a glimpse of the Loras the rest of the world saw. “Very kind of you, but I’ll be fine. My guards are right outside the door.” 

“Is it true Oberyn Martell trained your guard personally?” he asked. 

She smiled when she thought of Arya. “He did. I recently met the Prince during a trip to Sunspear, he is a very interesting man.”

“Yes, he is, despite their history he and my brother Willas are close, they send letters frequently. As a fighter few can compare.” 

With all mention of marriage behind them, or at least off to the side temporarily, she found Loras happier, engaging and friendly. “I heard that about you,” she said nudging him with her elbow. “Is it true you’ve beaten Jaime Lannister?”

An easy grin stretched his face. “I have, a couple of times actually, but he’s beaten me many more.” 

“Yes, but he’s had more experience, imagine where you’ll be at his age.” 

The speculation cheered him. “Can I tell him you said so the next time I see him?” he asked eagerly. 

She laughed lightly into her hand. “Sure,” she allowed, “now if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure Margaery is waiting.” 

He released her with a bow, ducking his head and causing Daenerys to laugh louder. As she walked away the idea of marrying Loras Tyrell was much more palatable than it had been an hour before. The final decision would be his. She was willing to act as his wife, but a marriage needed two. Either way maybe she and Loras could grow to be friends. Until he made up his mind, there was little Daenerys could do. She vowed to make the most of what remained of her trip, spending time with all the people she cared about before they had to return to King’s Landing. 

R-C

True to her word, Margaery handled all the preparations for their meal. Daenerys was amazed by how blissfully simple the whole thing turned out to be. No one objected to Margaery and Daenerys being absent from the dining hall. Daenerys tried to imagine how a similar request would be received at home and the thought alone made a shiver run down her spine. Missing dinner was the fastest way to get her father’s attention. From there it was a short walk until he was mumbling to himself about betrayal and traitors. Highgarden was different. Margaery said Lady Olenna encouraged the less formal gathering and had given all participants strict instructions to enjoy themselves. 

Wanting to feel useful, Daenerys offered to set the table. Margaery helped, and as they worked side by side, she subtly inquired about her meeting with Loras. Having had her fill of talk about being married, Daenerys kept her description accurate but brief. They talked and were going to take the next few days to think it over.

She seemed to pick up on Daenerys’s willingness to talk about anything but that and was quick to move on. 

When the Starks joined them, Daenerys felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. She hadn’t spent any time with Arya since they parted that morning. It had been the longest they’d been apart since Arya came into her life. She was certainly pleased they were together again. 

She took several steps toward Arya as the sisters entered but she stopped short and held her ground, not wanting to embarrass the woman she loved. It was delightful to see Arya smiling, talking to Sansa while gesturing with her hands. It looked as though the siblings had a good day. 

With none of her reluctance, Margaery went to Sansa and they hugged as they were reunited. Arya saw the Tyrell coming and stepped to the side. She respectfully looked away as they came together and quickly sought out something else to focus on. Daenerys was pleased when a pair of gorgeous, grey eyes landed on her and stayed. She couldn’t get her feet to move, despite several attempts but Arya was only too happy to close the distance. “Hi,” she said, feeling unnaturally shy. 

Instead of responding Arya broke eye contact for the first time since spotting Daenerys and looked around the room. “Where are Missandei and Grey Worm?”

She had the good sense to blush, knowing how the admission she was about to give would sound to the protective guard. “I sent them to explore the city…” 

She didn’t get to finish. “You told me they were going to keep you safe!” she shouted. “I stayed gone all day because I thought Grey Worm was with you.” 

She could feel both Sansa and Margaery watching them, but she kept her attention on Arya. “Arya calm down,” she hissed, fighting her embarrassment, “I honored our deal, before they left, I had Grey Worm send for two of his best men. They’re patrolling the hall.”

Her whole demeanor changed in an instant. “Oh,” she said, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

Daenerys took her hand. “It’s fine, I know you worry.”

Unbeknownst to the Princess, Sansa wasn’t quite ready to let her sister off the hook. “And here I was thinking only I could make you that angry, that fast,” she teased with a smug grin. 

Arya acted as if her sister hadn’t spoken and wasn’t even there. “I’m sorry Daenerys, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” 

Daenerys smiled, indulgent and forgiving. “How was your day?” she asked, eager to move them to safer ground. 

Repentant Arya ducked her head. “It was good,” she said peeking at Sansa as she said it. “It was nice, we had a lot to talk about.”

“I bet,” Daenerys concurred. She snuck a glance at the other couple in the room and made sure they seemed occupied with one another, then she popped up onto her toes and pressed her lips into Arya’s cheek. “I missed you today. We haven’t spent that much time apart since…”

“Since the day you saved my life,” Arya finished, putting the most heroic coloring on their shared memory. The Targaryen could only chuckle. Arya was acting as if she jumped in front of the executioner and fought him back barehanded to secure her life. She may not have been brave enough to go beyond words in Sunspear, but she liked to think and hope that if it happened again, this time she’d do whatever was necessary to keep Arya safe. “I missed you too.” 

Margaery reminded she was there with a squealing laugh as she clung to Sansa’s arm. “Aren’t they adorable?” she asked. “I’ve never seen Daenerys like this before.” 

“I’ve never been like this before,” she declared, trying to use willpower to keep the blush off her cheeks. It didn’t work, but she wasn’t alone. Arya’s face was heating too. 

“How were your meetings?” Arya asked softly. An outsider might think she only asked to take the focus off her, but Daenerys knew better, she really wanted to know. 

“It went okay,” Daenerys said, “we both have a lot to think about.” 

“No, no!” Margaery said, leaving Sansa for the first time since the redhead arrived and going to the Princess, pulling her away from her lover. “We’re not going to spend the entire night talking about Daenerys marrying Loras. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that all four of us would hate that, so I forbid it.” 

Daenerys raised an eyebrow while she fought to keep her expression severe. She wasn’t especially successful, but she kept at it. “You forbid it?”

“I do,” she proclaimed. “You can tell Arya all about it later, if you want but first, we’re going to sit down, have dinner and really get to know one another.” 

She would’ve been lying if she said that didn’t sound like a great way to spend the evening. She was about to agree when Sansa clicked her tongue on the inside of her cheek and shook her head. With one hand on her hip she was the physical embodiment of disapproval. It really was a sight to behold. “Let them talk if they want to,” she chastised, “besides you’re only saying they can’t talk about it because you and the Princess already did.” 

Daenerys was impressed and not only because she happened to be right, but because it took a lot of courage to stand up to noble when you weren’t. Judging by her steady voice and well-practiced poses this wasn’t the first time she opposed Margaery publicly. 

It took a moment for Daenerys to make sense of Margaery’s expression. She’d just been rebuked rather thoroughly by Sansa, in front of an audience, yet she remained as relaxed and happy as she’d been all day. Violet eyes narrowed as she tried to understand. 

Daenerys decided it was pride she was witnessing. Margaery was proud of Sansa for standing up for herself. She was almost ready to comment when Arya did. “Wow, I haven’t seen that look in a very long time.” She took a slow, step forward with her hand out in front of her. 

Sansa rounded on her sister. “What look?” 

Arya stopped walking but her face split into a breathtaking grin. “That one,” she said pointing, “the one Mother would get when Bran got caught climbing for the third time in the same afternoon, after she already told him to stop twice.”

Daenerys was conflicted. She loved seeing Arya happy and she clearly was, but other emotions clogged her throat too. Guilt, shame, sadness all came to the forefront when Arya mentioned her family, the family her father had killed. 

“The resemblance is unbelievable,” Arya said from directly in front of Sansa now. 

“You’d know, you got it more than any of the rest of us,” she quipped. 

Daenerys’s eyes darted back to her lover, expecting a strenuous defense of her behavior, but she just kept grinning. If offered the entire treasury to look away in that moment she would have declined. 

“Is that true?” Margaery asked, eager to gather gossip. If another person said those same words in the same tone, they probably would’ve bothered her, but Margaery was a friend and she had faith that the secrets that needed to stay hidden wouldn’t be revealed by her. 

“Oh, it was true,” Sansa pledged, “barely a day could pass where she wasn’t in trouble for something,” she recounted. “She hated our lessons, so she’d insist on making the Septa chase after her.” 

“It was so boring,” Arya whined adorably in her defense. “I did better with Maester Luwin’s lessons. What he taught me I might actually use one day.”

Daenerys hung on every word and she wasn’t the only one. Margaery was equally enthralled by the back and forth of the Starks. “The Septa was just trying to help you Arya.” 

Despite the obvious reprimand Arya smiled. “There it is again, just like mother,” she poked. “I’ve missed that perfectly polite, thinly-veiled disappointment. No one in Dorne came close to getting it right.” 

Daenerys feared they were seconds away from falling into a snide, vicious argument but to her surprise Sansa just shook her head and said, “I learned from the best.” 

Walking back to stand at Daenerys’s side once again, Arya finished with, “Yes, you did.” 

Selfishly she was thrilled to be learning more about Arya’s family and about her life, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong. Her father was the reason Arya had to miss her mother, her father was the reason her brother Bran who apparently loved to climb things, never would again. She wouldn’t enjoy dinner in the dining hall, but she’d endure it if it made it easier for Arya and Sansa to continue as they were. 

“C…can I ask you a question?” she said, clutching Arya’s hand as soon as it was in reach and tugging her toward one of the room’s corners where there was less chance they’d be overheard. 

“What’s wrong?” Arya immediately picked up on Daenerys’s tension and was on a heightened sense of alert. 

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here? I could go eat with everyone else.”

“What? Why would you do that?”

She looked around Arya to see the other women standing in a similar way, having their own private moment. She took a deep breath before saying, “Your sister doesn’t want me here. She shouldn’t have to dine with the daughter of the man…”

“If you don’t want to stay, we can go. Margaery found us while you were in your meeting and said you agreed. If you’ve changed your mind…”

What? Was she even listening? “No, Arya it’s not that, I just don’t want to make things difficult. Sansa has suffered enough. If I have to eat one meal surrounded by Tyrion and the Tyrells so be it.” By the end she was pleased with the result. She’d articulated her feelings and made what felt like a strong argument. 

“Where are we going instead?” Arya asked. Did she say, ‘we?’ “Arya, you should stay, you only get a few more days with your sister, you should make the most of them, the Unsullied….”

Already close together Arya shuffled her feet and moved even closer. “We agreed we weren’t going to waste any of the time we had, didn’t we?”

“That was different,” she tried, knowing it would fail. “Arya, it’s okay…”

“It’s not okay. I want to hold your hand under the table and listen to Sansa try to embarrass me by telling you exaggerated stories from when I was a girl. I can’t do that unless you’re here.”

Her heart was torn. How could she deny such a request? She looked at Margaery and found her and Sansa at the table, directing the various servants who were bringing in their food. She’d been so wrapped up in Arya, she hadn’t noticed the visitors. “It looks like you two had a good day,” she noted when Sansa glanced in their direction without appearing unhappy. 

“We did,” Arya confirmed. “We Northerners are a little harsh, there is usually a thick layer of ice that needs to be chipped away before we can really get down to business, but it’s worth the effort.” She paused before adding more. “After so many years, Sansa and I had a lot to work through.” 

She didn’t doubt that. “I’m glad you got the chance.”

“Thank you for that. You gave me my sister back.”

Rather than focusing on her small, meaningless contribution, she posed a question. “Is she different?”

“Yes and no,” Arya said before she gathered her thoughts and tried to elaborate. “Some things she does, she did exactly the same way as when we were children, like the way she has to blow on her tea before daring to take a sip or how she never forgets to lay a napkin in her lap, even if she’s just sneaking in a couple of bites, but the rest, other things are so, so different. 

“Like what?”

“She’s strong, confident and independent. I’m not sure I’d have used those three words to describe her before.” 

Daenerys heard the affection in Arya’s voice and knew she’d done the right thing. Even if it led to her being married one day, she’d never regret bringing Arya to Highgarden and helping her find her sister. 

“Dinner is served,” Margaery said to all of them, “I’ll pour the wine.”

R-C

Midway through their dinner Arya felt it was going well. The food was delicious, the wine exquisite and the conversation lively. They each played their own part in keeping things light and avoiding the many pitfalls around them. Luckily for all of them, Margaery was a natural hostess who had a talent for keeping the peace. They were able to speak about their childhoods in Winterfell without addressing the fates of the characters, details everyone already knew. When Daenerys was rigid in her seat and looking only into her plate, Arya would squeeze their joined hands and try and comfort her. When Margaery noticed her friend withdrawing, she’d steer the conversation to something Daenerys could participate in. More than once as they ate Sansa’s focus would begin and end with Daenerys and Arya could tell she was preparing to say something to the Mad King’s daughter. She knew her sister didn’t understand, she didn’t yet see the distinction between Daenerys and the other Targaryens. Internally Arya feared she never would. She wanted both Sansa and Daenerys to be in her life. Would the Gods make her choose? She observed her sister closely, waiting for the inevitable conflict, but it didn’t come, because while Arya was readying herself for managing the aftermath, across the table Margaery Tyrell was being proactive. When Sansa grew tired of hearing Daenerys talk about one thing or another, Margaery would engage her lover with questions about her shop, the dresses she was making or any new orders that might’ve come in. She made it look effortless. 

After Arya had finished eating and the other three around the table were putting the final touches on theirs, Margaery endeavored to learn more about her. “Arya,” she asked, “did you know the sword before going to Sunspear?”

“Only what I could learn hiding in the bushes listening to Ser Roderick teach my brothers.” She punctuated the statement with a wink for Sansa, causing the elder to huff. “Our father didn’t allow me formal training but…”

“But that didn’t stop her from trying to spar with anyone wearing armor,” Sansa completed. “They had swords, real swords and she had a stick, but she didn’t care.” 

The table laughed at Sansa’s exasperated telling of a happy time long ago. “I got lucky,” she said, “I ended up in Dorne, where women are allowed to fight, eventually they agreed to let me train.” 

“I heard a rumor,” she said, leaning forward in her chair a bit. Arya suspected it had more to do with trying to settle things. From the moment Arya said she ‘ended up in Dorne,’ Sansa had been glaring daggers at the Princess. 

“It’s most likely not true,” she said, smiling kindly at Margaery, mouthing the words ‘thank you.’ Keeping Sansa from erupting at Daenerys was a two-person job apparently. 

“So, you weren’t personally trained by the Red Viper himself?” 

That was the rumor? “Oh, I…”

“She most certainly was,” Daenerys said for her. “She’s too modest, she didn’t just finish her training and become a soldier, she finished first in a group of hundreds.” 

“Really?” This time it was Sansa speaking for her half of the table. 

“The Prince and I became friends, I asked if he could help get me into training and he agreed that he would, but only if I vowed to give it everything I had, to always strive to be better.” 

Margaery appeared fascinated. Personally. Arya didn’t know what was so interesting, but Sansa seemed to have gotten over her anger, so it wasn’t all bad. 

“My brothers say Oberyn is one of the finest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms. I have no doubt there is much he taught you.”

“Him and many others,” she assured them. “I still have much more to learn, but I have years to learn it.”

“You finally got your sword,” Sansa said. “Can I see it?”

She pushed back her chair and stood up. She was wearing the Valyrian steel sword Daenerys gave her. She drew it off her hip and felt a jolt of energy course through her body, the same one she got every time she freed the sword from its scabbard. 

Sansa got up too and walked in Arya’s direction. Margaery followed at a slower pace. but her eyes were the sharpest of the bunch. “They gave you that for finishing first?” she verified. Arya couldn’t tell if she somehow knew it was Valyrian steel, but she clearly knew it wasn’t a typical sword for a novice soldier. Trust a Tyrell to see an item and be able to determine its value at a glance. 

“No, that sword is with my things,” she clarified, “this one was a gift from Daenerys.” 

That was all it took for Margaery to pivot and pour all her attention on Daenerys. “You bought her that?”

“Why?” Sansa snapped rudely. 

Though she was visibly uncomfortable under two sets of intense eyes, Daenerys held her own, and spoke clearly and calmly, like the Princess she was, the Dragon she was. “I wanted to give Arya a gift that she could take with her, something to remember me by.”

“You think she wants to remember you?” Sansa asked bluntly with acid mixed in. All her restraint at dinner was crumbling now. 

“Sansa,” Arya hissed, “stop. Daenerys…”

“You’re leaving?” Margaery realized when she put the pieces together. She looked at the guard and made an educated guess, “You’re going back to Sunspear, aren’t you?”

Forgetting Daenerys Sansa threw her arms around her sister suddenly. Arya barely got the sword on the table and out from between them before Sansa was pressed against her. “You’re leaving again?” she asked directly into Arya’s ear. 

She hugged back and then released her. She chose her words carefully. “My assignment to King’s Landing was only temporary,” she explained. “I was to act as guard until Prince Viserys and Eliza Martell return for the wedding.”

“So. you’re going back?” Sansa asked again. 

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, avoiding Daenerys, “that’ll be up to the King, and I think he enjoys having a bargaining chip with Prince Doran back in Sunspear.” That wasn’t an outright lie, in fact it was probably true, but it wasn’t the whole story. She needed to talk to Daenerys first, before she even tried to discuss it with her sister. “Wherever I am, we can stay in touch this time. King’s Landing isn’t that far, you can accompany Lady Olenna or Margaery next time. “Your family does quite a bit of business with the Dornish, do you not?” she asked Margaery. She already knew the answer, but she needed Sansa to know it too. 

“Plenty,” Margaery concurred, “shipments arrive near constantly.”

“And I’d wager every coin in my pocket that each one of those shipments is guarded by a small contingent of Dornish soldiers.”

Margaery’s smile widened. “Indeed, they are.” 

Satisfied she twisted to Sansa and took her hand. “I’ll see you again,” she promised, “I won’t let us be separated like last time. We can write letters, I’m not sure you’ll be able to read mine, but I’ll write, and I’ll visit, as often as I can.”

That was enough for Sansa, she threw herself at Arya for another hug. Arya held on tight. “I missed you,” she said between sobs, “I thought…”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m here and I’ll always be with you.” Arya didn’t let her go, not when Sansa stopped crying or when she heard Margaery and Daenerys slip out. If Sansa needed this Arya was going to give it to her. She would stay as long as it took. 

R-C

“She seems to like it here,” Arya said as Daenerys climbed into bed next to her. 

Daenerys’s mind had been wandering and it took a moment for her to catch up. “Hmm?” she hummed. “Sansa?”

“I think she likes it here,” Arya decided with a nod. “She has Margaery and her shop, but…”

Daenerys waited, using the time to get comfortable. She rolled onto her side and propped herself up looking at her gorgeous lover. By the time she’d settled, Arya still wasn’t ready to expand on her point. The Princess gave her a little push. “But what?”

“Do you think she’s afraid of them, the Tyrells?”

She wasn’t sure what had started this, or where it was coming from, but she could guess. “I don’t think she’s afraid of them, they seem to care about her.”

“I think so too,” Arya said as she adjusted her pillow, “I just worry. I’ll have to leave soon, and she’ll be alone again.”

“She won’t be alone, Margaery will be with her, and Olenna, and now that she knows you’re alive, you can write as often as you’d like.” She was laying it on a little thick, but it felt like what Arya needed to hear. In this instance it had the added benefit of also being true. Sansa did seem happy, she and Margaery appeared very much in love. 

For nearly a full minute Arya said nothing. Daenerys ended the quiet by inquiring. “Is she doing better, better than she was?” When she and Margaery left, Sansa was in tears and Arya was comforting her. 

“She’ll be okay. She just needed to get it out. She keeps everything bottled up and that works for a while, but sooner or later it spills over.” 

“Hiding her emotions, refusing to let it out, who does that sound like?” she teased, adding a flirty wink for good measure. “Didn’t you tell me you and your sister didn’t have anything in common.” 

“It’s not the same,” Arya claimed, taking the joke seriously. “Yes we both bury our emotions but I let mine out when I train, when I swing my sword, or thrust my spear I get to release all of that frustration, the anger, the rage, Sansa doesn’t have that, it becomes too much.” 

Odd as the description was, it made sense. “Maybe you could teach her the sword and show her how to unburden herself.” 

After a bark of a laugh Arya kissed her. Only when she was back on her elbow did she correct the Princess’s misconceptions. “Sansa would rather feed me to dogs than take instruction from me, especially in warfare.”

Unsure of how to reply, she went with a simple. “Oh.”

It was quiet again until Arya moved them on to the next issue. “I’m sorry about Sansa,” she said, “she can be difficult sometime.” 

She leaned in to place a kiss against Arya’s smooth lips. “It’s fine,” she answered honestly. “I don’t blame her for feeling as she does. I wou….”

“I do,” Arya interrupted. “I blame her. We used to fight a lot as girls and every time she is rude to you, I feel like I’m a child again, and Sansa’s mad at me. It’s like nothing has changed.” 

“I’m sorry you’re stuck between us. I just wanted you to see your sister again I didn’t mean…”

Arya shook her head. “It’s because of you that I got this chance, whether Sansa will say so or not, you’re the only reason she isn’t still mourning me, thinking me dead.”

Since Arya brought it up, Daenerys wanted to touch on that topic. “Why do you think Doran lied?” 

“No idea,” she confessed, “I’ve thought about it a lot and it doesn’t make sense. I’ll be sure to ask him, if I ever see him again.” 

She said it so calmly that Daenerys almost missed it. If!? Since when was there any question about whether Arya would be going back to Sunspear? During their dinner together Arya described it to Sansa as a possibility, and not a certainty, Daenerys assumed she was just trying to soften the blow for Sansa’s sake. Could it be more than that? “Why did you tell Sansa you might stay in King’s Landing?” she blurted out. Damn her for not working around to it. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I just…”

Desperate to try and salvage the moment, she wiggled a little closer to Arya and was rewarded by a finger grazing her upturned hip. “Do you not want to go back to Dorne?” 

“Dorne is nice,” she replied while her fingers drew unseen pictures on Daenerys’s smooth skin, “but I’d miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too Arya,” she said, holding back the tears that were threatening, “everyday, but you have a life there. You’re going to be a soldier, to fight and lead men for the Martells.” Her voice was beginning to shake, so she clamped her lips and swallowed hard before adding, “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“There’s something else I want more,” she fired back in the dark. Daenerys thought her heart was going to burst. Was she dreaming? Was Arya saying what Daenerys though she was? Although she sounded emotional, she was far more composed than the older woman. 

“A…are you sure?” she asked, hating how her voice cracked. She wanted to seize the opportunity while it was within reach, but she couldn’t be selfish. She couldn’t allow Arya to throw her life away just so Daenerys wouldn’t have to let her go. “Arya…”

“King’s Landing needs soldiers too, right?” she asked rhetorically, unaware or undeterred by anything Daenerys said. “I was thinking I’d write Oberyn and ask for permission to stay. I think he’ll…”

Daenerys couldn’t help it. She squealed, overpowering everything Arya was saying. She pressed herself against her lover’s body fully and then used her hands to try and bring her even closer. “Really? You want to stay?”

“I want to be with you,” she corrected, “anywhere with you, even there.” Daenerys was overjoyed and ready to agree. She was already thinking about the logistics of it. It shouldn’t be overly difficult to extend Arya’s stay, not with Oberyn helping from Dorne and Daenerys working from King’s Landing. They couldn’t fail, she wouldn’t allow them to. 

While Daenerys had been imagining her new, limitless future with Arya, the guard’s mind had gone in a different direction. Dejected and sad, she tugged against the Princess’s hold, to try and entice Daenerys to let her go. “What’s wrong?” Was Arya changing her mind?

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, you’ll be getting married soon.” More to herself than the royal she said, “Can’t believe I forgot about that.” 

Daenerys too allowed herself to forget. She hadn’t thought about Loras since dinner and it had been hours. “Loras and I spoke, and we are still undecided, but we did agree that any marriage between us would be for our families and our kingdoms only.” 

She watched the pulse in Arya’s neck gallop along before she finally asked, “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Daenerys said inching closer, “I would have my life with you, and he’d have his separate life with whoever he wanted.” She was tempted to reveal to Arya what she learned about Loras’s preferences, but it felt wrong to reveal his secret like that. She could reassure Arya without gossiping. 

“He agreed to that?” Arya could be forgiven for being skeptical, it was a strange arrangement they were considering. 

“It was his preference actually,” she amended. “It’s like you said, I’ll eventually need to marry, why not do it now, with someone who understands and agrees to my terms.” 

“Is that all?”

“We agreed to take some time and then speak again. It’s a big commitment, even if it is pretend. I didn’t want to rush him. I told him to think about it and decide what he wants to do.” 

“What do you want to do?” 

“I want to be with you,” she replied as passionately as she could. “I want you and only you, but you were right when you said my father and Tywin aren’t going to stop.” 

“How do you plan to solve that problem?” 

“Slowly,” Daenerys said after pressing a deep kiss to Arya’s mouth. “After my visit here, he’d come to the Red Keep, we’d be seen together and keep finding reasons to delay the wedding.” 

Although she kissed back passionately, Arya was clearly paying attention to the conversation too. “How long do you think that’ll work?”

She shrugged and attached her mouth to Arya’s earlobe. She sucked for a moment then mumbled, speaking against the skin. “Ideally, until Rhaegar is King.” 

Arya laughed and Daenerys did her best to memorize the sound. She loved being the cause of such a reaction. “Good luck with that,” she quipped sarcastically. 

It was then as she began moving so she could straddle Arya’s naked body that she realized she’d yet to tell Arya about her and Rhaegar’s plan. She heard Daenerys’s comment and assumed it was wishful thinking, she didn’t know that things were already in motion to replace Aerys with a more just ruler. In addition to be being kinder, fairer and less murderous Rhaegar also had no interest in marriage. He wouldn’t care if Daenerys never wed, which is exactly how the Princess wanted it. 

Arya’s rough hands moving around her body stole her focus from the future and put her squarely in the present. Atop Arya now, she looked down, only to find Arya staring back intently. The words were out before she could catch them. “I love you,” she said, “I heard you the other night, I heard what you said and I knew what I was doing when I said, “Me too.”

Arya’s stunned expression was too kissable to resist. She flattened her body onto Arya’s, maximizing the contact. Arya helped by snaking an arm around Daenerys’s neck and holding her there. One of them moaned but for the life of her, Daenerys couldn’t say which one it was, probably her.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Arya wondered some time later, when they were taking a break between kisses. 

“Hmm?” Daenerys had forgotten about everything except Arya’s touch. 

“If you heard me, why not say so?”

“Me,” she joked, mustering up as much indignation as she could, “you’re the one who told me you loved me only when you thought I couldn’t hear it.” 

“You’re right,” Arya agreed. Suddenly serious, Daenerys wanted the teasing back. She hadn’t meant it, not in the way Arya was taking it. She wanted to continue their game and put the blame on Arya, fully expecting to take it back when Arya threw it her way seconds later. This felt wrong. “That wasn’t fair to you, but I didn’t know how to tell you or if I should.”

If she should? Did that mean there was a chance Arya never would have expressed her love? “How could you think that? Of course, you should, anyway you told me, anytime you say those words, they’ll be perfect.” 

“I’m supposed to be back in Sunspear soon, we hadn’t talked about me staying then, I knew you might need to marry Loras, I love you Daenerys, I swear that I do, but you had enough on your mind, you didn’t need to add this too.”

“I understand,” Daenerys said to try and ease the growing concerns she could see in her lover’s eyes. “I didn’t bring it up for many of the same reasons. I planned to tell you when we got back to the capital, when things settled, and we could sneak away alone. I wanted no one and nothing to be able to interfere in me showing you exactly how much I love you.” 

Daenerys took Arya’s wrist in one hand and guided her hand to her breast. Her left hand had been rubbing Daenerys’s back and playing with her hair, but that wouldn’t do. She held her hand out and waited for Arya to give her what she wanted. As she’d done with the first, she guided Arya’s other hand to her chest. “You aren’t going back to Sunspear,” Daenerys said, summarizing where they were, “I may or may not marry Loras but he already knows I love you and will never love him.” Under her, mentioning Loras caused Arya’s eyes to open. She could see the questions swimming there, she silenced them with a kiss. It had worked before. “We’ll talk about that later,” she promised, knowing they wouldn’t have a choice, “tonight, I just want to be with the woman I love and fall asleep in her arms. 

With a playful growl Arya tried to capture Daenerys’s lip in her teeth. With a shriek she pulled back just in time to avoid it. Arya was visibly amused. “If I knew this is how you’d respond I would have told you weeks ago I wasn’t going back.” She was joking, clearly, but there was just enough uncertainty in Daenerys to make her wonder. Could she really have been hearing Arya say she loved her for weeks? If so, they had a lot to make up for. 

Practically capable of reading her mind Arya grinned from underneath the Dragon. “I love you, and Gods willing, I’ll stay with you until you send me away.”

Perfect, Daenerys thought, that sounded perfect. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. My health didn’t cooperate, and I decided I didn’t like the ending I came up with for this story, so I went back and started reworking some things. It did not leave much time for editing. Even if it takes a while yet, I will finish this story, I’ve come way too far to stop without giving you all an ending. 
> 
> I hope you’ll keep reading.
> 
> RC


	39. Chapter 39

Five attempts and five failures. She stopped counting after that. Five times she tried to speak with Sansa alone, without Arya or Margaery there. So far, she was too cowardly to go through with it, and too smart to keep the tally going. 

Her trip was half over, and Arya’s sister still terrified her in a way few things did anymore. It wasn’t that Sansa hated her, she wasn’t just doing it for Arya’s sake, although that was a large motivating factor in the beginning. Truth be told, Daenerys liked Sansa, or thought she did. She was strong-willed, opinionated, and hard-working. Those were qualities Daenerys admired in anyone but in an unmarried woman, they deserved additional praise. To be taken away from your family, forced into a new home with nothing and no one to help had to be difficult. Arya had done it in Dorne, and her sister in Highgarden. Daenerys was in awe of them both. Placed in the same situation she didn’t like her chances of surviving, let alone thriving. It was hard to imagine the struggles they faced, or maybe Daenerys just didn’t want to. The knowledge that Arya and Sansa persevered where most would succumb, didn’t erase the wrong done. Given all they’d been through, she cringed when she thought of Arya and Sansa as the lucky ones, but the sad, despicable truth was, they were. They still had a life to live, to work hard improving, their parents and their brothers did not. 

Arya assured her every time the subject came up that nothing done to her family was Daenerys’s fault, and she’d come to believe Arya felt that way, but Sansa’s blue eyes, so warm and kind when they looked at Margaery, so bright each time she spotted Arya were cold as ice when they landed on the Princess. 

She had every right to be angry, tolerating a few snide remarks was the least Daenerys could do. She contemplated letting it go, giving Sansa space until they were once again in different kingdoms, but that felt a little too much like running away. 

It wasn’t as if she thought it would change anything, she wasn’t that naive. She was confident Sansa would hate her until the end of this life and into the next and she was fine with that. She could hate her, but Daenerys felt it only appropriate to apologize. No other Targaryen ever would, and Sansa was owed that much. 

It was chance more than design that brought her upon Sansa when the young dressmaker was balancing two large crates in her arms. She could still see over them, they weren’t that big, but they were long and visibly heavy. While she observed Sansa had to stop and adjust her grip more than once. 

“It’s the right thing to do,” she whispered as she hurried over to where Sansa was. “Can I help?”

Up close Daenerys could see her face was red and the crates were larger than they appeared at first glance. The muscles in Sansa’s arms flexed as she twisted awkwardly toward the voice calling her. “Pr…Princess?” she winced as the crates sank slightly. She used a knee to nudge them back into their original position. 

“Can I carry one of those for you?” She wasn’t sure what manner of reply she’d get, but she held out her arms as a sign of her willingness and then waited. 

“You don’t have to,” she stopped talking and took a breath, adjusting her hold on the crates again, “do that.”

“I know.” 

She suspected the weight of the load more than the strength of Daenerys’s argument got her to relent. “Thank you,” she said as she passed the Targaryen her share of the weight. She was careful to carry it exactly as Sansa was, not wanting to do damage to whatever she was hauling 

“You’re welcome,” Daenerys said with a smile, “lead the way, I’ll follow.” The crate was just as heavy as she feared but she bit down on her lip to keep from admitting she didn’t know how long she’d be of use. If she couldn’t move her arms for the remainder of the day, it would be a small price to pay. 

They walked in silence and Daenerys gave all her attention to keeping the crate level. Once she was sure that she wasn’t going to drop it, she searched for something to say. “Supplies for the shop?” she guessed. 

“Yes,” she answered, without elaborating. 

“You are quite talented. I had no idea that so many of the dresses I saw on visitors to King’s Landing were made here.” 

“That is very kind Princess,” she replied formally, guiding them down a long, narrow servant’s passage. 

She wasn’t making it easy, but her job wasn’t to ease the Targaryen’s discomfort. “I just wanted to say thank you,” she began, focusing on her steps. Her arms were aching. “Seeing you again has made Arya happier than I’ve ever seen her. I’m sorry that my being here couldn’t be avoided.” 

“I haven’t been very fair to you,” Sansa acknowledged quietly. 

“You’ve been kinder than I deserve.”

Sansa laughed lightly. “We both know that isn’t true, but I appreciate the thought. Since you arrived here Arya and Margaery have been telling me to give you a chance, that I could trust you…” 

An approaching figure that looked like nothing more than a shadow in the distance was moving their way. Daenerys gave it little thought until she heard her name. “Daenerys,” he called loudly. 

She cursed under her breath in High Valyrian. Daario. “Please forgive me,” she said to Sansa, “he has the worst timing in the world.” 

Why did he have to bother her now? She was quite possibly, maybe, making a little bit of progress with Sansa and Daario had to ruin it. “I ordered you to remain with the Unsullied.” 

Either he’d been rendered deaf since their last conversation or he was able to play his part to perfection, because he didn’t let a tiny thing like her words slow him. “I just heard the great news, I can’t tell you how relieved I am. Everything makes sense now.”

As was her common practice when she was caught off guard, she sought support from those around her. In this instance there was only Sansa. She’d given Missandei and Grey Worm another day to enjoy themselves, and Arya was helping Margaery move a new desk into Sansa’s shop. Even the Unsullied Daenerys promised to keep close, had been sent away. She didn’t want them lingering nearby rudely if she were able to work up the nerve to approach Sansa. Neither Missandei nor Arya had wanted to leave her side, but Daenerys insisted, claiming she could handle a couple of meetings without them. She was being punished for the miscalculation now. They were stuck. 

She tried to imagine what Arya would do or say to make Daario leave, but thinking about her just reminded Daenerys of the great talk they had, which led to great sex, after she confessed that she’d been awake to hear how Arya felt about her. She thought she was prepared for when Arya held her, looked into her eyes and said, “I love you,” but nothing her brain could create came close to the intensity of that moment. She felt like she’d been smiling uncontrollably since. 

She allowed herself to be distracted by Arya at the worst possible times. Luckily Daario loved the sound of his own voice and Sansa was there to provide some shielding. “I’d remember seeing a beauty like you,” he was saying. 

Getting Daario to follow instructions would be hard enough without the weight of the crate in her arms. She put it on the floor carefully. Envious of the relief she saw the Targaryen savoring Sansa quickly set her package down as well. Having carried them longer and further, it was understandable why Sansa needed the rest too. 

“What are you ladies doing anyway?” he asked. Without waiting for a response, he nudged the crate Sansa set down with his toe. It wasn’t a kick or even a hard push, but Daenerys found it unbelievably rude. Whatever was inside wasn’t his. Was he always like this? Had she overlooked his bad behavior because they were together? She hoped not. 

“Hey be careful!” Daenerys raged, marching over to stand in Daario’s face. “If you damage any of Sansa’s goods, I swear I will have Tyrion deduct from your wages each and every week for as many years as it takes until the Lady is made whole again.” 

Having seen Daenerys like this before he quickly retreated and tried to find safer waters. “I meant no disrespect.” To Sansa he added. “Please accept my apology m’lady.” 

Sansa gave nothing but a stiff nod. It was thrilling to see the thinly veiled disapproval temporarily aimed at someone other than her. “What are you doing here Daario? I asked you to stay with the Unsullied.” 

“The two Unsullied who were guarding you the other day came back to the camp after. They said everyone is talking about your marriage.”

Daario wasn’t her favorite person of late, but she really didn’t see where he was going with this. Had he come to get confirmation? “It’s true, while I’m here I’m discussing the possibility of marrying one of the Tyrells.” 

“Too bad it isn’t the pretty one,” he remarked, unknowingly speaking about Margaery in front of the woman’s lover. “I understand now, and it’s okay. I know you ended things with me so you could marry whoever you’re supposed to marry, but I told you before I don’t care! Marry whoever you want, we can still…”

All the sudden she was furious. Again!? He wanted to do this again? How many times did he need to hear the words to understand? “We can still what?” she spat. “Be together?! No, we can’t, because I don’t want to be with you. Things are over between us. I’m sorry if that upsets you, but it’s true. We never should have been together in the first place. I won’t compound the mistake by letting it continue. If you want to return to your life in Essos, I’ll release you from your oath, or you can stay and serve, but this,” she said gesturing to the two of them talking as she did, “will not happen again. I refuse to discuss this any longer. You know how I feel, and you know the options available to you. I recommend you go and take some time to decide what you want for the future.”

“I want you,” he said immediately, as though that erased everything else. She rolled her eyes. This was becoming tiresome. 

“Sansa, I apologize that you were forced to witness that and be delayed in the process as well. I trust you know another route to get these where they need to go.”

Daenerys’s entire focus was the crate. She was busy trying to get it up off the floor. Blinded by equal parts anger and embarrassment she didn’t notice Daario moving closer. It was Sansa’s voice that announced a warning. “Touch a Targaryen in this castle, and hundreds of men who wear Roses on their chests will spar for the privilege to take your hand.”

Daario had never been violent, but his hand hung in the air, like he intended to grab her and prevent her from leaving. “I was just,” he started to justify, but she refused to waste any more time on it. 

“Go back to your post, if I have need of you, I’ll send for you.” 

Neither woman spoke until Daario was around the corner, then they both did at the same time. The overlapping words became a jumbled mess that made them laugh. It was a moment to exhale and relax. “You go first,” the Princess encouraged. 

“He seems like an ass.”

“Lately that’s all he is, but it wasn’t always that way.” She sighed. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that, I can only imagine what you must think.”

“Does Arya know about him?”

She wanted to hide the details. They were private and personal and didn’t paint her in an especially flattering light. She had plenty of reasons to change the subject and much fewer to continue talking, but it wasn’t even a difficult decision. She wanted to be in Arya’s life, that meant accepting Sansa. It was reasonable for her to ask. She was concerned for her sister. Sansa needed confirmation Arya’s heart would be safe. “She does. I ended things with him as soon as I could, after I met your sister. He is simply too stubborn to listen.” 

She watched Sansa digest that information slowly, taking it in. “I see,” she finally said, giving Daenerys no hint about how she really felt. 

“How about you lead the way to your shop, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me, my life or Arya’s along the way?” she proposed. 

“Okay,” Sansa agreed taking the lead as Daenerys suggested, “when did you discover what happened to our family?”

Daenerys swallowed hard. It was going to be that sort of conversation apparently. Perversely, a part of her admired Sansa all the more for not wasting time on the meaningless shit. She steeled herself for what was coming and then in her clearest voice answered, “The night Arya told me who she was, she told me everything. Until then, I thought the Starks had gone into hiding or exile, I had no idea.” 

Sansa took her time, methodically deciding how she felt about Daenerys’s response. Without commenting, she jumped right to her next inquiry. “Tell me of the night you met Arya in Sunspear. I’ve heard her side of it, now I wish to know yours.” 

As she began talking about the fateful night months ago that changed her life so irrevocably, she tried to remember how far Sansa’s shop was from the castle? She may have been willing to answer anything Sansa dared ask, but her arms were burning, and the crate wasn’t getting any lighter. 

R-C

“It’s nice, don’t you think?” Margaery asked Arya as they worked to tidy up Sansa’s business. “I knew the first time I set foot in here it’d be the perfect place for Sansa to sell her dresses.”

Arya kept working but replied. “She told me you and your family helped her get started, thank you for that.” 

“You’re most welcome Arya,” Margaery said as she began sweeping. She tried not to stare but it was difficult. She assumed a woman as wealthy and highborn as Margaery Tyrell had never held a broom in her life, yet she didn’t appear uncomfortable or annoyed to be doing it now. “I’m so glad you and Sansa got to spend some time together.” 

Appreciating the sentiment Arya almost let the moment pass, but her curiosity was too strong. There were things she needed to know, and she thought Margaery would be the best person to fill in the missing pieces. “How bad was it, in the beginning?”

Margaery knew precisely what Arya was asking. “She was mourning,” she noted sadly. “It was bad enough for the King to do what he did, but to take the survivors and scatter them was especially cruel.” She was done speaking and then seemed to realize she hadn’t really provided much of an answer. “Has she told you anything?”

“Only that your family was kind and understanding, your grandmother especially. She said she was given time to become familiar with the castle before she began working as your handmaiden,” Arya recalled, taking pains to ensure she didn’t forget anything. 

Done with the broom she set it aside and gestured to a set of three chairs around a small table. Margaery took a seat. “We may be loyal to the Crown, but no one here wanted Sansa harmed any more than she already had been.” Arya decided to finish cleaning later and went to join Margaery. “By the time she arrived, we’d spoke about her. It was decided that since I was the only daughter, and close to her in age, that I’d try and befriend her and make her transition from Winterfell to Highgarden as painless as possible.”

She had ample proof that Margaery and Sansa cared for one another, their affection was obvious and still she couldn’t stop the scathing rebuke from slipping out. “And the best idea you could come up with was for Sansa to become one of your many servants?”

Her frustration didn’t unsettle Margaery in the slightest. “No, actually. In those days it was as Samsa said, she’d been given a room and some gold and told to roam the castle at her leisure. She’d walk for hours, just her and her grief, mourning all of you from dawn till dusk.” 

“What happened?” Even as she asked for more details, Arya wasn’t sure she wanted to know anymore. 

“I tried to speak with her, to get to know her, to be her friend. The first time. I fell in step beside her and asked if she was having a good day?” Margaery chuckled then, clearly lost to the memory. “She said it was a fine day, thanked me for my inquiry and wished me well, and then she hurried away.” She shook her head. “To this day I don’t know if she remembers that, or if she even knows it was me she was speaking to?”

“How could she not?”

The amusement Margaery got from telling that story disappeared and she was stoic. “When Sansa first got here, she’d walk with her head down, her long hair shielding most of her face. She told me later that she knew everyone was talking about her, so she’d walk and walk until she found a distant, out of the way place where no one would think to look.” 

It wasn’t difficult to imagine. As different as the sisters were, the hurt and loss they endured was the same. In Sunspear or Highgarden they shared that bond. “Is that how she found the Godswood?” Arya wondered. 

“Yes, though calling it a Godswood would be too generous. It wasn’t worthy of the name until Sansa arrived and began tending to it.” 

“She didn’t like visiting the Godswood in Winterfell,” she supplied simply. 

“She went every day, sometimes more than once, but it was only much, much later that she informed me that she never prayed on her visits.” 

Arya tried to speak, but no words came. Luckily, Margaery didn’t keep her in suspense. “Apparently it was the only place in Highgarden where no one would find her.” 

Her heart broke for her sister and she cursed Daenerys’s father for separating them. They could’ve been, should have been together, grieving and mourning, helping one another heal, but instead they suffered alone. “I’m glad you were here to help her. I can see how deeply she cares about you.”

“I’m the lucky one,” Margaery contended shyly with a little extra pink in her cheeks. “I hate how she came to be here, and I wish I could go back and save her from it, but I’ll never regret loving her.” 

The parallels between the lives and loves of the Stark sisters were hard to discount. Arya didn’t particularly like how she came to be in King’s Landing either, but Daenerys made it worthwhile. 

Unable to stay still, Arya got up from her chair and went back to cleaning. Margaery not only followed, but also continued the story. “After multiple attempts to get Sansa talking, I was running out of ideas. She was polite but tense whenever we were in a formal setting and when we weren’t, she had her head down and avoided prolonged discussions of any kind. One night, after dinner, I followed her. She took me on a long, winding tour of the grounds unlike any other and we eventually ended up in the Godswood well after dark.” 

“Did she see you?” 

Margaery shook her head before verbalizing her reply. “No, I left her to pray in peace and went back inside.” 

Arya’s lip quirked up at that. Most nobles wouldn’t be able to do as Margaery did. Their prides would demand answers and their station would delude them into thinking they were entitled to them. Margaery on the other hand wisely knew that late night in the Godswood was not the time to force a confrontation. Clever girl. “And then?”

“The next day I asked my father to name Sansa my handmaiden, so I would have an excuse to spend time with her,” she confessed shamelessly. Rather than looking embarrassed, she appeared proud of her resourcefulness. 

“Sansa claims she wasn’t very good,” Arya contributed diplomatically. 

“I didn’t care about that, I just wanted to get to know her, to be her friend, I didn’t want her to feel alone anymore.” 

Arya had a deeply engrained skepticism for any noble who appeared too generous, too kind or too decent. It was why she felt the need to test Daenerys by taking her to the Dornish orphanage, before accepting that she was genuine. And just like the Princess before her, Margaery passed every challenge Arya laid out for her. She waited for a hint or a sign that maybe Margaery wasn’t as selfless as she seemed, but so far, her sister had chosen well. She found herself believing what Margaery was telling her. 

“I dismissed the rest of my handmaidens,” Margaery continued, “and then we spent the rest of the day together. Misinterpreting her visit to the Godswood, I thought she was devoutly religious, my grandmother told me that you and your siblings were taught to honor both the Old Gods and the Seven, so I offered to pray with her.” 

Looking up from the collection of threads she was organizing, Margaery chuckled. “She agreed, but only because she wanted to be polite. We spent most of the day there.” 

That story matched with what Sansa told her too, except she didn’t realize Margaery put quite so much effort into bringing them together. Arya had to bite back a smile. She doubted any Tyrell, especially Margaery had ever had to work so hard to gain a stranger’s attention and friendship. Most people were probably falling all over themselves trying to catch Margaery’s notice. 

In an odd way it was that thought that allowed her to finally relax, to trust her instincts and accept that Sansa was not only safe and well cared for, but also happy in Highgarden. In Arya’s mind if Margaery had been willing to go to such extraordinary lengths just to be Sansa’s friend, now that they were in love, how far would she go? What would she do to ensure Sansa’s safety and continued happiness? She had a hunch Margaery Tyrell would do everything in her power to ensure Sansa had a good life. As her sister, what more could Arya want for her? 

“Tell me about you?” Arya said when she was comfortable. 

Margaery stopped what she was doing and looked up. For the first time she looked fearful. “Me?” she verified. 

“Yes, you’re important to both Sansa and Daenerys, so I’d like to get to know you and since we’re here anyway I thought…”

The doubt that was slowly creeping in was quickly stomped out by Margaery’s running footsteps as she crossed the floor to stand in front of the guard. “I want to know you too. Where should we start?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. 

Seven Hells, what had she gotten herself into? 

R-C

They talked the whole way to Sansa’s shop. The redhead had plenty of questions on her mind and fired them at Daenerys randomly. She’d ask a question or two about Dorne and how she met Arya, then bounce back to Daario and inquire about their relationship before shifting to Arya again. The unpredictability of it all had her anxious. She could feel the Northern woman judging her and she hated it. She felt exposed. For one reason or another Sansa didn’t comment, snidely or otherwise, she just collected Daenerys’s answers and then moved on. 

Daario’s interruption and the slower pace because of the weight of their cargo meant it was well past midday when they reached their destination. Guessing that either Arya or Margaery were inside she yelled for them. “A little help here please!”

Not understanding, and afraid her companion was about to drop the package Sansa tensed. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Before she had to respond, Arya came out with Margaery half a step behind. Mercifully she noticed the package in her lover’s arms and rushed over to take it. 

“Arya!? What are you doing here?”

“I brought you a new desk,” Margaery explained, taking the crate from Sansa as she did. “Arya helped me get it into the perfect spot.” Satisfied she’d provided the necessary information she moved on to a question of her own. “I thought we agreed you’d ask one of the men to carry it if it was heavy,” she chastised. 

Daenerys knew she should probably look away, but she couldn’t. It was a fascinating back and forth and she was captivated. The display stole her attention and left her woefully unprepared for when Arya directed a question at her. “Why were you carrying this?” she asked, “and where are the guards?!”

Daenerys cringed. Fuck. She couldn’t very well admit to Arya that she had to send them away because she didn’t want them listening in as she tried to forge peace with Sansa. She pressed a kiss into Arya’s lips gently, it was brief and awkward with the crate between them, but she hoped it would smooth things over. “If I’d known I’d need to carry that the whole way, I wouldn’t have told them to wait by the door,” she exaggerated.

Mercifully, Arya seemed to sense that she was in no condition for an argument and held her tongue. “Come on,” Arya said to her sibling, “you can show me where to put this and then I’ll help.” 

“Help with what?” Sansa asked warily, eyes darting between her sister and her lover. 

“Whatever you need,” Arya offered. “I don’t know much about sewing or dresses but tell me what goes where, and I’ll get it there.” 

Emotional, there was a delay before Sansa could speak. “Thank you.” 

Inside the shop the crates were forgotten as both Daenerys and Sansa took the opportunity to rest their legs. It clearly wasn’t the first time Margaery found Sansa in such a state, because she knew exactly what to do. There were some who wouldn’t approve of the Lady Tyrell kneeling next to Sansa’s chair, helping her out of her shoes and massaging her feet but the Targaryen did. Proper or not, all Daenerys saw was a tender, sincere moment between two people deeply in love. 

She wasn’t the only one who noticed Margaery’s remedy. “Do your feet hurt too?” Arya asked. 

They did, but she didn’t need a foot rub, not now and not with other people nearby. “I’m okay,” she promised, “but if you found me something cold to drink, I’d be forever in your debt.” 

Arya didn’t need to be told twice. In a flurry of movement, she kissed the top of Daenerys’s head, then flicked the ribbon holding a section of her silver hair. As it swayed, she said, “I’m sure I could think of some way you might repay me,” under her breath. 

The laugh that shook her came from deep in her stomach and radiated out. Before she was finished Margaery and Sansa noticed Arya’s absence. “Where’s she running?”

“Yeah,” Margaery chimed in, “didn’t she just promise to help?”

Daenerys laughed again, longer this time. “She’ll be back, I think she’s just thirsty.” 

R-C

If only all those she dealt with could be so easily impressed. Just minutes after Daenerys requested a drink, Arya was back at the shop with a large jug of lemonade. They cheered for her like a conquering hero, even Margaery who hadn’t done anything especially taxing. 

Luckily for them Margaery and Sansa ate at the shop fairly regularly, enough that they had a stock of supplies including cups. Arya poured the lemonade and then began passing the cups around. She started with Sansa and Margaery, saving Daenerys for last. Passing her the beverage, she set her mouth right against the Princess’s ear. “What was that about a debt?” she teased. 

Fire sparked in violet eyes, a glorious sight to behold. Her mouth suddenly dry, she went in search of her lemonade. Before she could slip away, Daenerys latched onto her wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

Was she trying to be seductive or was that just an unintended consequence? Either way Arya wasn’t sure how to get her mouth working again. She pointed dumbly until her voice caught up. “My drink is…”

Daenerys didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t even let Arya finish. “We can share mine,” she declared. The offer was accompanied by a tug on her hand, a not so subtle directive to sit. She did, choosing the chair right next to the woman she loved while she pretended not to hear the giggles from near the door. 

R-C

“These dresses are magnificent,” Daenerys said, heaping praise on the elder Stark. It was true she was actively trying to engage Sansa in a conversation but for once she didn’t need to bend the truth. Her work was stunning. 

“Thank you,” she replied quietly, from her spot next to Margaery. 

Daenerys was about ready to admit defeat when she received help from a friend. “Aren’t they though?” she asked rhetorically, getting up from her seat and approaching the dress Daenerys was admiring. “I get first pick,” she announced happily, “but this one would look better on you.” 

“What do you think?” Daenerys asked the room. She lifted the garment gently and held it in front of her body. There was something unique about the color. It was black, but not the shade of Targaryen banners. This looked faded, not quite grey, but closer to it than it was to pitch. She was studying the low back, estimating just how much skin would be displayed if she wore it. 

“It suits you,” Sansa acknowledged. 

“You look gorgeous,” Arya added. It didn’t escape her that her lover’s comment said nothing about the dress. 

She tried to keep her grin at a sensible size while she sought out the dressmaker. “How much?”

The redhead hesitated a moment before she waved her hand. “It’s yours.” 

Daenerys was stunned and judging by the expressions she saw around her, she wasn’t alone. “That is very generous Sansa,” she said diplomatically, “but I insist, I’ll pay the same amount as any other visitor would. 

They haggled over the price for a several minutes before the matter was settled. Twice Sansa tried to convince her the dress was less valuable than Daenerys knew it was, and she responded to each try by overbidding, offering an exorbitant fee. In the end they ended up where they should’ve been from the start, approximately the same price she’d demand of anyone else. It was undeniable progress that Sansa agreed to accept a Targaryen’s gold. Maybe one day she could accompany Arya on a visit and not feel awkward every second. 

“Try it on,” Margaery urged. 

She looked to Arya to assess her opinion and the guard gave her a gorgeous smirk. “You can change in the back,” Sansa offered. 

Her route to the back took her past Arya so she stopped by for a quick kiss. Margaery and Sansa were the first people apart from Missandei who Daenerys dared be affectionate around, but it was safe. Even if Margaery wasn’t a dear friend, Sansa was Arya’s sister, revealing their secret would put her in danger and Sansa would never do that. Typically, she liked to keep such displays private, but when opportunity neared, she knew better than to let it pass. 

“I’ll be right back,” she pledged flirtatiously as she slipped out of Arya’s reach and into the back room. 

R-C

All she could do was stare, everything else was beyond her. Arya couldn’t take her eyes off Daenerys, not even to avoid being caught admiring her figure. She’d take any ridicule Sansa could muster gladly, as long as she didn’t have to look away. Daenerys was standing in the middle of the room. Generally, the Princess hated being the center of attention, Arya knew this, so she was a bit surprised to see the confident Dragon saunter over and give a twirl. While she changed her clothes, she also let down her hair. The silver hung like a curtain minimizing the bare flesh visible from behind. Most alluring was the carefree smile. Arya had seen her happy before, but in that dress, with that smile, she was radiant. 

“What do you think?” she asked. To emphasize her point she spun again, letting her audience see her from all sides. It was only as she was doing this that Arya saw the first hints of nervousness in her lover. She chewed on her bottom lip as she waited for someone to end the prolonged silence. 

Far from an expert on Lady-like things, Arya chose to defer to the others. Oh, she’d tell Daenerys exactly how beautiful she was, but not here or now. She’d do it when they were alone, behind a locked door. They had grown bold in recent days, exchanging the occasional kiss while in the company of the other couple, but Arya preferred that they kept their business private, especially from her sister. 

The quiet stretched on, so Arya had no choice but to turn her head and seek out Sansa. She was in her chair next to Margaery, holding one of the Tyrell’s hands in her lap. “Aren’t you going to answer?”

Margaery chuckled, but Sansa just shook her head. “For someone so smart, you can be really stupid sometimes,” she complained. 

Instead of stopping and considering why Sansa would say that, she acted instinctively, falling back on her old strategy for dealing with her sister. “I didn’t even do anything. Seven Hells, not everything is my fault you know!”

“This is!” Sansa insisted hotly. 

Before Arya could reply, Margaery took pains to make peace. “That was a little harsh dear,” she said to Sansa, “perhaps she could benefit from your advice rather than your ridicule.” 

Annoyed she crossed her arms over her chest. The last thing she wanted right now was Sansa’s brand of guidance. She didn’t even remember what they were fighting about, all she could think was that even after everything that happened, even after all these years, she still couldn’t do anything right by Sansa. 

It was unexpected when Sansa’s annoyance dimmed, and she became repentant. “You’re right,” she said to the woman at her side. “I’m sorry Arya, that was rude of me.”

What was happening? Sansa rarely apologized to her without being made to. Did she love Margaery so much, that the mere idea of upsetting her was enough to abruptly change direction?

“Arya when Daenerys asked how she looked she wasn’t asking all of us.” 

It came back then, the dress, Daenerys, all of it. “Of course, she was!” Arya was certain she was right and luckily. she had Daenerys there to prove it. She’d just ask the Princess and show Sansa her error. The Targaryen had been happy and relaxed when she exited the back room, but it wasn’t that way anymore. Her current demeanor was reminiscent of when they had to interact with Tywin. “You did, didn’t you?” 

Sansa was shaking her head again as she continued. “There is only one person here whose opinion matters to Daenerys, and it isn’t mine or Margaery’s.” 

The hurt in Daenerys’s eyes nearly broke her. What had she done wrong? She wasn’t even sure. She hadn’t told Daenerys how great she looked, but she had to know, didn’t she? “Is it…” she was going to ask if that was true but gave up realizing her sister was right. She’d fucked up. 

“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” Daenerys said in a sad, timid voice. It reminded her of the night they met, how she’d found the Princess after that misadventure with her brother. She’d looked so small, fragile and fearful. Arya hated it then, and now that she cared, now that she loved Daenerys it was torture. 

“I love it,” she said, getting up to go to her. She wrapped her arms around Daenerys and whispered her apologies directly into her lover’s ear. “I didn’t mean for you to think that,” she explained. She ended their hug but stayed at Daenerys’s side, holding her hand. She pretended they were alone and confessed the whole truth. “You look incredible, I couldn’t look away.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I know nothing about dresses,” she said in her defense. “I thought you’d want the opinion of the person who made it,” she waved to Sansa, “or from a friend who might actually wear something similar.” 

When Daenerys suddenly threw herself into Arya’s arms, she anticipated tears would follow, but she was wrong. The hug seemed little more than a pretense to allow Daenerys to speak to Arya privately. With a tone the guard could only call defiant she said, “If you like it but the rest of the world hates it, I’d never take it off.” 

Most of the time Arya felt out of her depth. Since she and Daenerys began their relationship, it had been one struggle after another. First it was hiding from Rhaegar and Aerys then it was her nameday, Daario and revealing her identity and now they had Sansa, Loras and a potential wedding. She was fumbling around for a foothold. Instead of getting easier, it was becoming increasingly difficult. This nonsense with the dress was just the latest example. She’d been utterly clueless about why Sansa was angry and hadn’t considered that staying silent might hurt Daenerys’s feelings. She didn’t want that. She just didn’t have experience with this. Put a sword in her hand and she knew what to do, try to kill her, and she’d be fine, but women, relationships, emotions, dresses, she was at a loss. Her shortcomings aside, she wouldn’t trade a second of her time with Daenerys for a hundred years without her. When she worried they were too different to last or too damaged to fit together, It was moments like this that gave her hope. Daenerys would say something like that, and she’d feel special, loved and blessed, three sensations she was out of practice with. Daenerys’s words echoed in her head and it allowed her to consider that maybe she wasn’t doing quite as badly as she feared she was. 

By the time her thoughts had run their course, the hug was over, and Daenerys was at her side again. A discussion of some sort was ongoing. As she tried to catch up, she noticed Sansa and Daenerys showing smiles. Seeing both of them happy, made Arya smile too, even if she didn’t know what they were talking about. “Never?!” Margaery verified, her disbelief evident. 

“Not in the time I’ve known her,” Daenerys responded. 

“That’s been months!”

“At least,” Sansa contributed, “I’d wager it’s been much, much longer.”

Arya was unprepared for when the good Lady Tyrell turned on her. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

She raised an eyebrow. What exactly had she missed? Next to her Daenerys was trying not to laugh. She was having only marginal success. “About what?”

Mercy came in the form of Daenerys squeezing her hand. She looked away from Margaery and took comfort in the Targaryen’s closeness. Somehow, she knew what Arya needed and delivered the missing details. “When you said you knew nothing of dresses, Margaery didn’t realize how literal you meant it.” 

“Oh, I definitely meant it,” Arya assured them with a smirk. 

“See,” Sansa chimed in proudly, a grown woman now, but still the same young girl who loved to be right. 

“I told her that I’ve never seen you in a dress, not in all the months I’ve known you,” Daenerys summarized, “Sansa guessed it had been much longer than that since you wore a dress.” 

“I can’t wear a dress, I’m a guard, I need to be able to fight if necessary.” 

It sounded logical and every word was true, but Sansa wasn’t one to be swayed by excuses. “So, you could wear a dress, when you aren’t serving as Daenerys’s guard?” 

She was trying to get a reaction, but it wouldn’t work. “I’m always serving as guard. There is no time for dresses.” 

Arya thought her sister was about to give up and move on, until she got support from an unlikely ally. “Oh, I don’t know, I think it might be worth bringing in another guard for a day, just to see what I’ve been missing.”

What a traitor!? She was siding with Sansa. Arya was speechless and the three women were only too happy to take pleasure in her misfortune. “We just need to find her the right one,” Margaery decided, already standing tall. 

“Well, we should be able to find something,” Sansa predicted with just a hint of playful sarcasm. 

Margaery linked one of her arms with Daenerys and the other with Sansa and the trio began wandering the shop. “Let’s get started then.” 

“I don’t want a dress!” she shouted. Even as she said it, she knew it wouldn’t matter. It was an ambush and she was outnumbered. 

In her training she was taught about tactics and strategies for warfare. They weren’t wielding weapons, but her opposition was dangerous, so she took all she knew and put it into practice. She heard the lessons in her mind, in Oberyn voice, guiding her through the various things she needed to think about before she put her scheme into action. Even the strategies taught to her by other instructors were still recounted by Oberyn. It was nice, talking war with her old friend, even if it was all in her head. She missed him. She never imagined she’d be using the things he taught her on her sister, her lover and an influential noblewoman, but she was desperate. 

When she was done, she thanked her friend like he might actually hear. The girls were huddled around a collection of dresses, making comments amongst themselves. 

The shop wasn’t very big, but she did her best to put some space between them. She hid away in one corner near a row of hooks displaying beautiful dresses. Alone with her thoughts and Oberyn’s lessons she debated her options. The problem as she saw it was this, she couldn’t fight all three of them. Unified against her, they’d get her into a dress no matter how fiercely Arya protested, but if she could bring just one of them over to her side, then she might have a chance. The question was who? Sansa wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease her sister, so she wasn’t going to be receptive to Arya’s plight. Margaery though kind, seemed to be feeding off Sansa’s amusement, making it unlikely she’d go against her. 

Daenerys was the obvious choice. Getting Daenerys on her side would likely end all this madness since Arya wouldn’t actually have to put on a dress until Daenerys arranged for temporary guards. If she could convince Daenerys not to summon extra Unsullied, they could forget this ever happened. Still she was reluctant. Daenerys had people using her for their own gains constantly. Arya did not want to do that to her, not for anything but certainly not over some stupid dress. 

She was trapped. It came down to one simple question with a not so simple answer. Should she just wear a dress this one time to make the people she cared about happy? She didn’t want to, but…

“See anything you like?” Daenerys asked, snuggling into her side. 

Arya waited until Daenerys looked away from the dresses. “I do now,” she responded, just before their eyes met. 

“You really hate dresses, don’t you?” 

“Not as much as I used to,” she admitted. “Now they’re just a reminder of my old life.” 

“I wasn’t thinking, I should have stopped it, it’s just the first thing Sansa and I can talk about without Margaery or you there to keep things courteous.” 

“Don’t worry about Sansa, in a few days we’ll be on the road to King’s Landing,” she said in an attempt to ease the Princess’s worries. 

“Arya,” she began, taking her hand, “I don’t just want to get through the next couple of days, I want to get to know your sister and let her know me. I know it’s a lot to ask, but she’s your sister, and I love you, so I’d like Sansa and I to be friends eventually, if such a thing is possible.”

Arya wasn’t sure what to say. It was sweet that she cared that much. “And my wearing a dress will help?”

She shrugged. “Maybe, I think the idea alone plenty. It was easier to talk once we had a common goal.” 

“Yeah to get me in a dress,” she whined. 

“The one in your hand is nice,” Daenerys supplied. 

Although she was touching it, she’d reached for it at random. It was a dark blue. “How can you choose? There are dresses everywhere, how can you look at this one, and say it’s the best? What makes it better than all the others?” 

“Imagine yourself wearing it,” Daenerys suggested. 

“What?” she spat, incredulous. 

“That’s how you pick, you look at it , and if you like it, you imagine how it would look on you, unless you want to try it on.” 

Daenerys was still wearing the dulled black dress she changed into and she still looked beautiful. “I’m not trying it on.,” she declared intently. 

“Okay so just use your imagination then. if you like it and you think it’ll look good, that’s how you choose.” 

“Does that work for you?” she asked, stepping away from the dress and closer to Daenerys. With actual interest in what was for sale, she was admiring a dress Arya couldn’t distinguish from the one hanging beside it. “If you were thinking about buying that, you’d look at it, see yourself in it and then decide?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed in agreement as she admired the attention to detail Sansa had woven in. 

“See that’s the problem, I can’t do that.” Instead of getting loud, Arya’s voice dropped in volume with each word. By the end calling it a whisper was generous. 

“You can do it, it’s easy, I promise.”

Arya leaned in close, much closer than a guard should. “I can’t see myself in that dress, because when I see a dress – any dress – I imagine you wearing it, and how I’d take it off you.” 

There was a gasp, a pause and then she returned the dress to its place. Arya smirked while she waited. “Changed your mind?”

“Were… are you being serious?”

She knew what Daenerys was asking, but she looked adorable all flustered, so Arya played dumb. “About what?”

Daenerys groaned, shifting from foot to foot. “Don’t be difficult. Just answer the question. 

“I was serious,” she promised before licking her lips, “and looking at you in that dress is giving me plenty of ideas.”

The longer this went on, the deeper the blush on her cheeks became. That said, the blush was nothing compared fire in her eyes. “Really?” 

“I’d never lie about such things.” 

“Prove it,” she challenged, taking Arya’s hand and pulling her along. 

“Where are you two going? Margaery yelled. She and Sansa had been engaged in their own conversation across the shop but noticed when the Princess and the soldier tried to flee. 

They gave their responses from the doorway. “Meeting!” Arya lied, since that’s what they typically called it when they snuck away. 

“Bed!” Daenerys corrected. Her message was shorter, louder and more believable. 

They needed to be careful. The last thing either woman wanted was to get into bad habits and carry them back to King’s Landing. Still, Daenerys’s carefree laugh soothed all of Arya’s worries. It was hard to be upset with anything that made Daenerys giggle. She loved times like these, when she acted her age. Unburdened by the Targaryen name, she was living in the moment. If Arya got any say in what came next, she was going to ensure she kept Daenerys like this for as long as she could. 

R-C

“I need to ask you something,” Daenerys said, “and I need you to be honest with me, no matter what?” 

She kept her voice low, but it was enough to shatter the blissful quiet they’d both been enjoying. They were lying on the bed naked and Arya had one of her arms wrapped possessively around Daenerys’s waist. They’d been like that for more than an hour, but each time she tried to move, to begin the process of untangling their limbs and dressing, Daenerys would stop her. The first time, she simply groaned in an overtly disapproving manner, then used her head and neck to press down on Arya’s upper body, keeping her flat. Later attempts were thwarted by Daenerys moaning. The sound and the accompanying vibrations rattled Arya. She lingered an extra few seconds and before she could muster her resolve Daenerys issued an instruction, “Stay just like that, you’re perfect right there.”

Arya certainly wasn’t going to complain about their current position, she loved having Daenerys close, stroking her hair, caressing her back. Realistically, the world would come knocking at some point and they’d need to return to civilization, but for the time being, they were content in their greed and selfishness. She couldn’t speak for Daenerys, but in Arya’s view, the couple was owed this. After everything, they deserved a chance to just be together even if it only lasted a few hours. 

Arya had said nothing in reply to Daenerys’s request, hoping it could be forgotten or delayed, but it wasn’t to be. She felt the eyes watching her expectantly. She kissed the top of Daenerys’s head. “I won’t lie to you again,” she declared. The low volume did nothing to take away from the seriousness of the pledge. “What’s wrong?”

“Will you leave me one day if I marry Loras?” she blurted out. 

She wasn’t sure what to make of the question. Hadn’t they discussed this already? “It’s your life,” Arya reminded her gently. They both adjusted their positions so they could look one another in the eye. A knot tightened in her gut when she saw Daenerys’s concern. “Who you marry shouldn’t be anyone’s decision but yours.” 

“I want to know what you think!” she implored, practically begging. Arya didn’t know if she should believe that. Who would want their female lover’s opinion on her future husband? “Please.”

She sighed. “Fine,” she spat, rougher than was fair. She took a deep breath to regain control of her emotions. Only after she was sure it was safe did she dare elaborate. “Do I want you to marry Loras or anyone else? No, but I’m not stupid. It’ll happen one day, and I’ve made my peace with that.” 

“What will you do?” Daenerys fretted. Arya thought she said the right thing, that she’d make it easier for the Princess, but the opposite appeared true. 

Arya tightened her hold on Daenerys slightly. “What are you really asking? What is it you really want to know?”

“Will you leave!?” she cried. “You say that you accept it, but that’s now, before it’s even started. How long before you tire of our arrangement and disappear, back to Dorne or Essos or anyplace in between? I’d be alone again.” 

Reacting on instinct she pulled Daenerys close to her again and felt the Targaryen shaking in her arms. This was really bothering her. “I love you,” she whispered, kissing the top of the Princess’s head. “I don’t know what the future holds for either of us, you may wish me gone before long, or I may be sent to serve elsewhere.” Arya didn’t want to upset her, but she wouldn’t lie. The future wasn’t guaranteed, and she didn’t want to offer false hope. 

“I won’t send you away, I never would, never!”

While she appreciated the sentiment, Arya wasn’t moved. “Did you know my parents were strangers when they married?” she lamented aloud. My mother was promised to my uncle actually, he was heir to Winterfell, and it had been long planned to unite the Tullys and the Starks.” 

“What happened?” Daenerys inquired innocently. By her tone alone Arya could tell she asked that question without really thinking about it. She was probably too busy considering her own predicament to give too much focus to a story that was little more than ancient history. 

“After my Uncle Brandon was killed, the houses still wanted to unite, so it was decided that my father would marry my mother in his brother’s place.” 

She felt more than saw the moment Daenerys realized what Arya was saying. She tensed in her lover’s arms and stayed like that for a time before turning her head and pressing a kiss right where she’d been resting. “I’m sorry, that was entirely thoughtless and…”

“It’s fine,” Arya assured her. “My point is, that my parents were no closer than you and Loras now, but with time they fell in love, they raised a family, It could happen for you too, it might and if it did, I’d be happy for you.” 

“It won’t,” Daenerys resisted, stubbornly defiant. “I don’t love Loras, I love you, and he knows that. He’s also made it clear he will never love me. What you’re worrying about, it can’t happen.” 

“It might,” Arya repeated, seeing flashes in her mind of all the tender, love-filled moments she was accustomed to while growing up in Winterfell. Her mother kissing her father’s cheek when he remembered to do something that was asked of him, the way they’d look at one another across a crowded room. They’d be involved in different conversations with different people, but Arya challenged anyone to witness the looks shared between them and doubt who the husband and wife truly wanted to be with. She had years of evidence to contradict Daenerys’s ascertain that nothing would change. This was one disagreement Arya wasn’t going to lose, although she almost wished she would. 

“The wedding will probably never happen,” Daenerys predicted, making another random point. To Arya It seemed she was grasping for something to hold on to, to believe in. “When Rhaegar is King, he won’t care if I marry, not Loras or anyone else. If I can delay things long enough…”

“You don’t have to do that for me,” Arya said softly. She adjusted her position to kiss Daenerys and the Princess cooperated by meeting her halfway. “I knew we wouldn’t have forever when we started this, we agreed, whatever we had would be enough.” 

“That was before,” Daenerys countered, “before we fell in love, before you decided to stay.” 

Arya wouldn’t minimize how much had happened to change their relationship lately, but she wasn’t sure what Daenerys wanted from her. Neither of them knew what was coming, so why ask for a promise that was practically worthless?

“You were right you know,” Daenerys said when Arya had nothing to offer, “this is the only chance I’ll ever have to be involved in my marriage negotiations and it would be foolish to discard that advantage without making use of it.” 

One more time Daenerys paused and gave Arya a chance to contribute, but she didn’t, she just waited to hear the rest, because there was more. 

“Loras understands. We agreed as long as it was discreet and done in secret, he wouldn’t interfere in my life, nor I in his. He’s as fearful of his marriage as I am, so I think it might be wise to help one another.” 

“Sounds like you’ve decided then,” Arya noted, working hard to sound calm when inside she was suffering so many emotions it was hard to identify them, let alone contend with them. 

“I’m to meet with Loras again tomorrow and share my feelings,” she explained, “but I can’t do that until we talk.” 

“We just did. You can go forward.”

With an angry huff Daenerys used one of her hands on Arya’s chest to raise herself into a dominant position. “We haven’t, because you haven’t answered my question. I can’t marry Loras, I won’t, not if you might leave.” All the sudden she was too stunned to breathe. Were her ears deceiving her? “If seeing me with Loras or anyone else would be too difficult, so be it, I’ll end the negotiations, go back to King’s Landing and tell my father Loras and I were a poor match.”

“But then…” Arya began. 

Daenerys cut her off. “Yes, then Tywin would step in and next time I am sent to meet a potential suitor, my father will probably be lucid enough to name a proper negotiator.” 

She couldn’t believe this. “Why would you do that? You said yourself that this is your one chance to have control. Don’t throw it away, not for me, not for anybody. Do what’s best for you Daenerys, in this situation more than any other, you’re the only one who should matter!” 

“What’s best for me, is you” she declared boldly. “If I had my way, I’d be marrying you or no one at all, because I love you Arya Stark. I love you, not Loras or Daario or anyone else, not ever.” After her intense proclamation of love, Daenerys shifted them to the realities of their situation. “Loras and I are in agreement that neither of us want this, but we also know what comes next for either of us might be far worse than pretending to be married in public.” 

“What are you saying?” Arya’s head was spinning, echoing Daenerys’s sentiments about their love, while seeing Loras’s face in the background. It was hard to keep up. 

“If Loras and I were married, it’d be in name only. We’d act married when necessary, but we’d live separate lives. He’d have other relationships and I’d have you?”

She didn’t think it was a coincidence that the final point came out like a question more than a statement. Arya chose her words carefully. “I can’t guess how I’ll feel,” she admitted. “I wish I could tell you it wouldn’t matter, but I don’t know.” 

Hearing that Daenerys’s shoulders dropped, and she sagged. “Oh, I see.” 

Her instinct was to fix it. She wanted Daenerys happy again, smiling and laughing but she just couldn’t do it. “But like I said, how I feel shouldn’t change what you do. I’ll be fine, you just…”

“No,” Daenerys barked, cutting her off. The fire was back in her now, burning brightly. “No! Either we do this together or we don’t do it at all. If me agreeing to marry Loras will make you leave, I’ll say ‘no’ and take my chances with the next one they find.” 

Knowing Daenerys as she did, she knew it wasn’t an idle threat. She was really willing to refuse an amicable, understanding, mutually beneficial, marriage for Arya’s sake. It made the guard wonder how far she’d go for Daenerys. Could she agree to stay? Was she capable of that, watching Daenerys love someone else, even if it wasn’t real? She didn’t know and that was the crux of the problem. When she looked at it objectively, when she removed her chaotic emotions and assessed it logically, she came to the same conclusion Daenerys had, that Loras was likely kinder and more accommodating than whoever came next. Loathed as she was to admit it, marrying the Tyrell was probably in Daenerys’s best interest, but she couldn’t say so, not without becoming one of the people she hated, the people who tried to tell Daenerys what to do, manipulating her for their own reasons. Arya refused to join that group, not even if doing so meant she could stay with the woman she loved. 

While she was lost in thought, Daenerys had been working on another proposal. “You’re right the future is unknowable to us, so I can’t ask you to promise you’ll never leave, even if I want to.” She punctuated that admission with a tight smile before she went on. “If I live a hundred more years, I can’t imagine loving anyone with the intensity that I do you, if I lived two hundred more years, I can’t imagine looking at you and not feeling my heart pound in my chest, while butterflies flutter around my stomach. You’re the one I was waiting for Arya, my whole life, I dreamed of meeting someone who would love me, and care for me and protect me, someone who would make everything happening around me tolerable. I didn’t think it would ever happen, until you. Now that you’re here I refuse to let you go. I won’t give you up just so Tywin and my father can have another politically advantageous union. If those are my choices, I’ll pick you, every time.”

She gasped. How was she supposed to respond to that? She wasn’t good with words, but even a minstrel would know he was beat in the face of a declaration like that. “Daenerys,” she whispered. 

“Can you promise to try?” the Princess asked unexpectedly. 

“What do you mean?” she needed to know. She couldn’t answer without being clear on exactly what Daenerys had in mind. 

“Can you promise to try to stay, to try and love me?” 

Could she do that? She gave it serious thought. Daenerys seemed under the impression that Arya would stop loving her if she married Loras or anyone else. The truth was, she would love the Dragon Princess until her dying day regardless. What remained uncertain was if Arya was strong enough to witness the marriage up close. 

While she was thinking, Daenerys was rambling. “It’s a lot to ask of you, too much and I wish I didn’t have to, but I love you and I can’t do this without you. Can you just try? Maybe? And then if you have to go, I won’t stop you, but don’t just disappear without telling me, I don’t think I could survive that.”

She pressed a finger to Daenerys’s fast-moving lips. “Relax,” she instructed, “I love you too and that will never change no matter what you decide. I would never disappear without saying goodbye either.”

With a sigh of relief Daenerys exhaled, returning to her original position cuddled up to Arya. “Thank you,” she murmured. 

The room was quiet but not uncomfortable. Arya considered what Daenerys was asking for. She didn’t want a lifetime pledge or a vow that it would always be this way between them, instead she was asking for effort She wanted Arya to try and find a place in her life if and when she married Loras. It was hard to fathom what that would look like, or how they would all peacefully co-exist, but Daenerys Targaryen meant more to her than anything, so for her, she was willing to try. “Okay,” she said quietly. 

Daenerys went stiff on top of her, frozen for long seconds as that lone word worked its way into her brain. “You will?”

“If you decide to marry Loras, I’ll try, I’ll give it time and we can see what happens, beyond that I can’t make any promises.”

“That’s more than enough,” Daenerys exclaimed. When the bed shifted under her, she thought Daenerys was finally ready to get up. The royal had other ideas. She raised her body only high enough to cross one of her legs over both of Arya’s. The result was the Princess straddling her lover. Immediately Arya’s hands went to her hips, holding her there. When their lips met for a hungry kiss both women were grinning. 

“What are you doing?” a breathless Arya asked between kisses. 

“Thanking you,” Daenerys answered with a smirk, pressing their lower bodies together as her mouth began to wander down the column of Arya’s throat. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: For some reason this chapter feels especially long. It seems like most of the Highgarden storyline has been leading up to this. 
> 
> I’m curious what everyone thinks. 
> 
> Apologies if there are more mistakes than usual. I wanted to get this posted. If there are any terrible errors let me know and I’ll fix them when my health allows. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> RC


	40. Chapter 40

“Are you sure you don’t want me there?” Arya asked for the fifth time as they left the hall where they’d eaten breakfast. 

She appreciated the gesture and Arya’s support, but she had to do this alone. Even if Arya was willing, it would be wrong in many ways to ask her to guard the meeting where she and Loras decided whether or not they’d marry. “You should go and see Sansa, I’m sure she’s wondering where you’ve been.” 

Arya laughed good naturedly. “Thanks to you Princess she and Margaery know exactly where I’ve been.” The obvious smile took the sting out of the complaint. She didn’t mind in the least. It was hard to find fault in anything that resulted in a day like the one she had yesterday. She and Arya had spent hours together, mostly in bed, and while they talked plenty, they also laughed, teased and played. It was incredible, the sort of uninterrupted moment that was nearly impossible to achieve in the Red Keep. 

“Go,” she said giving her lover a shove, “spend time with your sister. I’ll meet you after I’m finished.”

“Promise?”

“You have my word.” A Highgarden corridor was not a private enough place to kiss, but Daenerys felt the urge to ignore caution and do it anyway. She restrained herself, for Arya’s sake more than her own. “I’ll take some Unsullied with me,” she said, hoping to reassure Arya before she even began to fret about safety. 

“Two men at least. Three if you’re leaving them at the door.” 

She was tempted to remind Arya that Highgarden was both friendly and safe, but she held her tongue. Arya’s concern was sweet and endearing. Daenerys knew it came from a good place. She wasn’t trying to control the Princess or confine her, all Arya wanted was to protect her. “Enjoy yourself,” Daenerys said, before she let Arya step away, “and try not to worry.” Given what the day would entail, it was probably wishful thinking to assume Arya could forget Daenerys was likely agreeing to a marriage. 

“Stay inside,” she directed, “on my way to Sansa’s I’ll stop by the Unsullied and send some men to you. Should I have them meet you here?”

“Here is fine,” she agreed. 

“I’ll see you soon.” As she spoke her gaze dropped from Daenerys’s eyes to her lips before correcting itself. The implication was clear – Arya wanted to kiss her just as much as Daenerys wanted to be kissed. Later, she promised herself. 

Waiting for her guards to arrive, Daenerys let her mind wander to the night before. She had put Arya on the spot unfairly and asked for more than was reasonable. Objectively, she could see the potential benefits of marrying Loras. It would get her father and Tywin off her back for one. She wouldn’t need to lie when she spent time with Arya either, because Loras would understand. Apart from her selfish reasoning, marrying the Tyrell would also benefit him. Loras seemed like a good, kind man. She could relate to his plight. Like hers, his father wouldn’t give up trying to marry him off to facilitate an increase in power or wealth. At least with Daenerys, they could be honest and forthright about the lack of romance in their relationship. Unless her father woke up tomorrow, a generous, sane, caring King, she didn’t like her chances of being allowed to marry for love. It was equally unlikely she’d be permitted to forgo the custom all together. Marrying a willing and agreeable Loras Tyrell was probably the best she could do. 

She had to make sure Arya agreed, however. She couldn’t do any of this without her. She wouldn’t want to. Given the choice, she’d pick Arya every time. They would find a way to make it w0ork because the alternative was unthinkable. Losing Arya now, after experiencing how good it co uld be, that was a fall she didn’t think she could recover from. 

Arya had been understanding, if a bit confused when Daenerys suddenly pressed her on the subject of the wedding. It took some effort, but they came to an agreement. Arya didn’t promise more than she could deliver, and Daenerys realized how significant that was. Building a life with Arya would require commitment from the both of them, not just sacrifice on Arya’s part. She wouldn’t ask Arya to take this burden on alone, they’d do it together and they’d find their way. She was confident of that. 

“Princess,” a foreign voice called, pulling her from her thoughts. She’d been enjoying a strange blend of memories of the past and plans for the future, all involving Arya. It was strange to be so happy. She couldn’t recall another time when she anticipated what was coming so feverishly. Arya changed everything. She wasn’t a fool, or at least she tried not to be. She knew the world wouldn’t magically bend to her will just because she and Arya loved one another, but Daenerys did believe the good days would outnumber the bad. With Arya, the challenges would be slightly more tolerable and the horrific moments, would still be horrible, but for once Daenerys would have someone to share them with. 

She couldn’t hold back the chuckle that slipped out when she saw the Unsullied. She should have known Arya would take advantage of her role in selecting the guards and send more than they agreed upon. Personally, Daenerys thought five highly trained eunuchs from Astapor was a bit excessive to secure one Princess, but she’d allow it. 

“Welcome,” she said speaking to them in their native tongue. “I must attend a meeting.” 

“We will keep you safe,” the speaker for the group said. “We swore it to the girl, and we swear it to you.” 

He put a closed fist against his breastplate and bowed his head. Daenerys thought she recognized the man. Green Slug wasn’t it? It was hard to tell with the identical armor and obtrusive helmets. The girl? What was he…. She didn’t even need to finish the question – Arya. Naturally Arya explained the importance of the task she was picking them for. Daenerys could only hope she managed to procure their assistance without threatening anyone. 

R-C

“How was your night?” Sansa asked knowingly not long after Arya arrived at her shop. She offered to help, to lift boxes or sort goods, but Sansa insisted there wasn’t much to do. 

“Do you really want to know?” 

“Probably not,” her sister confessed. 

“I do!” Margaery chimed in, peeking her head out from Sansa’s back room. 

Arya blushed but noticed that in spite of Sansa’s eye roll, she wore an indulgent, secretly amused smile. The same one Sansa tried to hide during food fights at Winterfell, at least until someone aimed something at her. 

“I thought you had a meeting,” the dressmaker retorted. 

“I do, but I can be late if Arya’s going to tell me about her night,” Margaery decided hastily. She danced to where Sansa was standing and gave her lover a kiss. Arya looked away, not because she was bothered by the affection but because she felt badly for intruding. 

Margaery wished both Sansa and Arya a good day before she took her leave. It was quiet in the shop long after she was gone. It took Arya back years, to when she and Sansa shared the same room. When her sister had something on her mind, but didn’t want to bring it up she’d behave this way, sneaking glances, curling a red lock of hair around her finger nervously, and even opening her mouth without making a sound. She knew demands and brute force wouldn’t get Sansa to open up. Asking her directly would be the opposite of helpful, so she simply waited. When Sansa was ready, she’d let Arya know. 

Without conversation to occupy them, Sansa relented in letting Arya participate. She made several trips in and out of the back room at her sister’s request. She didn’t mind, it was nice to feel useful. It was when she was returning to the main portion of the shop that Sansa was finally ready to discuss whatever was eating away at her. “So, I met Daario,” she said suggestively. 

Aware she was being studied, Arya tried to bury her emotions deep. “Where?”

“I was with Daenerys,” Sansa explained, “and he came down the hall, yelling after her.” 

“Yeah, he does that sometimes.” 

“And you’re okay with it?”

She was missing something. Just because Sansa witnessed Daario and Daenerys having a conversation, didn’t mean she understood the exact nature of their relationship, unless… “I trust Daenerys,” she said in answer to the question. “Daario is just …”

“Persistent,” Sansa finished for her. “I hear it has been ongoing for a while now.” 

“Did you now? Where did you hear that?” If Highgarden was anything like the Water Gardens or the Red Keep, she could only imagine how wild the rumors were. 

“Daenerys.”

That, Arya was not prepared for. “Daenerys told you about him?”

Sansa blushed and looked down. “Yes, but not at first. I was there when he spoke to her, I could hear what they were saying…”

She was genuinely curious about what had happened, especially since Daenerys had neglected to mention it, but before she could let Sansa continue at her own pace there was one thing she needed to verify. “He didn’t hurt you did he, either of you?” 

“No not at all, it wasn’t like that. He wasn’t happy about what Daenerys had to say, and he didn’t want to listen, but it was only words. She put him in his place and sent him on his way.” 

Arya could easily picture the sight Sansa described. She loved when Daenerys stopped worrying about whose feelings might get hurt and expressed herself freely. She credited Arya with helping her unleash the Dragon inside, but the soldier knew Daenerys alone was responsible. She was the one finding reserves of strength and resolve. She was the one who was suddenly willing to swim against the tide to try and make a difference. Arya would admire that even if she didn’t love the woman. 

“You knew about Daario then?”

It seemed Sansa wanted to keep talking about this. “If Daenerys told you what happened, then you already know that I do.” 

She nodded but showed no remorse. “I just wanted to be sure.” 

“You don’t need to worry about Daenerys, she may be a Targaryen, but she isn’t anything like the rest of them.” 

“So you keep saying.” 

She huffed in frustration. “Come on Sansa, think about it. You’ve spent enough time with her lately to decide for yourself. Do you really think she’s lying to me or that she’d hurt me?” 

“I know you care about her, but be careful,” she implored. “Dragons are dangerous, tame can turn deadly in an instant.” 

“I will, I promise.” She started with reassurance since she guessed that was what Sansa was really after. “It’ll be better this way. I’m a lot closer in King’s Landing than I was in Sunspear. We can write and I can try and visit.”

“You really aren’t going back?” she wondered. “You trained for a year to be a soldier and now you’re going to throw that away and give it all up, for her?” 

“I’m not giving anything up,” Arya protested. She reminded herself that Sansa wasn’t angry at her, just concerned for a sister. That was natural, so she tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but it was becoming difficult the longer Sansa refused to accept that Daenerys was different. “I’ll still be a soldier.”

“For him!” she spat rudely. “I can’t believe you’d fight for him.” 

“I don’t fight for him and I don’t protect her because he ordered me to, I do it for her,” Arya justified, “if I stay, it’ll be for her, not him.” 

“I know you love her, but I don’t know how you can stand being there.” 

She thought about the Red Keep and the conflicted feelings it invoked. She did hate it every bit as much as Sansa did, but there were secret places that were somehow immune from all the painful memories. Daenerys’s bedchamber where she slept next to her Dragon, even the barracks she shared with the Unsullied qualified. Thinking of the Unsullied made her consider the courtyard and the hours spent training with Aemon. She realized rather abruptly that she hadn’t told Sansa about their cousin yet. Should she? She knew the answer immediately. Telling her was the right thing to do, but she wasn’t looking forward to it, not when her grudge against every Targaryen ran so deep. 

“Are you going to say something?”

Arya shook her head in an effort to focus. She needed to tell Sansa about Aemon, but first they had to finish what they’d started. One fight at a time was adequate. “I don’t’ like it either,” she admitted, “no matter how long I spend there, it’ll never be anything other than the place where we lost them.”

”Why stay then?” she asked, seizing on what seemed to her like agreement.

“It’s where she is,” she declared in explanation. “I’ve seen the way you look at Margaery, I know you understand why I stay.” 

“That’s not the same thing,” Sansa objected passionately. “The Tyrells didn’t…”

Arya shook her head and stopped her sister from having to say it out loud. “No, they didn’t but they’ve been loyal to the Targaryen Kings for centuries. You could have blamed them too, but you didn’t, why not?”

There was a delay while Sansa weighed her response. “I was angry, but when I got here, they were kind to me and fair.” 

“Exactly. That’s how I felt when I met Daenerys. I didn’t want to like her, I thought she was just a snobby little Princess who was going to ruin my life, but as a soldier I swore to fulfill the orders I was given, and I was ordered to guard Daenerys.”

“You told me this already,” Sansa whined. 

“I did, but I think you need to hear it again. I would be dead if not for Daenerys. She saved my life, so I decided to give her one chance, one opportunity to show me she wasn’t like the rest of them. I don’t hold her accountable for what happened, for the same reasons you don’t fault the Tyrells.” 

Arya could see the moment her message got through Sansa’s reasonable distrust. “I never thought about it like that,” she acknowledged. The reprieve was short-lived, because she had to ask one more time, before she’d accept the truth. “You are just going to follow her around, guarding her for the rest of your life? Don’t you worry that you’ll wake up one day and regret choosing her?” 

Arya loved her sister, so she did her the courtesy of considering it, even though she had no doubts. Eventually, she said, “Not even a little bit.”

Sansa surprised her by smiling. “You said that the same way Father would have if someone questioned him about Mother.” The room was suddenly heavy with somber thoughts. “I miss them.” 

“Me too,” Arya said before she hugged her. 

R-C

Loras appeared even more anxious and agitated than he’d been during their initial negotiation. As she took her seat and watched him pour her juice, she wondered if his mood foretold his answer.

“How are you?” she asked kindly, hoping to ease into things. 

“I’m well, thank you,” he assured her, “I’ve been training a lot. Many big tournaments are around the corner.” 

“Good luck to you, I’m sure you’ll do great.”

His smile was brief, but he seemed grateful for her effort. “Are you sure we can do this?” he asked without warning. “Could we really marry and convince everyone it was real?” He didn’t let her reply before he revealed what was at the root of the question. “What if someone finds out?”

“What happens in a home, between a husband and a wife is no one’s business. No one would think it strange if we didn’t share the details of our private affairs.” 

“That’s true,” he realized. “I think it makes sense to agree, but I’m not sure it’ll work.” 

“We aren’t getting married tomorrow,” Daenerys reminded him, thinking it might help. “My brother was promised to a Martell months ago and they aren’t wed yet.” 

“My father will insist on it happening soon,” Loras predicted grimly. “I know him, he’s wanted this for a long time.” 

“That may be,” Daenerys allowed, “but my father is likely to forget all about it for weeks or months. If he does, I’m certainly not going to hurry things along.” She ended with a joke, but the larger point was valid. Aerys wanted this wedding now, but how he’d feel in a week or next month was impossible to know. Daenerys hoped she could use that to her advantage and postpone the actual ceremony. 

“I wish my father would lose interest,” Loras complained to himself. 

Daenerys reached past her juice and touched his hand. “In this, what benefits me, also benefits you.” 

“How do you mean?”

A large part of her strategy depended on Rhaegar replacing their father on the throne before the marriage occurred. Once her brother was King, she and Loras could remain promised to one another, without any pressure to actually wed. Mace would push for it, but there would be plenty of reasons to delay. Allowances would need to be made for the new King. It would take time for the Realm to settle. It would be improper for her to marry anyone while the Seven Kingdoms were in an upheaval. Since she couldn’t tell Loras all of that, she chose a justification that would make sense to the young man. “Your father is loyal to mine, he’d never make a demand on the King without cause. If we convince my father to support a long, slow courtship, your father will have few options, he’ll agree as well.” 

She watched as Loras carefully put the pieces together. “You’re right,” he noted quietly. “Father will be pleased by the prospect of a wedding, and he won’t pressure me to find a wife, because you’re already promised to be mine.” He took a drink from his cup before asking. “Will that really work?”

“Leave my father to me,” Daenerys instructed. “What do you think about coming to the capital in a month or two?” She gave him a moment to catch up, then clarified, “A short visit would do, perhaps timed to coincide with a tournament or accompanying your grandmother?” she suggested. “We could be seen together and learn more about one another.” 

“That’s a good idea. I like it, but are you certain you can convince the King?” 

She was only slightly annoyed that he didn’t trust her. They were practically strangers after all. Considering what they were attempting together, a little uncertainty was to be expected. Idly she couldn’t help but question if his reluctance to take her at her word had more to do with her gender than their lack of familiarity. He had doubts about whether Daenerys could really sway Aerys to her side. She took his nervous expression as a challenge. She would do this, not only for him, but for her as well. She’d been manipulated by men her whole life, surely, she could return the favor. If she asked her father on the right day, with the proper words, she could have forty years behind her before her marriage to Loras actually came to pass. By then who knew what the Realm would look like or who would be ruling it? Would people still care? Would they give up waiting for the Tyrells and the Targaryens to be bonded by marriage? Would it matter that she loved Arya, or would other issues hold people’s interest? A lot could happen in a short amount of time, Daenerys’s affection for Arya was unmistakable proof of that. Loras’s worries were forgivable, but she didn’t share them. Arya promised they’d try, and that gave Daenerys the encouragement she needed to find a way to get through this. Married to Loras or not, she’d survive. 

R-C

“Our cousin?!” Sansa verified. Her surprise was dwarfed by her skepticism. “Are you sure?”

Arya nodded. “To hear the Prince tell it he didn’t kidnap anyone. She didn’t want to marry Robert, so they ran away in secret.” 

Sansa was immediately resistant to the idea that everything they believed for the whole of their lives was inaccurate. Arya had a similar reaction. She’d had a lot longer to make her peace with Aemon’s existence and she still wasn’t sure how she felt most of the time. “That’s not possible. Father wouldn’t lie to us like that. He wouldn’t wage a war if Aunt Lyanna wasn’t kidnapped!?” Before she could even think about responding Sansa was on to her next point. “If she wasn’t kidnapped, why did the King kill Uncle Brandon and our grandfather? It doesn’t make sense Arya. They are lying to you.” 

“When I met him, I felt as you do, I thought the same things,” she remembered. “I was angry too but…”

“But you love Daenerys,” Sansa snapped, “so you won’t consider the possibility that she might lie.” With her arms crossed Sansa scowled at her sister in a pose reminiscent of their lost childhood together. “Why do you assume a child Rhaegar Targaryen had came from Aunt Lyanna of all people, wasn’t he married?”

“One look at him and you wouldn’t ask that,” Arya swore. “Whatever else he is, there is Stark blood in him.” 

This dulled some of Sansa’s anger. “How can you be sure?”

She smiled sadly. “He looks like Father, his eyes match mine and standing next to Robb at a distance you’d struggle to tell them apart.”

Twice she tried and failed to reply. Finally, she managed to mumble. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“His name is Aemon, and all his life he’s wanted to know who his mother was, but no one will tell him.” 

“Why don’t you, if you think you’re right?”

She allowed Sansa to calm before answering, though in truth she didn’t feel a statement that thoughtless warranted a reply. It had always been like this, when Sansa was upset, she didn’t think before she spoke, making wild pronouncements and unreasonable requests. “I can’t very well explain to him that we’re related without telling him who I am, can I?”

“You wouldn’t have to tell him about you, just about Aunt Lyanna.”

“He’s already noticed the resemblance between us,” she explained as she shook her head to the notion Aemon could be placated so easily. Not only had he been searching for this information for years, he was no fool. “He thinks his father had a lover in Dorne while he was married to Elia Martell and assumes that’s why he won’t speak of it.” 

“That’s….” she stopped and changed the direction of their exchange. “What’s he like?”

“Quiet,” Arya said, voicing the first adjective that came to mind. “He’s smart too. He’s skilled with a sword and wants to go to the Wall and join the Night’s Watch?”

“What? Why would the son of a Prince want to leave King’s Landing in favor of the Wall?” 

She struggled as she tried to think of a way to make Sansa see. There was a divide between Aemon and the majority of the Red Keep, one that would be difficult to fathom had she not seen it for herself. “The King was upset when Rhaegar chose Aunt Lyanna over Elia Martell. It damaged an important relationship between Dorne and King’s Landing that hasn’t been mended since.” 

“What’s that got to do with this Aemon?”

“Aemon reminds the King of his son’s disobedience. In all the time I’ve been there, I’ve never once heard Aerys speak directly to Aemon, or even utter his name. He isn’t involved in ruling, isn’t allowed to join the army, even Dragonstone which was meant to be his was given to Viserys instead. He is tired of being unwanted in his own home, so he’s been asking to go to the Wall for years.”

“You’re not going to tell him?” 

She shrugged. She’d grown to like Aemon, and she had faith that he’d keep her secret in exchange for the truth about who his mother was, but this wasn’t a decision to be made lightly. She had been committed to telling him either in person or in writing, but that was when she thought she’d be returning to Sunspear. There would be minimal risk in exposing ancient history if done at the right time, like the night before she left the capital. Even if Aemon chose to expose what she told him, she’d be at sea, a difficult target to reach. Being in Dorne didn’t guarantee her safety but she liked her chances if she didn’t have to see the King at every meal. Now though, Arya was going to stay. It was a much more dangerous proposition to tell Aemon now, while she remained in the castle. Could she do it? Could she afford not to? To answer Sansa’s question, she kept things vague. “I think he should know, but I’ve pushed my luck with Aerys too far already, the next time I anger him, it’ll likely be my last.” 

“And knowing that, you still want to stay?” 

“Would you leave Margaery?” she asked, rather than repeating herself. 

With her cheeks matching her hair Sansa huffed. “That’s hardly the same thing.”

This was becoming a habit. If they talked long enough, they inevitably ended up discussing Daenerys and Arya’s commitment to her. She knew why Sansa couldn’t accept it, she knew why she didn’t like it, but Arya didn’t want to waste their time fighting about it. Nothing Sansa could say would change how she felt. The best she could hope for would be an uneasy peace. “It isn’t all that different,” she noted. “You love Margaery, I love Daenerys, Father loved Mother and she him. Would he have betrayed her? Would she have abandoned him and snuck back to Riverrun?”

Fighting was Sansa was as exhausting as it ever had been, except now she didn’t have the endless energy of youth to help her endure. She loved Daenerys but was bothered by the idea that her own sister despised her. Continuing the debate wouldn’t alter either of their opinions and it certainly wouldn’t help them reconnect. Eager to change the subject, she glanced out the window and estimated the time. “Didn’t you want to meet Margaery for lunch?”

That got Sansa’s attention. She hurried around the counter and angled her neck to try and see the sun. “I didn’t know it was so late.” 

“You should probably go,” she recommended. She nodded toward the small wooden box of supplies Sansa had been emptying as they spoke. “I can finish that for you and then lock up when I’m done, I think I know where everything goes.” 

Sansa appeared conflicted. “Why don’t you join us?” She waved her hand dismissively toward the box. “That can wait.” She was done, then added, “I’m sorry, I’m not being fair to Daenerys, I keep telling myself I will be, but then when I try, I think about Robb, Rickon and Bran, about Mother and Father and I act poorly.” 

“I love you Sansa,” Arya said. Normally she believed actions meant more than words and she preferred to let her deeds reveal her affection but after all they’d been through, together and apart, she felt it necessary to be explicit. She’d be leaving the Reach soon and when she did, she didn’t want there to be any question in Sansa’s mind about how Arya felt. “We don’t need to agree, or get along, but if you need me, I’ll always be there for you, no matter what.” 

Arya appreciated Sansa’s willingness to end their disagreement or at least postpone it. Sansa waited until she was holding her younger sister before addressing what Arya said. “I love you too. I missed you and mourned you every day. I thought you were dead and before that, I didn’t dare to dream I’d get to see you again, nor talk to you, or hug you.” The arms around Arya tightened. 

She laughed then, a watery laugh as they both fought tears. “I’m here Sansa. You’re not alone.”

“Neither are you,” she said emphatically. “I don’t care where you live or who you love, you’ll always be my sister.” 

Until that very moment Arya didn’t realize just how badly she needed her sister’s permission to be happy. 

R-C

Not long after finishing with Loras, a servant stopped her and her contingent of Unsullied and requested Daenerys join Lady Olenna for tea. She wanted to see Arya but couldn’t refuse the Tyrell matriarch. 

They met outdoors, in a lush, colorful garden. Olenna sat under a large umbrella, at a table looking regal despite her age. As Daenerys neared, she took the pot in her wrinkled hands and began pouring. “Daenerys dear, please join me.”

They made small talk for a time about the weather, and fashion, as proper ladies in the Seven Kingdoms were taught to do from the time they could talk. 

Daenerys sampled her tea and was nibbling on a cookie. “How are you enjoying your time in Highgarden?” Olenna asked when she was in between bites. 

“You have a lovely home,” she praised. “I understand now why you prefer to stay in the Reach rather than frequent King’s Landing.” 

“I’m too old for the back and forth these days,” she confessed shamelessly, “but relations must be maintained. Sometimes visiting the capital can’t be helped.”

Daenerys nodded in understanding. “I always enjoy your visits and I am so glad you encouraged me to come and see you here. I have enjoyed myself.” 

“I’m happy to hear you say that dear. We didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, not with my idiot of a son trying to marry you off.” 

Her being summoned made much more sense now, Olenna wanted to learn what became of Daenerys’s meeting with her grandson. She assumed they were making conversation but her inquiry about Highgarden was simply a preamble to ask what she really wanted to know. “It’s quite alright,” she exaggerated politely, “I met with Loras and we’ve agreed to meet again in a few weeks.”

She hid her emotions well, a necessary skill to survive in politics as long as she had. “I must say I’m a bit surprised by that.” 

“As am I,” Daenerys agreed before setting her teacup down. “Nothing is official quite yet, there is no rush. We still have a lot we don’t know about one another, but we are willing to try.” 

She put a worn hand over Daenerys’s younger one on the table, tapping it twice. “I’m happy for you dear girl.” She pulled back her hand and then went on, “And you’re wise to take things slow. You know as well as anyone just how quickly things can change in King’s Landing. What’s necessary today, may be unimportant tomorrow.” 

What did she mean by that? Did she learn about the arrangement Loras and Daenerys were contemplating? Would she reveal the truth? 

While too many questions circled her mind, Olenna redirected them. “I hear you’re doing well in your new duties.”

“My what?” she asked, unable to comprehend what Olenna was talking about. 

“You’re aiding Tyrion are you not, working for the treasury and distributing gold to those in need?” 

She posed it as a question, but it wasn’t. Nothing Daenerys said in reply would be news. “You know about that?” Had Tyrion told her? When her face heated, she resisted it. there was nothing to be embarrassed about. She enjoyed her work for Tyrion. 

“I hear many things about you dear,” Olenna commented vaguely. “It’s my understanding your growing into a confident, independent woman, worthy of being a Princess and a Dragon.”

The blushed she’d managed to beat back before wouldn’t be denied this time. “You’re too kind,” she said looking down into her lap. “I’m merely assisting Tyrion on occasion. He does the hard work.” 

Unwilling to agree with Daenerys’s dismissive assessment of her contributions, Olenna reached for her hand again. “Everyone has to start somewhere, it’s this job first, something more prominent and impactful next. Just keep doing what you can to help guide the Realm and sooner or later they’ll take notice, if not while your father is King then certainly when your brother is.” 

Daenerys was stunned by the turn of events. How had they ended up discussing Daenerys’s potential as a politician? It made her proud to hear a woman as knowledgeable as Olenna compliment her efforts. It was also significant that she saw Daenerys being more involved in the future. The Princess wouldn’t mind one bit if Olenna was right about that. 

“I hope so. I want to be involved, but you’re right when you say my father has little use for my opinions.” 

“He won’t be King forever. Rhaegar loves you. He’ll see that you’re treated fairly,” she predicted, in a warm, loving way, encouraging Daenerys to keep trying. 

Rhaegar specifically asked her not to discuss replacing their father with Lady Olenna, so why did she want to tell her everything they agreed to do? Perhaps it was because Olenna’s approval was fresh in her head, or maybe she just wanted to confide in a person she trusted. “I don’t think it’ll be much longer. Rhaegar is ready to lead, and the time has come, I think.” Adding ‘I think’ to the end so she could explain away her statements as nothing more than her own private views was probably terribly transparent but Olenna was trustworthy right? 

Whether she was or wasn’t, she’d begun down the road now, she had to keep going until the end. Mercifully, Olenna didn’t keep her dangling in suspense for long. “You may be right,” she said with a smile. “It pleases me that you see it too, that the young girl I watched grow during my visits to the Red Keep has become so strong.” 

Daenerys wasn’t sure strong was a word she’d use to describe herself, today or ever, but Olenna’s sentiment was flattering. “Rhaegar is speaking with the Small Council and the court to learn their feelings on the matter.” 

“That’s smart thinking, but then again your brother has always been intelligent.” She paused to sip her tea. “Only one man can be King Daenerys,” she said, “but no one can rule the Realm alone. Not even Rhaegar could become King without support.” 

It went against her brother’s wishes, but when were they ever going to get a better opportunity to enlist the Tyrells in their plot? She took her chance. “He knows this, and so do I. We need allies, we won’t move forward until we have them.” 

“I thought this day would come sooner,” Olenna acknowledged, “and I always imagined it would be your brother sitting across from me, but the Gods are funny like that.” 

“What do you mean?” Daenerys wondered, without specifying which part she wanted clarified. 

“More than once in recent years I’ve heard about the goings on in King’s Landing and thought the time had come for your father to step down. I expected your brother to make contact, send a raven, or arrange a meeting but it never happened. I was beginning to fear it never would.” 

“It will,” Daenerys swore, though she lacked the power to fulfill that pledge. 

“Can I ask, what changed? Why now?”

In her mind she saw an attractive face, sharp features and bottomless grey eyes. Arya. It was Arya’s near execution that sent her to Rhaegar to demand change. Unable to reveal the significance of her father nearly killing her guard, Daenerys kept it simple. “There has been a lot of death, too much, Rhaegar and I agree on that.”

“And Viserys?”

“He’s in Sunspear,” she informed her friend. She knew what Olenna was really getting at, Viserys couldn’t be trusted to keep the secret or participate. He’d betray Rhaegar and Daenerys in a heartbeat if he thought it would benefit him. He didn’t care about the people of Westeros who were suffering under Aerys’s rule, just as he didn’t care about how sick their father had become. All that mattered to Viserys was Viserys. The only way he’d agree to remove the King from the Iron Throne was if he got to replace him on it. The thought of living under Viserys’s rule made her shiver despite the warmth. “He isn’t involved.”

“Are you not concerned he will interfere?”

“When he returns, he’ll have his wedding to prepare for. My father is giving Dragonstone to him along with a force of…” she stopped and tried to remember that meeting. It felt like ages ago, just after she returned from Dorne. How many men had Aerys promised to give him to secure the island? “I believe it was five thousand men,” she guessed, unsure. “However many he gets, he’ll have plenty to keep him busy.”

Olenna appeared content. “It sounds as though you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“I have,” Daenerys admitted, “and I know it may be entirely inappropriate to make such a request, but seeing as I’m here and we’re on the topic, could Rhaegar and I count on your support?” While she waited for the answer, she felt like she was going to be sick. It was nervous energy and nothing else that kept her talking when she should’ve shut her mouth. “I know it is much to ask,” she rambled, “but House Tyrell is our oldest and most prominent ally. If the court saw you aligned with Rhaegar many of them would follow.” 

The seconds before she responded seemed much longer than they actually were. Had Daenerys made a mistake? What would happen next? “I’m proud of you Daenerys,” Olenna said, touching her sweaty hand. “That took immense courage, to sit before me and make such a request. It speaks to your dedication and your willingness to do what must be done to change this world and everyone in it for the better.” 

That sounded good, but she didn’t want to get ahead of herself. She hadn’t agreed to anything yet. “That means a lot, especially coming from you.” 

Olenna smiled gently. “When you’re back in King’s Landing, remember this moment and the way it makes you feel. You spoke up for what you knew was right at great personal risk. You took a chance and as the stories tell us, ‘bravery is often rewarded by the Gods.’” 

Just breathing was becoming difficult. “Are y… you… saying what I th… think you are?” she managed to stutter. She couldn’t’ believe this. 

“The Tyrells will support the claim of the Crown Prince and his sister Princess Daenerys,” Olenna announced formally. 

A rush of emotions flooded into her, all at the same time. She was thrilled and nervous, anxious and excited, despondent and elated. No matter how horribly he behaved, a part of her loved her father, but Olenna said it best, it was the right thing. “Thank you so much, on behalf of Rhaegar and I both, thank you, we won’t let you down. I can’t believe this, I was so scared.” 

She hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud, but it slipped out. “There is nothing to fear, you aren’t the scared, timid girl I once knew. She’s gone and in her place is a woman who knows what she wants and is willing to work hard to achieve it.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Daenerys lamented. “I know it’s the right thing, I just worry that I’ll make a mistake…”

“Risk is a part of life dear, as unavoidable as pain or death. You’ll make mistakes, as I did, as everyone does, but if your heart is in the right place, if you love your family and the people you lead, you’ll arrive where you are meant to be.” 

“Thank you Olenna, from the bottom of my heart,” Daenerys gushed. “I won’t let fail you.”

“I know,” she replied with her usual certainty. “Besides, if I’m going to put my life, my faith and the future of my family in someone’s hands, who better than a Dragon?”

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry this one is so short. As I was wrapping up things at Highgarden, this seemed like the natural place to end the chapter. One more from the Reach and then it is back to King’s Landing for the beginning of the end. 
> 
> Thank you to those who are still with me, despite my delays. I appreciate it. 
> 
> RC


	41. Chapter 41

It was their final night in Highgarden, so Margaery, Sansa, Daenerys and Arya had decided to dine in private again, where they could speak freely and make the most of their final hours together. 

It occurred to her as she ate the meal that they both got what they needed from this trip. Arya had come to reunite with Sansa, and she’d done that. They argued a little, didn’t necessarily agree, but that was just how it was with them. It didn’t make her regret coming for an instant. Arya had travelled to the Reach for Sansa, but Daenerys had done it to get away from the overbearing capital and she had succeeded too. 

Sometime the following morning Daenerys would give the order to begin the march back to King’s Landing. Arya for one wasn’t looking forward to their return. It wasn’t just that she’d miss Sansa and was reluctant to leave her – although that was part of it – it was also Daenerys. Since they left the capital, the change in her lover was evident. She was relaxed, laughed and smiled more and wasn’t plagued by the dread that constantly shadowed her when at home. In the Red Keep, even on her brightest day, Daenerys knew to be wary, to tread carefully, because things could change abruptly and for the worse. As a result, she was cautious, always fearful of what might be looming around the next corner and how it might upset the fragile balance of her life. In Highgarden Daenerys was allowed to breathe. The distance had been good for her and Arya didn’t want to see her revert back to the way she’d been before. 

“Where is Missandei?” Margaery inquired. “I feel like I’ve barely seen her since you arrived.” 

Arya and Daenerys shared an intense look. “I gave her a break so she could relax and travel around the area.” 

“She’s alone?” Sansa checked, a tinge of judgement bleeding through. 

“No,” Arya clarified, “Grey Worm is with her.” There was no recognition, so she elaborated. “He’s one of the soldiers who came with us, believe me fewer people in all of Westeros are safer than Missandei of Naath tonight.” 

“It was nice that you gave her some time to herself,” Margaery told Daenerys. “I still can’t believe it, I mean slavery has been outlawed in the Seven Kingdoms since long before any of us were born and yet…” 

Across from her Sansa put the pieces together. “You own slaves?!” she accused Daenerys hotly. “How… “ she stopped addressing the Targaryen and looked to Arya instead, “how can you condone such a thing?” 

Next to her she could feel the shame and regret radiating off Daenerys. Arya reached for her hand, weaving their fingers together. “I condone nothing and neither does Daenerys,” she said in defense of the woman she loved. 

“She owns a slave! It’s disgraceful.”

Arya opened her mouth, to set her sister straight but Daenerys beat her to it. “I don’t, but my father does. He took a trip to Essos several years ago. Upon his return he presented her to me as a gift. 

“Which you accepted,” Sansa accused harshly. Arya glared across the table. Hadn’t they spoken about this. She asked her to give Daenerys a chance. 

“Yes,” she admitted sadly, “because I feared what would become of her if I didn’t. It sickens me when I think that my father and many of those around him consider her property instead of a person. It infuriates me when I hear her contributions being minimized or taken for granted just because of where she came from. When my father brought Missandei into our home, he intended for me to have a handmaiden, he didn’t know then he was also giving me a best friend.” Although she was biased, Arya didn’t see how any objective listener could hear Daenerys’s impassioned confession and not see she meant it. 

“So what? You make your best friend serve you?” Sansa apparently disagreed. 

Arya had had enough of this. Sansa was being completely unfair. When she made a move to stand, Daenerys raised their joined hands and motioned for her to sit. She did. 

“Not long after Missandei joined me, I packed a bag for her, it had gold coins, jewelry, even some warm dresses. I gave them to her and advised her to flee. I told her I’d lie and say she snuck out in the night, but she refused to go.” 

“Why would she do that?”

“She had her reasons. I told her she could flee at any time,” Daenerys continued, “I even suggested places where she might begin a new life, but she remains in the Red Keep. 

“Why?” she asked again, not understanding Missandei’s loyalty. 

“When I met her, I offered to help her escape as well,” Arya recalled. The intensity of two violet eyes staring directly at her face made it clear that Daenerys hadn’t known about that. “I had a friend who would have been willing to smuggle her to Dorne and then across the Narrow Sea to Essos, but she chose to stay.” 

Daenerys picked up where Arya left off. “Missandei will have her freedom, and so will the Unsullied, I’ve promised them and I will see it done, no matter how long it takes or how much trouble it brings me.” 

“They are lucky to have you looking out for them,” Margaery said, echoing Arya’s opinion. “Not many would be willing to make such a promise.”

As the conversation moved on, Sansa remained quiet. She picked at her food without enthusiasm but kept glancing at the Targaryen opposite her. Arya wasn’t the only one who noticed either, Daenerys caught her staring more than once, but neither woman mentioned it directly. She couldn’t be certain but hoped whatever it was involved Sansa realizing she could trust the Princess. 

“When will your brother marry?” Margaery wondered, “perhaps Sansa and I can come for the ceremony?”

“I’d love that,” Daenerys agreed quickly. Arya too liked the idea. She wouldn’t turn down a chance to see Sansa again, but was hesitant about her visiting the Red Keep. A lot of unpleasant memories lurked there and the dangers to any Stark were real.

Margaery looked at her lover and the two shared some wordless communication before Sansa spoke for them. “We would too.”

Emboldened by Sansa’s attempt to be civil, Daenerys followed her example. “If you have the time, maybe you could make me a dress to wear,” she proposed carefully. 

Blue eyes darted from face to face, checking with each one before she made a decision. For her part, Arya offered an encouraging, grateful smile. She was thankful to Sansa for making an effort and to Daenerys for not holding a grudge. “Of course. Arya and I will be exchanging letters, we can discuss the details in them as well, if you like.” 

Arya stopped paying attention as they discussed dresses in depth. She focused entirely on her food, until a nudge from Daenerys pulled her from her thoughts. “Is that okay?” the Targaryen asked her. 

Chewing slowly, she studied the woman next to her in an effort to learn what she was being asked to agree to. By the time she swallowed, she still didn’t know, but she had noticed the distinct flicker of hope in Daenerys’s eyes. She responded accordingly. “Of course, whatever you need.” 

“I must confess,” Margaery said to the Princess, “I wasn’t sad when I heard your father agreed to marry Viserys to the Martells.” She was done, then realized the others probably didn’t understand her logic, so she gave more. “My father planned to wed me to Viserys to unite our families. Unfortunately for him, by the time he brought up the subject with the King, a deal had already been struck with Sunspear.” 

Relief was her primary emotion, not only for Margaery, who Arya genuinely liked, but also for Sansa. Neither of them would fair well within a hundred miles of the spiteful Prince she protected Daenerys from. “Consider yourself lucky,” Arya said truthfully. 

With a horrified expression, Sansa glanced at Daenerys while she reprimanded her sister. Just like old times. “Arya, don’t be rude.”

Sansa was worried about manners but that’s only because she didn’t know Viserys. She didn’t know how fortunate Margaery was that she wouldn’t be bonded to him. Daenerys jumped in to try and spare them from another argument. “She’s not wrong,” the Targaryen admitted. “Viserys is going to make a terrible husband. I feel badly for Eliza, but it would be worse if his wife was someone I knew well. She looked pointedly to Margaery. “If she was a friend, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I’m quite happy with the way things turned out as well,” Sansa chimed in, showing a rare flicker of humor as she grasped Margaery’s hand and raised it to her lips for a kiss on the knuckles. With a contented smile, she returned to her plate. 

R-C

The knock on the door was unexpected but not late enough to cause alarm. In fact, Daenerys’s first thought was that Missandei had forgotten something. The handmaiden had just returned after spending the day with Grey Worm, at the Princess’s insistence. She wore a wide smile and was bursting with tales of the many things she’d seen and done. Daenerys was happy for her friend, Arya on the other hand chose to tease her. “It couldn’t have been that exciting,” she said dismissively, “in my experience all farms look alike.”

In her usual understated way, Missandei had a response ready that stopped Arya in her tracks and silenced all dissent. “It’s not what I saw that made it a good day, it was who I was with and the fact that we were free to do as we pleased.” 

With Sansa’s outrage fresh in her mind, Daenerys promised herself she’d offer to help Missandei escape again, even if she was almost certain the younger woman wouldn’t be going far. 

Missandei had gone to get something to eat and Grey Worm took the opportunity to check on his men. This left Daenerys and Arya alone. Until their interruption, Daenerys had been sitting happily in Arya’s lap. They weren’t talking, and rarely moved but the closeness was plenty. “I’ll get it,” Arya grumbled, sounding as though she was on the brink of sleep. 

Feeling younger than her years Daenerys laughed and pecked at her lover’s lips. “I’m on top,” she joked seductively, “I’m closer, I’ll get it.” 

With just a few words she had Arya wide awake beneath her. When Daenerys tried to stand Arya made a playful attempt to keep her from leaving. The Princess was no fool, if Arya truly meant to detain her, she could have done it easily. This was a game, and it made her laugh louder. Gods she loved this woman. 

At the door was Tyrion Lannister, armed with a bottle of wine. “Care for a drink Princess?” he asked her. 

“Is something wrong Tyrion?” Typically, people rarely showed up at her door bringing good news. She was conditioned to assume the worst. 

He raised the wine rather than replying with words. When Daenerys lifted an eyebrow without allowing him entry, he finally spoke. “I thought you might like this.” 

He handed her the bottle and she took it, noticing a moment too late that it seemed strangely familiar. “Is this…”

“The wine I gave you for your nameday,” he confirmed. “I thought we might need it.” 

There was only one thing she could think of that would bring him to her bedchamber with expensive wine. “I take it you heard Loras and I are going to spend more time together?”

“I did,” he admitted, “hence the wine.” 

Admiring the bottle, she remembered the last place she’d seen it, in her bedchamber back in the Red Keep. “How did this come to be here Lord Tyrion?” she asked with gentle authority. Ever helpful Arya got up from the chair they had been sharing and went to find glasses. “Get extra,” she advised, “Missandei and Grey Worm will be back soon.” 

“Of course,” Arya agreed with a smile. 

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his eyes bouncing between the Princess and her guard. 

“Not at all,” Arya lied smoothly. 

“Are you sure,” he pressed, “because I could…”

“The wine, Tyrion?” she pressed, getting him back on the proper path. “Why is it here and why do you have it?” 

“I retrieved it from your room before we left the capital,” he told her. With her expression alone she told him she needed more information, so he ducked his head, almost bashfully in his admission as he conceded. “It was after I learned the true nature of the negotiations and I thought perhaps we might need it.”

“To celebrate?” she guessed. 

“Or commiserate,” he countered, “wine is good for both.” He flashed her that charming smile of his and finished. “Either way, I thought it was a safe bet it’d be of some use.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Arya said, as she delivered the cups they’d drink from. 

When she saw Arya had indeed gotten extras, an idea came to her. “Why don’t you go see if you can track down Margaery and your… Sansa, there is more than enough.” 

Wide eyed at her near slip, Arya nodded and moved past her. Their eyes met and she tried to convey how sorry she was for her error without any words. She’d apologize properly later. Their lives were complicated enough without Tyrion finding out Arya had a sister in the Reach. An inquisitive, determined man like him wouldn’t stop asking until he got the answers and that would put both Starks at risk. 

When it was just the two of them Tyrion asked, “Are you alright, Daenerys?”

Did he know what she almost said, or was he reacting to her tension and guilt? Was it her imagination or did his inquiry sound a little too innocent, like he was trying too hard to be casual? She chastised herself for being foolish and forced a smile to accompany her reply. “I’m fine.”

“You could do worse than Loras Tyrell,” he assured her, misunderstanding the source of her anxiety. If Tyrion wanted to think it was the idea of marriage that had her uneasy, she saw no reason to correct him. 

R-C

“Would you like to stay?” Daenerys asked her lover. They were naked in each other’s arms. Morning would come early, and they needed to be on the road. She should have been dreaming already, but one thought kept nagging at her – would Arya be happier in Highgarden with her sister? 

“Hmmm?” she grumbled sleepily. Obviously, Arya had an easier time relaxing. 

The decent thing would be to let Arya go back to her dream and save their serious talk for the morning, but Daenerys knew if she did that, she’d do nothing but worry the remainder of the night. If she wanted to be awake enough to travel, Daenerys needed to resolve this matter once and for all. “Would you like to stay here?” she tried again. 

With her eyes still closed Arya flexed her arms, tightening her hold on the Dragon. “Mmhmmm, right like this,” she muttered. 

Her worries didn’t subside with that comment, but it was enough to give Daenerys pause. She took a moment to stop and appreciate how sweet Arya could be. “Do you want to stay with Sansa?”

There was a delay. Her forehead creased and she wiped her eyes. “What?”

“You could stay, you’ve been apart from your family for too long. You shouldn’t be separated again. I won’t ask you to do that, not for me.” 

Although one of Arya’s eyes cracked open, it was clear by her thick, sleep-heavy tone and slow delivery that Daenerys didn’t have her full attention. “Can’t stay, K…King… wants you back.” 

Despite her concerns over where Arya would spend her future, Daenerys enjoyed the almost awkwardly romantic side of her woman. “I have to go back,” she agreed pointedly, “but you don’t. You could stay with Sansa if you wanted to.”

Arya’s eyes had closed fully again, but Daenerys didn’t have to wonder if she had fallen asleep. She was shaking her head before the Princess finished her proposal. “Nah,” she grunted, “I’ma goin’ with…”

She sighed. She should have let Arya rest. This conversation was too important to have when she was fogged and barely coherent. “It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking Arya’s back, “we can talk in the morning.” It wasn’t ideal, but she could wait a few hours to get answers. 

“Mmhmm,” Arya hummed happily. Daenerys expected that was all she would get but Arya was full of surprises. “I love you,” she mumbled. 

A grin stretched her face. “I love you too,” she said. Within minutes Arya was snoring. She tried to settle too. She took slow, even breaths while she tried to clear her mind of everything except Arya’s last message. One by one her limbs grew heavy, then she moved on to her heartbeat. When they woke up, Arya would make her choice. Until then she was Daenerys’s. Whether she stayed or joined Daenerys on the return trip to King’s Landing, Daenerys didn’t doubt her love. Arya loved her, and she could do that from King’s Landing, Highgarden, Sunspear or any place in between. 

R-C

Arya faced the wall and busied herself by adjusting the straps on her armor. The Princess had been taking a bath when she unexpectedly asked if Arya wanted to join her. More than a little tempted Arya had to flee to ensure she didn’t do anything to disrupt their travel schedule. Tywin had told them when they needed to be back and if they hoped to make the deadline, they needed to start moving, and soon. The additional distance was supposed to make it easier to resist her, but it wasn’t especially beneficial. Arya still wanted her, regardless. 

“There is something I wanted to ask you,” Daenerys called out. 

Arya chuckled. “I bet there is, but I told you, I’m not taking a bath with you, we don’t have the time.” 

She could hear the amusement in the Targaryen’s voice when she replied. “And I told you, what’s the point of being a Princess if I can’t be late occasionally?” 

“Later,” she promised. “who knows maybe I’ll join you after we make camp tonight.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, but I wanted to ask about something else.”

The sudden seriousness made her anxious. She turned toward the tub and found Daenerys climbing out. “What’s wrong?” 

Arya rushed over, picking up a towel on the way and handing it to Daenerys as she dripped onto the floor. “Thank you,” she said, brushing the guard’s fingers with her own. “Nothing’s wrong, I was just thinking that maybe you’d like to stay in Highgarden a few more days. You could spend the extra time with Sansa, and if anyone asks, I’ll tell them you were too ill to travel.” 

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Of course not!” she insisted.

“Then why are we doing this again?” It was a bit clouded, but Arya distinctly remembered Daenerys waking her up to ask the same thing overnight. 

“What? I never…”

“Didn’t we do this once already, last night? I told you, I want to be with you.”

“You remember that? I didn’t think you were awake.” 

“I was awake enough to tell you I love you,” Arya reminded her. 

Ignoring the fact that a large portion of her body was still wet, Daenerys pressed herself into Arya for a kiss. “I love you too,” she replied, “but you and Sansa should have more time together. I want to give you more time together.” 

“We’ll have it. There is no rush, not anymore. We are going to write letters and she’s considering accompanying Margaery the next time she comes to the capital. I will see her again.” 

“I don’t want you to regret leaving.” 

All morning Arya had been trying to solve the riddle of Daenerys’s behavior. She couldn’t understand why the Princess would wake her in the middle of the night and want to separate. Initially she feared Daenerys was tiring of her, but her attitude that morning laid that worry to rest. Daenerys had been attached to her hip almost constantly since they climbed out of bed. She wouldn’t do that if she wanted space. She considered and rejected another handful of possible motivations, because none seemed to fit, until now. Daenerys’s question told her all she needed to know. She thought Arya would rather be with than her. “I’ll regret staying more,” she explained sincerely. “Luckily, I don’t have to choose, I can go with you and stay in contact with Sansa.”

“Or, you could stay with Sansa and write me letters.” 

“I could, but I’d miss you,” she admitted, knowing it was true. “Sansa has a good life, she’s happy, she has her work, and the shop, she’s got Margaery and Olenna helping her too. I’d be of no use to her here. She has no need for a soldier.” She felt no shame in saying so either. Arya knew who she was, what she was good at, what her purpose was, and it didn’t pair with Sansa’s peaceful life in Highgarden. Arya and her skills belonged in King’s Landing with Daenerys. 

Daenerys smiled indulgently. “You’re her sister Arya, she’s always going to need you.” 

“I know that, I just meant…” she stopped and tried to justify her logic another way. “The only reason I have Sansa back in my life is because of you, and thanks to you I don’t have to leave her again. I get to keep her in my life. I don’t have to pick between you or Sansa and that’s how I want it.” 

“I’m glad you found her again.” Daenerys said sincerely. “I only want you to be happy.”

She leaned in and stole another kiss. “I’m happy with you.” That said, she gave her lover a gentle shove in the opposite direction. “Now hurry up and get dressed, you have a lot of people to say goodbye to before we can leave.” 

R-C 

“Safe travels Princess,” Lady Olenna said as they embraced. The rest she saved for when Daenerys was close. “Take care of yourself and remember you always have a place here should you need it.” 

“I appreciate that,” she said stepping back and smiling kindly at the older woman. “Thank you, I thoroughly enjoyed my time here. I understand you’re busy but do consider joining Loras and Margaery when the visit next, I’d like the chance to repay your generosity.” 

“I just may do that. I can’t leave my grandson and his sister unsupervised in the big city, can I? There is no telling what manner of mischief they might involve themselves in.” She emphasized her joke with a wink. 

Daenerys smiled, Olenna really was one of a kind and that was a shame, since the world could benefit from a few more women like her. “Thank you for everything, I know my brother will appreciate it as well,” she said carefully. She trusted Olenna would know what Daenerys was thanking her for. 

“When you’re as old as I am dear, you need to squeeze as much living as you can in the time you have left.” 

“You have plenty of time left,” Daenerys swore, “you can’t abandon us yet. We need you.” 

She grasped Daenerys’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m happy,” she said, lowering her voice to a level so low Daenerys barely heard it. “I had always hoped to live long enough to see Westeros on a different path, a better one. Now that I have, I’m content.” 

Wary, she looked around to make certain no one was listening to them. Thankfully everyone was involved in their own conversations. “We still have a long way to go,” she acknowledged, “and Rhaegar and I could use your help.” 

“You’ll have it,” she pledged, “just promise me you’ll be careful. There are many who prosper under your father’s reign, they won’t look kindly on what you and your brother aim to do.” 

She nodded in understanding. She really was grateful not only for the support of the Tyrells but also for Olenna’s guidance. Who in the Seven Kingdoms knew more about being a powerful woman? 

R-C

“Do you have everything you need?” Sansa asked, fretting over her younger sister. 

Arya rolled her eyes, even as she fought a smile. “I’ve got more than enough,” she guaranteed. Unconvinced Sansa squatted over the bag Arya had dropped. The guard lowered herself to the same height. She wasn’t sure she had the appropriate words to say goodbye to Sansa, but she knew it was important to try. “These last few days…” she inhaled sharply and shook her head. “I never thought we’d get that you and I.” 

“Me neither,” Sansa acknowledged, “I still can’t believe it, for so long I thought you were gone, that I was the last of us.” 

Arya smiled. “You aren’t alone, I’m with you, no matter where you go.” 

“And I’m with you,” she retorted. She looked up from the bag she was rummaging through and showed Arya the unshed tears in her blue eyes. “You don’t need to go, you could stay, Mace could always use another soldier.” 

She chuckled, upsetting her sister. She got a glare before words laced with venom came at her. “What’s so funny?” Sansa asked bitterly. 

“I was just thinking, that might be the first thing you and Daenerys agree on,” Arya quipped. 

Sansa’s anger melted away. “What? Why would she…”

“She wants me to be happy,” Arya clarified, “she thought maybe I’d be happier here with you.” 

“She said that?” Sansa inquired, visibly surprised. 

“She did.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I was going to stay with her,” Arya admitted, “but that I’d write to you.” 

“You’ll be happy there?”

“I will,” she said confidently. King’s Landing would never be anything more than the place where she lost her family, but Daenerys was there, so it was where Arya had to be too, if she wanted to keep her Dragon. “You’ll be happy here as well, with Margaery.” 

Unlike Sansa, Arya hadn’t asked a question. Nonetheless Sansa responded to it. “She makes me happy. I have the shop and…”

She took her sister’s hand. “I know and I’m proud of you. You have a good life here, enjoy it.”

“I will.” 

“I meant what I said Sansa, I am with you. If there comes a day when you need something, whether I’m in Sunspear or King’s Landing, you need only ask.” 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. 

She squeezed Sansa’s hand, causing her to look up from the bag again. “I’m proud of you, and I know Mother and Father would be too. You’ve got wolf blood in you and it shows.” 

Her laugh was watery as she held back tears. “I don’t think so, you were always the one with the wolf blood.” 

She shook her head. “There is more than one way to honor their memories. I may do it with a sword in my hand, but what you did is no less impressive. You don’t need to be like me to honor him Sansa, just be true to yourself. After everything you went through, for you to find your place, to be happy, to find love, that’s remarkable.” 

She didn’t have to wonder if Sansa appreciated the sentiment. Within moments of her finishing, Sansa had thrown herself across the open bag and into Arya’s arms. “Thank you, thank you so much for coming.” 

“I love you Sansa,” Arya said before she released the dressmaker. “I didn’t say that the last time, but I should’ve. I won’t make that mistake again.” 

“I love you too Arya. Be careful and write when you can.” 

The way Sansa refused to let her go even after Arya had lowered her arms revealed how fiercely she meant the words. It was humbling for the soldier, who always believed her poor behavior as a girl caused irrevocable damage to their sisterly bond. To combat her own emotions Arya tried to end things with humor. “I will, but don’t complain when my writing isn’t as pretty as yours.” 

“I don’t care how it looks,” Sansa insisted, “just write as often as you can.” 

It wasn’t an accident that Sansa chose a response distinctly opposite to the one she would have given years ago. Arya took it as a signal, proof that Sansa was no longer measuring Arya’s value by her ability to be a proper Lady. Daenerys was probably waiting for her, but she’d just need to be patient. Arya couldn’t go without getting one more hug. 

R-C

Having finished saying her goodbyes to most of the Tyrells, Daenerys approached Loras. “Be well, Princess.”

“And you,” she told him. “I sincerely hope that things get easier for you now that your father knows you’ll be married.” 

Loras looked back at his ambitious father before replying. “I hope so too, but I won’t hold my breath.” 

She felt sympathy for Loras. Their fathers were very different but the effects they had on their children were undeniably similar. “Don’t worry, I’ll speak to my father when I return to the keep and let him know we decided on a very long courtship.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

She gave it thought. “Not yet. I’ll write once I’ve spoken to the King, in the meantime just keep reminding your father of your upcoming visit.” 

“Oh yes, the visit of course,” he gushed, clearly having forgotten about it. 

“I’ll join you at a tournament, and we can make sure we’re seen together.” 

“That sounds perfect,” he said, smiling for the first time. 

“And just what are you two talking about?” Margaery asked as she came to stand beside her brother. “Wedding details no doubt,” she teased with a smirk. 

“Something like that,” Daenerys advised. 

“I’ll let you talk,” Loras said politely, bowing his head. “Travel safe Princess.” 

“Thank you, Ser,” she said, “I’ll send word when I have news to share.” 

He nodded and turned to go, leaving the women alone. “Is everything alright?” Margaery asked, looking between Loras and Daenerys. 

“It’s fine, we were just discussing our plans.” 

“He is nervous,” Margaery announced, “he’s worried someone will discover your scheme, and terrified you’ll change your mind, leaving him to marry someone else.” 

The first fear was one Daenerys knew, the second she hadn’t anticipated. “As long as my father is King, I’ll need to marry too. Loras needn’t make himself sick over this, I have no desire to be bartered for like cattle. I’ll marry him, if for no other reason than to ensure I don’t have to marry anyone else.” 

“He feels much the same way.” 

“I thought Sansa would be with you,” Daenerys noted. 

“She and Arya are still upstairs saying goodbye privately. I can go and see if they’re finished, if you’d like,” she offered. 

“No, I want them to have as long as they need.” Margaery’s expression was one of understanding. She better than anyone knew exactly what Daenerys was feeling because her life mirrored Daenerys’s with Arya to a certain degree. The closeness emboldened Daenerys to say more than she would’ve otherwise. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for them to say farewell again.” 

“I know, but this isn’t like the last time. They’ll keep in touch. I’ve even been talking to Sansa about visiting the capital.” 

“Please let her know she’d be welcome anytime, as you are.” 

Margaery hugged her friend. “I’m in your debt,” she whispered in the Princess’s ear, “you’ve made the woman I love very happy.” 

Daenerys smiled. That worked both ways. It gave her comfort to know she had an ally to help her protect and assist the surviving Starks. Margaery had always been a friend, but now she felt more like family. 

R-C

She was on her way to the yard. The Unsullied had begun marching and the stablemaster had the horses ready for Daenerys, Missandei, Arya and Grey Worm. All she had left to do was to get the Princess herself. 

She was a bit surprised to see Margaery Tyrell lingering just inside the door. Arya would have thought she’d be with the rest of her family saying goodbye to Daenerys. “Is something the matter?” she asked when she got close enough. If she hadn’t just seen Sansa minutes before, she might’ve allowed herself to think something had happened to her. 

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said. She guided Arya to a place where they could speak quietly. “You coming here, it’s made a dramatic change in Sansa, and I’m grateful.”

“As am I,” Arya replied. “All the years we were apart, I worried about her. I wondered if she was happy, if she was safe, I never could have imagined what I found. She is happy and she is protected and it’s in no small part because of you.” 

“I regret nothing,” Margaery said confidently, “I love your sister very much, I would do anything for her.” 

Arya had concluded as much after watching them together, but it was nice to be reassured. “I know, which is why I know I don’t need to worry about her anymore.” 

Margaery looked as if she was debating what she might say next. When she finally spoke, she said, “I hope you know, you can visit any time you like. I’d welcome the company and I know Sansa would as well, even if she won’t admit it.” 

It impressed her how well Margaery knew the Northerner. Most people never got past the harsh, tough exterior. They thought Sansa a snob, rude or cold, but that was only because they didn’t take the time to learn what was inside, buried deep. Margaery definitely had. 

“You’ll see me again,” she predicted. “When I spoke to Sansa, I told her that if she was ever in trouble, she could call on me for help, but…”

“But you worry she won’t actually ask, no matter how dire the situation?” Margaery guessed. 

One more time Margaery proved worthy of her sister. “Exactly. I was hoping that in the event she needs me, that you might make contact on her behalf?” She liked Margaery and thought she was a good match for Sansa, but still felt awkward requesting a favor. Sansa’s habit of not asking for help was one Arya shared, so it was difficult to ask for such a meaningful favor from a woman she’d known such a short length of time. 

“I understand, and you don’t need to worry. If Sansa needs anything, I’ll help her, if I can’t, or if we need your particular talents, I’ll send a raven to King’s Landing, Sunspear or wherever else you are.”

Relief surged through her. “I’ll be in King’s Landing,” she said emphatically. “I plan to extend my stay in the capital indefinitely.” 

With a knowing smile Margaery nodded. “That’s great. I know Daenerys will be happy to hear that, and Sansa will enjoy having you nearby as well.”

“Thank you again, m’lady,” Arya said formally, “for everything.” 

“Likewise,” she replied. Together they walked to where the Princess was. Arya was surprised to see familiar red hair standing next to the Dragon. Beside her Margaery was equally taken aback, she hadn’t known it would happen either. 

R-C

“May I speak with you, Princess?”

Daenerys turned and sought out the soft voice. Sansa Stark was standing there, wearing a beautiful red dress that Daenerys didn’t doubt she made personally. “Of course.”

When Sansa came close, Missandei left, to give them privacy. “I’ll meet you in the stables,” she said before she smiled warmly at Arya’s sister. 

“We’ll meet you there soon,” she said to her handmaiden. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make your friend leave,” Sansa said, avoiding Daenerys’s eye. 

“You didn’t, she was already planning to head that way,” Daenerys exaggerated. “Is there a problem?” She thought of Arya then, was Sansa going to request her sister be permitted to stay? 

“No, I just, well I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Alright then, if it’s in my power, I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Please take care of Arya,” she said in a rush. “She’d be furious if she knew I was asking this of you, but I can’t help myself. I mourned her once, believing she was dead and that was bad enough. If I lost her again, after getting her back, I know this time would be worse.” 

She reached out and put a comforting hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I understand.” She did understand, why Sansa was worried, and why she needed reassurance. It struck her how similar the circumstances were between Sansa’s request now and the one Oberyn had for her before they left Dorne. She’d agreed to protect Arya then, and she’d do the same now. Her feelings were deeper, any harm that came to Arya would hurt Daenerys too. “I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe,” she pledged. 

“Thank you,” she said after exhaling, sounding like she meant it, “and thank you for giving her the choice to stay. I know she didn’t want it, but it means a lot to me that you offered.” 

“I love her, I’d let her go, if it would make her happy.”

“I want her to be happy too, which is why she should go with you.” 

The concession Sansa was providing was nothing short of monumental. Almost the entire time Daenerys had been at Highgarden Sansa was suspicious, distant or downright furious, but it seemed they had finally found some common ground. “I’ll take care of her.” 

R-C

“Ready to go home?” Arya asked as they sat on their horses, side by side. It was a nice day with big fluffy clouds far enough apart to show lots of clear blue sky in between. 

“Would you think me horrible if I said ‘no?’” Daenerys asked as her face heated up and her cheeks changed color before Arya’s eyes. 

“No, I’d think you truthfully,” Arya supplied, “and when we’re alone, that’s what I want. I want to hear how you really feel.” 

“I love you,” Daenerys responded, “that’s how I feel.”

Arya smiled, she still hadn’t gotten used to hearing someone say that to her, least of all a woman like Daenerys Targaryen. “I love you too, now can we go, people are waiting?”

“We can go,” Daenerys allowed, and they both began walking their horses down the road, “but where we’re going doesn’t feel like home.” 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I hope the quick post will make up for the relatively short chapter. This marks the end of the Highgarden portion of the story but it won't be the last we see of the characters from the Reach. Time to get the girls back to King's Landing, where trouble surely awaits.


	42. Chapter 42

They hadn’t gone far, if she looked back over her shoulder, she would still be able to see Highgarden in the distance. In front were the tracks of the Unsullied they sent ahead. Arya needed to get this off her chest before they met up with the larger group. “I’m sorry,” she said, hoping the Princess could tell how sincerely she meant it. 

Daenerys had been smiling, but her attractive features contorted when Arya’s apology reached her ears. “For what?”

“The trip to Highgarden was supposed to be for you, so you could get away from the Red Keep and travel. We barely left the castle after we arrived and that is my fault. I’m sorry.” 

Shifting in her saddle slightly she reached out and offered her hand to her consort. Arya took it. “I thoroughly enjoyed our time in Highgarden, and although we didn’t do much exploring, I wouldn’t change a minute of it. Giving you and Sansa the chance to spend time together was preferable to roaming across the Reach. I don’t accept your apology, because there is nothing to apologize for. I had a great time.” 

Her life had taught her one harsh lesson over and over again – it was dangerous to hope. After what happened to her family, and the welcome she received in Sunspear, she came to realize the world wouldn’t bend to her will simply because she wanted something. She internalized that truth and took it to heart, learning to be independent. Relying on others would only weaken her position. If she expected something, and it didn’t come to pass, she’d be the one left vulnerable. Determined to avoid that, she became entirely self-reliant. Even after she met Oberyn and forged a friendship with him, her opinions didn’t change. The Viper was an exception to the rule, not a reason to discard it. 

She believed in her philosophy deeply, which was why she was unprepared for the words she heard come out of her mouth. “Next time,” Arya proposed, “I’ll ask Margaery for some recommendations and I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” She didn’t know what the future would bring, so she should’ve been hesitant to assume that she and Daenerys would make a return trip to Highgarden, yet she just couldn’t help herself. 

“That sounds great,” Daenerys responded happily, “I bet she and your sister would love to join us. They could be our guides, showing us around their home, like you did when you escorted me around Sunspear.” 

She smiled fondly at the memories. She had enjoyed their time together just as much as the Dragon had. “We should probably pick up the pace,” Arya suggested. “We don’t want the Unsullied to get too far ahead.” 

Daenerys raised their joined hands to her lips, dropping a kiss on Arya’s scarred knuckles. “You’re right,” she agreed before releasing her. No longer bound together their horses instinctively took steps to widen the divide between them. “How about a race?”

Ary6a felt it necessary to verify she heard that correctly. “A race?”

“Try and keep up!” she yelled backward. It didn’t escape Arya’s notice that Daenerys saved her quip for when her horse was already galloping, several lengths ahead of her stationary opposition. 

Not the sort to refuse a challenge, Arya coaxed her horse into action. “Come on,” she said as she began bouncing in the saddle, “if she wins, I’ll never hear the end of it!” 

R-C

She felt the breeze on her back as the flap of the tent moved, announcing someone’s arrival. Daenerys didn’t look up from the book she was studying, assuming that it was Arya coming to check on her. 

“You know,” Missandei said from right over her shoulder, “when I bought you that book, I didn’t think the map you’d focus on would be so close to King’s Landing.” 

She turned to greet her handmaiden and found her bringing tea for the busy Princess. “I’ll dream about my travels later,” she said taking the offered cup. “Now, I need to see who is likely to support us.” 

“Support you in what?” she wondered, taking a seat across from Daenerys. 

“Rhaegar,” she said in explanation. She averted her eyes, feeling shy despite knowing what she and her brother were planning was not only necessary, it was right. “He is gathering allies to replace my father.”

“He is?”

“The Tyrells are with us. The Reach will recognize Rhaegar’s claim to the throne.” 

“And you’re okay with this?” Missandei checked carefully. 

“It needs to happen. My father is sick, and he should not be permitted to rule. His illness controls him and everyday he sits on the throne innocent, hardworking men and women are in danger It can’t be allowed to continue.” 

“And the Prince asked for your help?”

“It was my idea actually,” she recalled, “but Rhaegar agrees with me. Things can’t remain as they are, we know that, and he can’t do what needs to be done without help, so I’m doing my part.” 

“You’re doing what!?” Arya’s furious voice reached her before the woman’s body. “Please tell me I heard that wrong.” 

Her anger was unexpected. Daenerys took a moment to try and trace it back to its source, but she was unsuccessful. “You of all people understand why my father shouldn’t be King. You said it yourself, no King is better than a bad one.” 

Arya remained defiant. “That doesn’t mean you should participate!” She moved tp Daenerys’s chair and took her hand. “Don’t do this.” 

She tried again to comprehend the reason for Arya’s anger as she felt the familiar callouses against her palm. Arya’s logic remained elusive, so she came at the problem from another angle, trying to show Arya why she got involved. “It’s the right thing to do, and I’m not doing much, just supporting my brother. The hard work, that’s all for Rhaegar.” 

Arya scoffed, dropping Daenerys’s hand as though it burned. With a frustrated huff she pushed a hand through her dark hail, pulling on the strands as she spoke, “Do you tire of living, is that it?”

“I’m not going to die. Arya calm down, Rhaegar isn’t going to move forward until he has the support oe Small Council and most of the court.” 

“You aren’t going to die?!” she repeated bitterly. “My father thought the same thing. What you’re doing is the same crime he was executed for. He agreed to help Robert replace the King, like you’re assisting Rhaegar.”

A weight lifted when she understood what was causing Arya’s unrest, but it was short-lived. Daenerys struggled with how to proceed. Arya’s worry came from a good place, Daenerys could hardly fault her for that. She wasn’t wrong either, there were similarities between Ned Stark’s alleged crimes and the path Daenerys was charting, but there were drastic differences too. Rhaegar and Daenerys were Aerys’s children. They weren’t trying to usurp him, only replace a father with his son. “My father wouldn’t hurt me,” she said hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. Intellectually she was confident that was the right thing to say to counter Arya’s argument, but in her heart, she knew her father’s love was conditional and dependant on his illness. 

With a humorless laugh Arya shook her head. “You are too smart to actually believe that.” 

Realizing they were at an impasse Missandei tried to mediate a truce. “Arya,” she said, “Daenerys knows her father far better than you or I. I agree she should be careful, but it’s her decision to make.” 

So much more articulate than the Princess she served, the former translator made Daenerys’s point perfectly, as if they’d discussed it beforehand. She allowed herself to hope Arya would be swayed. She should have known better. 

“Do what you want,” Arya barked on her way out. She left two incredibly stunned women in her wake. 

“Wait!” Daenerys tried, but she was too late. 

R-C

Arya kept walking until the camp was just a spot on the horizon. What was wrong with her? Since the day most of her family died Arya had been asking the Old Gods to bring her vengeance to the Mad King. There was a time not long ago when she would have thought any risk, any cost worth paying if it meant Aerys was no longer King. How many nights had she dreamt of plunging her sword into his chest and watching the life dim behind his eyes? Suddenly she didn’t care if Aerys ruled the next hundred years, as long as Daenerys was safe. 

Her reaction to Daenerys’s admission was born out of fear. He may be the father of the woman Arya loved, but underneath that Aerys was dangerous. He nearly killed her multiple times, and despite all she suffered at his hands, Arya was one of the lucky few. She lived while many more died, the innocent and the guilty alike. It wasn’t hard to imagine Daenerys becoming the next in that very long line. Her lover’s weak assurances aside, Arya’s concerns remained. Aerys didn’t retain his power all these years by being accommodating, generous or kind. In order to stay on the throne, he needed to be merciless and unrelenting. If he learned Daenerys had taken part in a plot against him, daughter or not, she’d be sacrificed to appease the voices in his head and that thought froze Arya’s blood in her veins. 

Feeling the need to break something she drew her sword and took a hard swing at the nearest tree. The steel stopped several inches into the trunk. She planted her boot firmly on the bark and then pulled her weapon free. As soon as she had it, she swung again, and again. 

She should be encouraging Daenerys to go ahead with her scheme. Few wanted the King gone more than Arya and yet she hesitated to act. She should be eager to help, to play some part in the bastard’s downfall, but she couldn’t shake the idea that it would end with Daenerys lying dead in the same spot her mother took her last breath. 

She didn’t trust Rhaegar. Whether he kidnapped Lyanna or they ran away together, his actions set in motion a war that he did obscenely little to stop. Countless men on both sides lost their lives and he could have prevented it all by telling the truth. Daenerys might believe in him, but Arya wouldn’t put her faith in a man like that. Her time in the capital had taught her a lot about the inner workings of the royal family. Her parents may have insisted they didn’t have a favorite child but Aerys Targaryen made no secret of his. If they were discovered it was unlikely Rhaegar would be punished, but Daenerys wouldn’t enjoy the same protection. When it was her neck on the chopping block, Arya didn’t think the King would hesitate to give the order. That was quite a risk to take on the assumption that Rhaegar would follow through. He’d had years since the rebellion to seize the throne and he’s done nothing as his father, lost to his madness killed and burned more and more people. What changed? What made the Crown Prince a person worth believing in? 

She swung her sword. Why did Daenerys have to be so damn stubborn? With both hands on the weapon she thrust it into the center of the trunk, where the heart would be on a man. Why couldn’t she see how dangerous this was? Next, a fluid stroke lopped off a low hanging branch at its thickest point, proving Valyrian steel was worthy of the reputation it held. Why not leave the politics to others and stay out of it, where it was safe? 

The questions kept coming and she answered each one with a swing of her sword. She wouldn’t wander back in the direction of the camp until either the tree was reduced to kindling, or she was too tired to raise her arm for another strike.

R-C

Her tea went cold before she took a sip. Daenerys forgot it in the tent and walked the length of the camp end to end instead. She was looking for Arya and had little patience for anything else, but the Gods taunted her by choosing then to bring forward a whole host of people eager to talk to her. Several people asked her opinion on her time in Highgarden before Tyrion appeared to take his turn. She made it through a conversation with the Master of Coins without being too rude or dismissive, but when he stepped aside and Daario approached Daenerys knew her restraint was gone. Why did they keep doing this? Why wasn’t he back in Essos fucking and killing his way to a mended heart? 

“Hey there,” he greeted her, working to sound casual, as if he hadn’t been waiting in line for his chance to bother her. 

She gave him only a fraction of her attention, peeking around his tall, muscular frame for any glimpses of dark hair and grey eyes. “Hello.”

“Do you think we can talk now?” he asked. She wondered if he was oblivious to her tension or just unbothered by it. Every second felt like an eternity. She needed to find Arya, not waste precious minutes reliving her history with Daario. 

“I suppose so,” she supplied without enthusiasm. 

“I know you didn’t want to talk at Highgarden, and I get it, but it’s safe now, we’re miles away, we don’t need to worry about who is listening anymore.” 

That wasn’t quite how she remembered it. She crossed her arms and tried to refrain from counting the seconds he was delaying her. “I was more than willing to talk to you, at Highgarden or anywhere else as long as the topic you wish to discuss is not you and I.” 

“Daenerys,” he uttered softly, extending a hand to touch her.

She stepped back to make her wishes clear. “We can’t keep doing this and I don’t know why you insist upon it.” 

“Doing what?” he fired back, growing agitated, likely by her unwillingness to change her mind. 

“Fighting for something that is already over. Go back to Essos, live your life, forget all about me. What we had is finished.” 

“Don’t do that!” he resisted. “Don’t just snap your fingers and tell me what to feel. This can’t be it, it just can’t be.” 

On any other day the pain she heard behind his anger and the hurt in his eyes might’ve caused her to provide comfort, but all her sympathy was being spent on Arya. All Daenerys wanted was to get this over with so she could find Arya and make sure the guard was okay. “Why not, because you say so? You don’t get to give me orders, about who I love or anything else!” 

“That’s not… you didn’t even give me a reason. You can’t end it without telling me why.” 

She sighed. “I did tell you why Daario, repeatedly, you just didn’t like what I had to say so you…”

“No, not that crap about you not wanting it anymore or whatever, that’s horseshit and we both know it. So, go on, tell me the real reason you don’t want to be with me.” 

Thinking clearly, she might’ve made a different decision, but in that moment, with her worries plaguing her and the minutes she’d been apart from Arya piling up, she told him the one thing she’d been reluctant to admit In the past. Selfishly she hoped the truth would end their dispute once and for all. “I’m in love with someone else!” she told him plainly. “There you have it, you know the reason, are you prepared to let this matter rest?”

He was stunned, the highly trained mercenary appeared unsteady and ill. His face was deathly white, and his mouth hung open. “You… you love someone else.” 

“Yes, and I’m sorry that saying so hurts you, but it’s the truth.” She let that sink in before she continued. “Now I hope you understand why we can’t be together. I meant what I said, you should return to Essos, to your old life. Go, I’ll release you and your Second Sons from any obligation to the Crown.”

Daario didn’t seem to be listening and then all at once he returned to himself. He stood straighter corrected his expression and was back to the brash, cocky sell-sword Daenerys had come to know. “Who is it? Who?” While he waited for an answer Daenerys had no intention of giving, he reached a conclusion on his own. “Don’t tell me it’s that scrawny Loras?!” He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “You can’t be serious. He’s…”

“One of the greatest swordsmen in the Realm, Daenerys told him. He was wrong of course. It wasn’t because of Loras that they weren’t together, but if he wanted to believe that. she wouldn’t stop him. In truth, it was preferable. 

“He wouldn’t last five minutes in the Pits,” Daario predicted. “I could kill him with my sword arm tied behind my back.” 

How typical for him to assume their problems could be fixed with brute force. As if all that was needed to win her back was for Daario to display his prowess on the battlefield. Daenerys was unimpressed. He didn’t know Loras but was quick to belittle him and his abilities in a feeble attempt to shake Daenerys’s belief in him. It was a transparent effort to restore his own ego. Whatever his motives Daenerys couldn’t devote anymore time to them, she’d given him too much already. “You’ll leave Loras and everyone else I care about alone,” Daenerys commanded. “You can be angry but be angry at me. I’m the one who chose someone else.” She used a hard glare to try and covey how serious she was. She wouldn’t tolerate Daario trying to rebuild his pride by taking his hurt feelings out on everyone around her. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said pointedly, “I need to finish what I was doinag.” 

He may have called after her or maybe not, either way Daenerys didn’t slow. She ran into Missandei next. The grim look on the handmaiden’s face warned that the news she carried wouldn’t be what Daenerys wanted to hear. “How bad is it?” she asked when they were close enough, intending to determine just how worried she needed to be. Daenerys had never seen Arya that upset before and certainly not at her. She wasn’t sure the proper way to get them back to where they’d been. 

“I checked with Grey Worm, he hasn’t seen her, and he’s been on the Eastern border of the camp for the past hour.” 

Daenerys nodded along but said nothing. There had to be more. “And?” she prompted when the rest wasn’t forthcoming. 

“Her horse is still tied up with the others,” Missandei announced sadly. 

Her horse. What did that mean? Was Arya close enough to not need it or did she leave it behind because she didn’t know it was hers? “Are you sure?”

“I went to check myself,” Missandei assured her. “We’ll find her, don’t worry.” 

Were it anybody else, the presence of the horse would have signaled that they were nearby. After all, what rational person would abandon their camp in the middle of the night and leave their stallion behind? However, this was Arya they wee talking about, walking away with nothing sounded precisely like her. She’d walk for hours, until her feet bled, if necessary. If the first town didn’t meet her needs, she’d walk to the second or the third, fueled by her anger. 

It was like the wind had been knocked from her lungs. Breathing became a chore but she did all she could to push past it. She needed to focus. Now was not the time to break down and cry, she could that later. First, she needed to find Arya. “You go that way,” she instructed, pointing which way she meant. “I’ll go this way. Spread the word among the Unsullied that they should be on the lookout.”

“I will,” she pledged. Before they parted, Missandei left her friend with one final thought. “We will find her.”

“I know,” she replied honestly. They’d find Arya because Daenerys wouldn’t stop searching until they did. 

Daenerys wasn’t the religious sort. Most of 1the people around her worshipped the Seven, but they were hardly the world’s only Gods. Who was to say which God was right? It wasn’t that Daenerys didn’t believe in a higher power, the world was too incredible, too intricate to be created without one, Daenerys’s doubt entered in when she was required to believe that the Gods, any of them, cared about her. What had the Seven ever done for her? The Realm teetered on the brink of chaos! If they cared, surely they’d have chosen another King, someone not tormented by madness, someone other than her father.

She wasn’t sure it would do any good, as a matter of fact she was almost certain it wouldn’t, but she was running out of options. Arya had been gone for more than an hour. If they didn’t find her soon, she feared they never would, so she resorted to prayer. Unsure of what to do, she clasped her hands and looked up to the sky. “They say you see all, that you’re merciful,” she began, feeling utterly foolish, “if that’s true, then you know I can’t survive without Arya. I need your mercy now. Send her back to me, please.” 

Nothing happened, so Daenerys went back to her aimless searching of the camp. It was on her next pass that Missandei came hurrying over. “Princess, I think I have something.”

Stunned silent, Daenerys just stared for a moment. “What is it?” she eventually asked her friend. 

“One of the scouts returned, he claims he saw Arya leave the camp and head North.”

“Why didn’t he say anything!?” she demanded to know. 

“He was on patrol,” she said in defense of the soldier, “he didn’t know anyone was looking for her until he was relieved and returned to camp.”

Daenerys nodded in understanding. One of Grey Worm’s men just happened to be walking by, Daenerys grasped his arm to stop him. “Ready our horses,” she instructed. 

“What will we do?” Missandei wondered. 

“We are going to bring her back,” she announced, “but first, we need to find Grey Worm. If I reunite with Arya without guards protecting me, she’ll be even angrier than she was when she left.” 

Missandei laughed. “Come then, I know where he is.” 

Daenerys went with her. Maybe she’d been wrong, maybe the Gods did have compassion for the mortals they watched over. “Thank you,” she whispered to whichever God cared enough to answer her. 

R-C

The tree was a mess, branches had been hacked off, chunks of the trunk were missing, and layers of bark were shaved off. Arya was readying her next attack when the sound of rapidly approaching horses gave her pause. She sucked in a deep breath and turned sword in hand to greet whoever had come. 

She recognized the horse before the woman riding him. Her feet carried her in their direction without permission. The Targaryen dismounted before her mount came to a full stop. In such a hurry she wobbled a bit, causing Arya’s empty right hand to flash out to help steady her. “What’s wrong?” she asked, as her eyes swept every inch of Daenerys’s body looking for damage. If the Princess came to harm while Arya was off releasing her frustrations, she’d never forgive herself. 

“Are you alright?” Daenerys asked. A soft hand touched Arya’s cheek. “What are you doing out here?” She didn’t give her the chance to reply. “Were you leaving?”

Still breathing heavy from her exercise, it took her a moment to comprehend what Daenerys was asking. “Leaving? I was…”

“I’m sorry,” she said, interrupting Arya’s explanation. “We can talk about it, we can fix it, just please don’t go.” 

Daenerys’s plea tore at her heart. Instinctively she dropped her expensive sword and wrapped her arms around Daenerys. “I’m not leaving,” she whispered in her lover’s ear. “I’m not leaving you, trust me.”

Her entire body sagged with relief in the prison of Arya’s arms. “I… I … I didn’t…”

“Shh, it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” She held Daenerys a little tighter. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

The Dragon’s voice was practically unrecognizable with so much fear and uncertainty running through it. It didn’t sound like the Daenerys she’d come to know at all. “I was just…” she paused briefly to think about her choice of words. She decided on the truth in an effort to calm Daenerys by confirming she was indeed planning to return. “I was angry, so I came out here to let it out. I was almost done.” 

“I should have told you,” Daenerys said without releasing her hold on Arya. “I didn’t mean…”

Being reminded of the reason she’d needed space reignited her anger, but it didn’t burn as hot. Her -concern was Daenerys. “I just want you to be safe. Plotting against your father is dangerous.” 

She leaned back just enough to look into Arya’s eyes, giving the Stark a clear view of how serious she was. “Does the common man living under my father’s reign risk less?” she asked bluntly. “For too long I’ve done nothing. I won’t be the obedient, silent Princess anymore, I won’t ignore what’s right in front of me.” 

Moving her worries to the side for the time being, Arya couldn’t deny that she was more than a little proud of Daenerys and her commitment. She couldn’t fault Daenerys or anyone else for wanting to get rid of the Mad King, Arya had wanted that for most of her life. She also knew changing the Princess’s mind would be damn near impossible. She was too stubborn to be moved by anything Arya had to say. She saw only one solution, one way to ensure Daenerys was protected. “I understand,” she relented, before finally ending their embrace. “I understand why you’re doing it, and I agree, it needs to be done.” 

“But?” Daenerys pushed. She seemed to sense that it wouldn’t be quite so easy. 

“But I love you and the risks are real,” Arya said. “Whatever we do, we do together, so if you want to help Rhaegar become King, then so do I.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but it was much more agreeable than seeing Daenerys executed. Joining forces with Rhaegar went against everything she’d been taught, but she reasoned helping Daenerys was more important. 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Daenerys replied immediately after hearing Arya’s offer. “If we get caught…”

She knew exactly what would happen if the King discovered what they were doing. “If we get caught,” Arya told her, “I’d rather be standing beside you than watching from the my spot against the wall. Good or bad, I’m with you.” 

Daenerys took her hand. “You don’t have to do this. I appreciate that you’re willing, but this is my choice.”

“It is,” Arya confirmed, “and mine is to follow you.” 

“I love you,” Daenerys said before leaning toward her for a kiss. 

Arya obliged. When the kiss was over, she told Daenerys the only thing that truly mattered. “I love you too.”

R-C

They were less than two days from King’s Landing and Daenerys was sorely tempted to slow everybody down. She didn’t want to get back to the capital too quickly, or at all, for that matter. 

She was riding between Missandei and Arya, enjoying easy, friendly conversations in two languages. She and Missandei conversed in High Valyrian, while she and Arya used the common tongue. Instead of finding the constant switching annoying or troublesome, Daenerys was amused. Arya had little to say except asking what they were discussing each time the Princess laughed too loud or smiled too bright. More than once Arya was the answer to the question she was asking. 

Missandei suggested they speak in a way Arya could understand, but Daenerys declined. She wasn’t trying to hide what they were saying, rather she just enjoyed Arya’s reaction to learning she was such a frequent topic. She also never failed to find it amusing when Arya eagerly asked, “What did she say? You were smiling? What are you talking about?” Seeing Arya so carefree, so childlike was a rare treat she fully intended to make the most of. If she and Missandei used only the common tongue those questions would cease, and Daenerys would miss them. 

When Daario came riding hard in their direction, she anticipated the worst. She wasn’t alone either, Arya moved ahead of Daenerys and angled her horse into the sell-sword’s path. On the opposite side Missandei met her eye and passed along a concerned message. Daenerys shared her worry. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, hoping he’d come for more than just another fight. 

Daario’s horse stopped in front of Daenerys, causing her to stop and with her, everyone else. “I was riding with the scouts you sent ahead, the road is blocked.” 

It was obvious those words meant more to him than they did her. He was serious, typically a condition that only befell him when danger was near, but she failed to see how a few travellers obstructing the road were worthy of such a reaction. “It’s fine,” she assured him, “we’ll go around them.”

He nodded and was in the process of turning his horse when Arya spoke out. “Wait!” she instructed. 

Daario looked to her for confirmation, so she held up a hand and gestured for him to stay, then she addressed her lover. “What is it?” 

“How many?” Arya asked. A reasonable question, but one that didn’t seem important to Daenerys. Whether it was one or a hundred, they were blocking the road and Daenerys and her group would need to go around. 

“Ten and a wagon,” Daario responded. 

She pictured a broken wagon and felt sympathy for the travellers stuck between where they started and where they were going. “Take some of the Unsullied and see if you can help them,” the Princess directed. 

For a second time Daario was leaving before Arya stopped him in his tracks. “Not yet!”

“What’s wrong, Arya?” 

“We don’t know enough about them,” she justified. 

“What’s to know?” she asked. “They’re stuck and in need of aid.”

“Maybe,” Arya allowed, “or maybe they only look helpless.” 

“What are you saying?” They had dozens of warriors with them. What hope did ten men have against so many Unsullied? the stragglers were not a threat regardless of their intent. 

“Did you see weapons?” Arya asked Daario. 

“Most were armed,” he noted. “The only ones without swords were an older man and woman.” He stopped briefly before finishing, “If I had to guess I’d say they’re travellers and the men are their guards.” 

“How many in your scouting party?”

“Fifteen Unsullied and me.”

Arya nodded. Daenerys watched the exchange, unable to look away, afraid to blink. She realized then that while everyone was looking to her for answers, she didn’t even know the right questions to ask. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to get people killed. 

“Daario,” she said, “go back to the scouts and tell them to keep watch. Do not make contact until you receive the order from me.” 

“Consider it done,” he said, smiling at her before he left. This time no one stopped him. 

“What are you thinking?” Arya asked her. 

She was thinking that she was woefully unprepared for this, but she was smart and surrounded by good people. “Missandei, can you go and get Grey Worm please, and I’ll need to speak with Tyrion as well.” 

“Right away.” 

Once Missandei had gone, Arya expected her instructions to follow. “What would you have me do?”

“Stay with me,” she said, reaching across the space between them and setting her hand on Arya’s arm. She seemed to need the connection, exhaling deeply once they were touching. 

“What are you doing? We can’t stay here forever.”

“Not forever, just long enough for me to hear from my advisors.”

“Advisors?”

“You, Missandei, Grey Worm and Tyrion, you’ll know what to do. I don’t, but the four of you will.” 

“You’re doing fine,” Arya reassured her. 

“I’m not,” she snapped unfairly. “I never considered that it could be a trap. If not for you I would have fallen right in.”

“I could be wrong,” Arya supplied, “maybe you’re right.” 

“Maybe.” 

Whatever Arya might’ve said next was interrupted by Missandei returning with both Grey Worm and Tyrion Lannister right behind. She dismounted her horse, causing Arya to do the same. “Make camp,” she said to the soldiers immediately behind her, “and double the perimeter guards, I don’t want any surprises.”

They obeyed without question. Daenerys approached her friends but waited until her heart stopped racing to get them started. “I need your help.” 

R-C

“Why did we stop?” Tyrion asked when they were all together. 

There was nothing formal about it, they didn’t even have a table to sit around but these were the people she trusted most. If she was going to make a wise decision, she’d need them. 

“The road ahead is blocked.”

“Okay,” the Lannister said, “and?”

“And I need to choose how to handle this, but I’ve spent most of my life in a castle with remarkedly little authority despite being royalty, I need your counsel to see the best course,” she admitted without shame. She looked at the faces around her, Grey Worm was as stoic as he always was, beside him Missandei was sympathetic. Arya met her eye with a reassuring smile, giving her the strength to see this through, and finally Tyrion, who had been skeptical when she summoned him was thoughtful. “My instinct was to provide aid, but Arya rightly pointed out that they might prove dangerous.” 

“They need help?” Tyrion inquired. 

“The scouts say they are stopped in the middle of the road.” Since Tyrion was the only one asking questions, she posed her inquiry to him first. “What would you recommend?”

“It’s possible you were right,” he said, “but it’s not a certainty. We’ve been at Highgarden for days, that’s more than enough time for word to leak out of the Red Keep. Any number of people could know not only where you’d gone but when you were expected back.” 

“You think they mean me harm?” She had come to see the wisdom in Arya’s caution, but thought them only potential bandits. She never considered they’d be looking for her specifically. It was more evidence that her life to this point hadn’t prepared her properly. Nothing in the copious amounts of lessons she was required to attend informed her of what to do in such a situation. 

“It’s possible,” he said, taking care not to unsettle her, “many oppose the King and kidnapping his daughter would not only fetch a high price, it’d also draw attention to their cause.” 

“Oh.” She should’ve known this was about her father. Not even her kidnapping could be solely about her, she wasn’t important enough to garner attention of her own. 

“You could be right,” Arya added quickly once she saw Daenerys’s reaction, “It’s my job to imagine the worst.” 

“Why do you think they are bandits?” Tyrion asked of Arya. 

“I’m not sure,” she acknowledged, “but most are armed, it has me wary.”

“No matter how many they have we surely have more. I’d send a force of Unsullied to find out which of you is right.”

“We do Princess,” Grey Worm confirmed, “if you wish it, I will lead them.” 

Daenerys didn’t miss the worried expression Missandei wore when he said that. “What do you think?” she asked her dearest friend.

“Protecting you is most important,” she said, causing Arya to nod in agreement. “A large group of Unsullied could learn the truth without being vulnerable to attack. They could also assist the travellers if they truly are stranded.” 

The only person she’d yet to hear from was Arya, but Daenerys already knew what her lover would say. “You wish to join the scouts?” she guessed. 

“My place is with you. I’ll gladly investigate, but you need to be protected as well.”

“I’m in no danger here,” she contended seriously. The threat if there was one, was further up the road. 

“It may be designed to make us think that,” Arya opined, “if it were, they’d attack from the way we came, someone needs to stay with you, if not me, then Grey Worm.”

She didn’t think that was likely, but she wouldn’t chastise Arya for taking her duties seriously, as she said, that was her job. The time had come for Daenerys to make a ruling. Her ‘advisors’ were in agreement. They recommended sending the Unsullied to deal with the problem but doing so in a heavy enough number that the armed men in the opposition wouldn’t dare attack. It made sense to her. It was a harder choice was deciding who would lead them. Regardless of what Arya said, Daenerys knew she wanted to go and discover the truth for herself, but the Princess was reluctant to let her, and not because she feared she wouldn’t be safe. She loved Arya and didn’t want her at risk. Greedily she wanted her close but keeping her there would require her to send Grey Worm to carry out her orders, and would mean Missandei would be worrying in her stead. That was very nearly just as unsettling. In the end she hoped a compromise would make up for what she had to do. “Grey Worm will take half his men up the road,” she said, emphasizing the amount. “That should scare them if they seek to harm us but prevent the Unsullied from being exposed needlessly.” She was speaking to Missandei now and the handmaiden nodded, as if she understood and agreed with the logic. Daenerys knew her too well to believe that, she saw the fear she was trying to conceal. It pushed her to make an additional request of the soldier. “Grey Worm, I want you to avoid violence if at all possible.” 

With a nod, he turned to go but not before sparing one last look at Missandei. Daenerys went to her friend and whispered an apology in High Valyrian, so no one other than Missandei would understand. Although she smiled slightly it did nothing to remove the haunted quality from her eyes. 

R-C

It was painful to see two people she cared so unhappy. Arya wanted to help, but nothing would right this wrong until Grey Worm and his men returned. 

Tyrion stayed with them and was trying to improve their moods with conversation and wine, he was having only limited success. Neither Missandei nor Daenerys would ignore him or demand he stop, but their answers were brief and emotionless. If Arya didn’t know what was really going on, she’d think the girls were making a game out of who could speak less. 

Missandei was restless. Moving about anxiously, unable to stay still. When she walked toward the camp, she had her head down, looking at the dirt between her feet. It was the different when she went the opposite direction. When she was facing the way Grey Worm had gone, her head was up, her eyes sweeping the terrain for any sign of a returning soldier. Arya felt empathy for the young slave. When she was a girl, before she was fostered, and before she was trained, she felt that same unease each time her father rode off with her brothers. In Arya’s case she was also jealous, but concern was mixed in to. How could she help, if she wasn’t there? What if something happened? On those days she’d spend time with her mother and do her very best to be the daughter Catelyn Stark wanted her to be, because Arya knew that she wasn’t the only one bothered by the absences. Her mother would barely sleep when her father wasn’t in bed next to her. 

Daenerys wasn’t doing much better than her handmaiden. It had been her decision that sent Grey Worm and his men into what could be danger and if something happened, it would affect her. It wouldn’t matter to Daenerys that she had made the right choice, the one all of her advisors agreed on, including Missandei. If it went bad, Daenerys would take all the blame. She met Missandei’s eye bravely each time she neared where Daenerys was waiting. Both women were trying, Daenerys to apologize, Missandei to forgive, it was obvious they both wanted this behind them, but they didn’t know how to get there. Daenerys’s hands were shaking, Arya guessed she wanted to go to her friend and comfort her but resisted the instinct since in the Princess’s mind this was all her doing. 

A good friend would tell Missandei that Grey Worm cared about her and that he was too skilled a soldier to let a couple of bandits get the better of him. A good lover would remind Daenerys that none of this was her fault. She made a difficult decision for the good of her people, that was the mark of a just leader and a good Princess. Arya did neither because she wasn’t with them, she was standing at the treeline looking out. She’d been well trained, and that education wouldn’t let her go and mend frayed feelings when there was a possible threat. Attacking from behind while half the Unsullied were elsewhere would be exactly the sort of thing a group of bandits might devise to get close to the Targaryen. Her hand twitched against her hip, resting near her sword. Any man who came for Daenerys would need to go through her. If they tried it, Arya was determined to ensure they regretted that choice before they died. 

Missandei gasped and Arya on edge spun toward the sound already pulling upward to free her blade. It was not necessary. “They’re back!” Daenerys shouted.

They were small shapes in the distance, growing bigger with every step. Arya relaxed and wandered toward the Princess and the slave. Any ambush would have taken place before the men on the road let the Unsullied leave. Perhaps Daenerys had been right and they were innocent.

She got to the others when Daenerys had Missandei in her arms. They were speaking privately, in Valyrian, so Arya tried to give them privacy by stepping away. It carried her closer to Tyrion. “All’s well that ends well,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. 

“Life is rarely that simple.”

“You really don’t think they were just travellers,” he asked her, “even now?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

Tyrion smiled, and then chuckled. “They’d be the luckiest bandits in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms,” he commented. “Block the road hoping for a trader and getting the Dragon Princess instead.” He shook his head and seemed to be considering something serious. “I don’t like coincidences.” 

“Me either,” Arya conceded, “we’ll know soon enough.” 

“She did good,” Tyrion said, turning his head and pointing out Daenerys with his eyes. “That was smart, rounding up her ‘advisors’ and hearing what they had to say.” 

“Yes, she did.” She was proud of Daenerys and how she’d handled this situation, but that was personal and private, for Tyrion she had something else. “This is her first taste of being in charge, I thought she’d take advantage of it and go with her gut instinct, but she didn’t. She wanted to send a handful of Unsullied ahead to clear the road. When I disagreed, I thought she was going to send them anyway but she stopped and considered the possibilities.” 

“You think any men she sent would’ve been killed?” Tyrion verified. 

“Or kidnapped, but I don’t believe they are there by accident.” 

“Let’s go see if you’re right,” he encouraged, waving his short arm toward the women. 

Missandei was standing next to Grey Worm, checking him over for injuries when Arya came to a stop next to Daenerys. “Are you okay?” she asked. 

Daenerys didn’t take her eyes off the reunion of the slaves, but she did respond. “I’ll be okay when I know they’re all safe. I sent them…”

Arya put a hand on her far shoulder and used it to turn her, so she had to look into Arya’s eyes. “You did what you had to do, to keep all of us safe. You sent highly trained soldiers into an uncertain situation, that’s their job. They don’t blame you for that.” 

“She does,” Daenerys said weakly. 

Although she didn’t specify who the ‘she’ was, Arya knew. “Missandei is a smart woman, she knows you did the right thing, she’s just a little tense from worrying about Grey Worm.” 

“I’d be worse if it were you,” she confessed. “I would have been frantic.” 

“Grey Worm is safe, Missandei is relieved, you should get started,” Arya advised. 

“With what?” 

Arya delayed before explaining, enjoying the cute, confused expression she saw. “Call your meeting back to order Princess, hear from your Commander what happened down on the road and then decide what’s next.” 

They separated then, Daenerys went to Grey Worm, and Arya to Missandei. It would have been reasonable to ask her questions and learn the truth of the blocked road, but Daenerys offered only a few whispered words in a foreign tongue before she hugged Grey Worm, obviously relieved he was okay. 

Arya watched the exchange with a smile while next to her Missandei did the same. “It’s not easy when he goes away,” she noted, “his life is a dangerous one, and there are always risks.” Missandei was giving the guard her full attention. With a solemn nod she encouraged Arya to finish. “I’ve been around men with swords all my life. Long before I was allowed to hold one myself, I’d swing a stick and pretend. I’d hide in the bushes and listen to what the Master at Arms was saying to my brothers. I would repeat the words over and over in my head, so it would be harder to forget them. I tried to replace every lesson I was forced to take with the things I wanted to know, about combat.” Arya took a breath and regained control of her emotions. They were coming more often since she began speaking of her family with Daenerys and Missandei. 

Sensing that she needed a moment to gather herself, Missandei replied. “I’d say you did well. You finished your training and are the best guard Daenerys has ever had.” 

She appreciated the kind words, but she hadn’t come to get complimented. There was something she wanted Missandei to know, something she hoped would help. “You can’t help how you feel Missandei, I wouldn’t dare try to tell you not to worry when he’s gone, but you should know he’s not like other soldiers.” 

“How do you mean?”

“Every man is different – I’ve seen peaceful men commit a massacre to defend their homes and I’ve known others who wouldn’t lift a finger until their wage was paid. When I first began training with Oberyn I wasn’t very good,” she said, downplaying how horrible it had actually been. “I was too angry, too wild to focus, so he sat me down and he said, ‘every soldier needs something to fight for, something that makes him willing to run toward the danger when everyone else goes away from it.’ He explained it could be anything, family, gold, or even a desire to be the best there ever was, but it had to be something.” 

“What did you find?”

Arya didn’t mind the question it was natural to wonder. “Revenge,” she admitted plainly, “for a long time what happened to my family motivated me to train harder and longer than the rest. 

“It worked,” Missandei said, complimenting her again. 

“It’s the same for the Unsullied. They need a reason to fight, something they choose, beyond being told it’s their purpose.” 

“They have it,” Missandei assured her almost immediately. “Many fight for one another, not the one holding their whip. Others want Grey Worm’s position, and some do it in the hopes they’ll survive long enough to taste freedom.”

She was impressed by how well Missandei understood the fighting men, but they could talk about that later. For now, she still had a point to make. “And what about Grey Worm, what’s his motivation?” 

“To be the best ever!” she declared 

Arya smiled. So smart and so clueless. “Maybe once,” she permitted, “just as my reason had been revenge but things change, even for people like us.” 

“I don’t…”

“Grey Worm fights for you, Missandei. You’re the reason he fights and you’re the reason he will do everything in his power to come home.” 

The handmaiden was uncertain. “N…no, he cares, but being Unsullied, nothing matters more to him than that.” 

“You do,” Arya insisted, “trust me.” This conversation hadn’t gone how she planned it. She had little practice comforting friends, but they’d ended up in the right place. She circled back to the beginning. “When he’s gone, it’s okay to worry, it’s natural, but just remember he’s one of the most talented warriors I’ve ever seen, and he uses every last one of those talents to try and make it back to you.” 

Brown eyes shined with tears, so Arya backed away, giving Missandei a moment to collect herself. “Arya!” she called, before the guard could retreat fully. 

“Yeah?” Rather than answer, she gestured for Arya to come closer, she went. “How is she?” 

They looked at Daenerys together, she was standing with Tyrion and Grey Worm, speaking quietly. The words were unknowable, but everyone appeared calm, a good sign. “She’s okay,” Arya said, “she’s just worried about you.” 

“I didn’t blame her,” Missandei said in a rush, “I know she only did what she had to.” 

“I know and Daenerys does too, it’ll just take a minute.” It was quiet for a moment before Arya asked, “Did he tell you what happened?”

“No, just that everyone was safe.” 

That wasn’t much, but it was something. She didn’t like the idea of Daenerys carrying a soldier’s death on her conscience. “Let’s finish this.” 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I almost cut this part out and jumped right back to King’s Landing, but I decided to leave it. This story is already obscenely long, another 20,000 words about the trip to the capital won’t change that. I hope no one minds. 
> 
> I wanted Daenerys to get a taste of leadership that went beyond the marriage negotiations. I figured it was a good measure of her progress. She’s come a long way since Chapter One. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	43. Chapter 43

Everyone was looking to her to start their ‘meeting,’ so she did. “No one’s hurt?” she verified. Grey Worm had told her everyone was unharmed, but she wanted everyone to know it, especially Missandei. 

“No Princess,” he said, “no fighting, like you said.” 

“Were they travellers?” Tyrion asked. 

“No,” the soldier replied stiffly. “No, they,” he paused, looking between Daenerys and Missandei before he said a word in Valyrian. 

The Targaryen gasped while Missandei translated for those that didn’t know the language. “Kidnapped.” 

Arya who had been standing at her side moved a bit closer before firing a question at Grey Worm. “Did they try to take any of your men?” 

“No, not for us,” he said. His eyes moved to Daenerys and he nodded. “For you.” 

Everyone’s reaction was different. Missandei took her hand in a show of support, Arya looked enraged, Tyrion thoughtful and Grey Worm saddened that he had to deliver such devastating information. 

“Are they dead?” Arya asked the fellow soldier. 

“No, still there. Unsullied watch.”

“Why didn’t you kill them?!” Arya yelled. “If they want to kidnap Daenerys, we ride down there and take their heads.” 

Although Arya was the one addressing him, Grey Worm directed his justification to the Princess. “You said no violence if possible, it was possible, so no violence.” 

She had said that, and she didn’t regret it. Missandei’s lover and all the Unsullied were back safe, that had to count for something. 

“What do we do now?” she asked the group. “Can we go around?”

“We could, but it would delay our return to the capital by several days,” Arya predicted. 

Daenerys wasn’t disappointed by the possibility they’d be late, but she’d been given a very strict timeline to adhere to. If her father was lucid when she got back, he’d understand it couldn’t be helped, but if he was in one of his moods, it would be impossible to guess what the outcome could be. If she angered him, the trip to Highgarden might be the last one she was ever permitted to take. If he held one of her friends responsible for the late arrival, they could be hurt or worse. It just didn’t seem worth the risk. 

Tyrion pulled her from her thoughts with a more immediate problem. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would they tell you they wanted to kidnap the Princess?” He shook his head and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “That’s idiotic.” 

“They must have a lot of men hiding,” Arya estimated as she picked up Tyrion’s point and carried it further. “They know we’ll be sending everyone we have at them now and they’ll be ready.” 

While Tyrion and Arya went back and forth debating the kidnappers unusual actions Grey Worm shook his head and began speaking in his native tongue. He was talking to Missandei, but it was loud enough for Daenerys to listen in without difficulty. 

The reason Tyrion and Arya couldn’t understand the kidnapper’s behavior was because they didn’t have all the facts. They only knew the parts Grey Worm could relay in the common tongue. “Wait!” Daenerys demanded, using her most authoritative voice, “Grey Worm has more to say he just didn’t know how.” She looked to her best friend, “Missandei could you translate please.” 

“They had more men,” Grey Worm started, speaking in the common tongue, “more had come, twenty-four we could see.” 

“Armed?” Arya needed to know. 

“Yes, only two not, a man and woman.” 

“Daario mentioned them as well. Could it be they are merchants or travellers, and the men are their security?” Daenerys asked, even though the flaws in her argument were obvious. 

Grey Worm shifted to Valyrian and began to explain the things he couldn’t in any other language. “Not the boss,” he said of the old man, “the victim.” 

“The victim?” Tyrion repeated after Missandei had translated. 

He nodded while wearing a grim expression. “Kidnapped by bandits, held on the road, wait for you,” he said to Daenerys. “They will kill them unless the Princess meet them.” 

“I liked it better when I thought they were idiots,” Tyrion remarked, forcing a tight smile. Though he tried, the comment lacked the usual bite she typically associated with his observations. “Well that complicates things, We could go back toward Highgarden and send word to the Red Keep, but there is no guarantee we wouldn’t run into them again.” 

“We could fight,” Grey Worm suggested. “Kill them and try to save the woman.” 

This had Daenerys’s attention. She went to stand directly in front of the Commander. “Could you kill the bandits and save the captives?” 

“Maybe, but they will see us coming. They might kill them before we get close.” 

That defeated the purpose of what she wanted to do. Her plan was useless if it didn’t save the innocents. She threw up her hands. She couldn’t just leave those people to their fates, they were being held because of her. They were likely in the wrong place at the wrong time and now were paying for it. 

At a loss, she asked the people around her for their opinions. “Tyrion, what would you have me do?”

“Leave,” he said simply. “It’s distasteful but it’s what’s best for you and all of us.” 

“What about the couple being held captive?” Missandei inquired passionately.

“What makes you think they’re innocent? They could be in on it with the bandits, tied up and acting afraid.” 

“And what if they’re not?” Daenerys pressed. 

“Keeping you safe should be our highest priority,” he reminded them all. 

Daenerys wanted to resist, to say she wasn’t more important than anyone else, but it would only waste valuable time. She came up with a more practical reason Tyrion’s plan of avoidance wouldn’t work. “Your father and mine gave us a very strict deadline,” she reminded him. “If we go turn back we’ll never reach the keep on time.” 

“I’ll take the blame,” Tyrion insisted, “I’ll sit down with the King and my father and explain our late return couldn’t be helped. I’ll take care of everything.” 

“What about that man and woman,” Missandei asked, “what if they are truly kidnapped? If we run, what’ll happen to them.” 

“The same thing that’ll happen if we send scores of Unsullied running toward them.” 

“They’re dead no matter what,” Daenerys realized, dejected. 

“I’m sorry but I don’t see a way they stay alive.” 

“What if we give them what they want?”

“Absolutely not!” Arya erupted. 

“Daenerys, you can’t,” Missandei added. 

Tyrion was more diplomatic but no less opposed. “That would only make things worse. Two hostages are bad enough, they don’t need a Targaryen as well.” 

Only Grey Worm said nothing. He was well-trained to remain silent unless explicitly asked for his views. She didn’t believe his lack of a verbal rebuke meant he was siding with her. 

“I’m not suggesting I give myself up,” she made perfectly clear from the beginning, “we’ll say that I am willing to meet with them to negotiate the safe release of their hostages.”

“And then what?” Arya asked, her temper barely contained. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “maybe the Unsullied could sneak into position to attack or free the captives.”

“It’s not the worst idea,” Tyrion confessed, “but it puts you at risk. We can’t do that.” 

Why was she so important? Her father being King didn’t make her valuable. She didn’t know the man and woman being held on the road, but it wasn’t hard to imagine they had a better, more fulfilling life than hers. They likely had friends, jobs, passions and interests and probably children too. Daenerys refused to just abandon them. 

“What do my soldiers think? Can we save these people?” She looked from Arya to Grey Worm and back. “I want your honest assessments.” 

“They are bandits, even organized, they are no match for us. We have numbers and skill, if it comes to a fight, we’ll win, every time.” 

It couldn’t be that simple. “But?”

“They’ll see us coming. If they decide to cut their loses and run, they could kill the hostages before we get there.” 

It was less than ideal, but Daenerys had asked for the truth and she was glad Arya trusted her enough to give it. She couldn’t decide the best course of action if people were concealing the facts. She looked from face to face, checking to see if anyone would refute Arya’s position. No one did. Daenerys voiced the first solution that popped into her mind. “They’d kill the hostages if they see the Unsullied advancing for battle but what if they were merely acting as an escort?”

“For who?” Missandei wondered. 

Arya already knew. “No!” she declined emphatically, “you can’t go down there. Nothing good will happen, they will just have three hostages instead of two.”

“If I went alone, I’d agree with you,” she stipulated calmly. “I have no desire to be held prisoner today, but I’m not abandoning those people.”

“What are you thinking?” Tyrion asked. 

It wasn’t overly complicated. Daenerys’s plan consisted of she, Arya and a contingent of Unsullied going down to meet with the kidnappers. They’d distract the bandits long enough for Grey Worm and the bulk of his men to get into position to mount a rescue. “Arya and I will take ten Unsullied and go hear what these criminals have to say. If they want me, they should welcome my arrival. I’ll hear their terms and see if I can negotiate the release of the hostages. It’ll happen slow, so Grey Worm will have plenty of time to take up positions on both sides of the road, all around them. If I give the order to attack, they can rush iand seize control.” 

She held her breath while she waited for someone to poke a hole in her idea, but it was silent. When someone eventually spoke, it was Grey Worm. “The grass is tall, they will not see us if we move slow.” 

You’ll need to be careful,” Arya was saying to Grey Worm, “we don’t know if they have more men we can’t yet see.” 

“This is dangerous Daenerys,” Tyrion contributed. “Are you sure…”

He didn’t get to finish before she cut him off. “Yes, I am. I can’t just ignore those people, they need help and the only reason they’re on that road instead of at home with their loved ones is because of me. I won’t walk away.” 

“Okay,” he relented, seeming to sense he wasn’t going to change her mind. “I’ll keep the others together near the wagon and wait for you to send word.” 

“Actually, I need you to gather up as much gold as you can. I know we don’t have a lot, but please ensure everyone knows I’ll repay what they donate as soon as we’re back in King’s Landing.” 

“You’re going to pay them?” 

“They are kidnappers, I do not expect they’ll release their prizes because I ask nicely.” 

He chuckled darkly. “You’re good at this.” He was done before he decided to finish with “Please be careful.” 

When Tyrion stepped away, Missandei was there. “I’m coming with you,” she said in place of her opinion. 

“That’s…” she didn’t have words for how generous and selfless that was, but this was her choice, and the consequences were hers alone. “You don’t have to follow me this time Missandei, I won’t ask you to. This is my decision.”

“And mine is to accompany you,” she countered. “I can help, you can tell them I’m your handmaiden and I’m required to accompany you everywhere.” 

“You aren’t, not this time.” 

“I want to. If things turn violent the Unsullied will be fighting the bandits, Arya will be protecting you and someone needs to free the hostages. I’ll do it.”

Daenerys was still debating if this was a good idea or the worst she’d ever heard. Arya spoke up from the background. “Do you have your knife?”

She retrieved it from her belt and held it up. “Right here.”

“Good,” Arya said, “but put it somewhere these idiots won’t be able to see.”

“Like where?” Daenerys questioned for the both of them. She too had a knife she’d need to situate before they left. 

“On your leg, under your dress,” Arya recommended.

Missandei was already at work, trying to find the right location. Daenerys watched for just an instant before giving Arya her focus. “Are you okay with this?”

“I don’t like it, but it makes sense.” She groaned and scrubbed her hands over her face. “Stay close to me.”

“I love being close to you,” she said before she placed herself in Arya’s arms. 

Arya clearly wanted to kiss her but refrained. Although she knew why, the disappointment was real. “Just be careful,” she said seriously. “These brutes obviously have a plan and I’d wager it doesn’t involve letting you get away.”

“We have a plan too,” Daenerys reminded her. 

“Yeah.”

“You don’t think it’ll work?” She tried to appear relaxed, but it took effort. Knowing Arya didn’t believe in her plan hurt. 

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” she started to say. 

“It matters to me!” Daenerys snapped. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you’re just some soldier or some guard. If you think I’m making a mistake, I want you to tell me.”

Arya sighed. “You’re not, that’s what’s making me so fucking angry.” 

She didn’t understand. “You’re upset because we agree?”

“I’m upset because I can’t think of a way to save those people without putting you in harm’s way,” Arya clarified after a groan. 

“I’ll be safe,” she promised. “I’ll be beside you the entire time.” 

Her concession did nothing to ease the tension in Arya. “I’m not going back to King’s Landing,” she said, causing Daenerys’s heart to drop into her stomach, “if something happens to you, without you I can’t live in that place, I won’t survive it. I’ll take my chances on the run.” 

They shouldn’t be seen together like this, but Daenerys didn’t care. She pressed her lips into Arya’s. “I love you,” she whispered “nothing is going to happen to me. Tonight, we’re going to fall asleep together, like we did last night, and the one before that.” 

Arya gifted her efforts with a smile and then nodded toward her waist. “Hide that knife, but keep it close, you might need it.” 

“We are ready Princess,” Grey Worm said, holding his helmet under his arm. “We know where we will be and what to do.” 

“Good, thank you Grey Worm.”

Arya stopped him from leaving to join his men. “I need ten more Unsullied to go with us,” she decided. 

“Ten isn’t enough?” She thought that would be plenty to show the bandits they were serious, but Arya apparently disagreed. “We can’t bring too many to the meeting.” 

“Five will stay with the horses, the remaining five will stop before we reach them, it’ll be us and the ten.”

“So why bring more?”

She may not have understood but the slave did. “So they are close when fighting starts.” 

“Exactly. Ten extra men just seconds away could make all the difference.” 

She’d learned not to doubt Arya when it came to matters of combat. “Whatever you think is best.” 

Arya went with Grey Worm to review a map and see where the men would be stationed. When both were satisfied, they parted. Grey Worm lingered just long enough to say goodbye to Missandei while Arya was busy adjusting her sword on her hip. 

Not long after the main force of Unsullied took their leave Tyrion reappeared with a large pouch in his hands. “All the gold I could find is in here,” he said, “it’s not as much as I had hoped.” 

“That’s more than I thought you’d get,” Arya confessed after taking hold of the bag and testing its weight. 

Daenerys took a turn holding the pouch. It may not be as much as Tyrion was expecting but it was a substantial amount of money. She was pleased. If money was all the bandits wanted, they could have it. She’d seen everyone repaid when they reached the capital. “Thank you.” 

Missandei was waiting when Tyrion stepped away. She had coins she wanted to add to the collection. Daenerys recognized the purse at once. She’d given it to her friend before she left on her journey to the Stormlands. Despite the weeks that had passed since then, it remained largely full. She tried to refuse when Missandei held it out to her. “You don’t have to do this, you should keep it.” 

“I want to,” she said, using the same argument that was successful the last time she opposed the Princess. “It might make all the difference,” she rationalized. 

After the handmaiden, it was Arya’s turn. Daenerys was speechless as Arya opened the purse the Targaryen was holding and dropped in a handful of cheap coins. She then carefully tightened the string. Daenerys’s heart hurt. She swore to herself that she’d fix things as soon as she could. She’d find a way to thank the people in her life for their support and guidance. 

She was still thinking about how she might reward Arya’s faith in her when the guard asked, “Are we ready then?”

She thought about it, taking time to examine each segment of the plan to ensure she wasn’t forgetting anything. “We have the gold, Grey Worm and his men will be ready to move as soon as we distract the bandits. I think we’re ready.” 

“You should leave the gold here,” Tyrion advised, “It’s meaningless anyway.”

“What do you mean?” 

“If Grey Worm is right and they are truly waiting for you, they won’t accept a few thousand gold coins.” 

“Not even as a down payment?” 

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re coming with us,” she ruled abruptly. “If you’re right and they need more gold, who better to convince them they’ll get it than the Master of Coins.” 

“Oh,” he said, seemingly at a loss for words. 

“Stay near Missandei,” Arya instructed. 

Suddenly serious, Tyrion nodded to confirm he understood. Since he would be joining them, she handed off the gold. He held up the pouch. “Last chance, is there anything else?” 

“Food, wine and water,” Daenerys decided in a rush. These ideas were coming quick and she was choosing to trust in them, like bringing Tyrion along. 

“I don’t think the bandits are going to want water?” the Lannister griped. 

“It’s not for them, it’s for the hostages, who knows how long it’s been since they’ve had a meal? It’s hot today too.” She was confident that bringing food and water was the right thing, and the bandits would surely appreciate expensive wine. 

As they went to meet with the twenty Unsullied who would be their escorts, Arya fell in step next to Missandei. From her location on the handmaiden’s other side, Daenerys could overhear everything being said. “Are you sure you want to come along?”

She turned her head and met Arya’s grey eyes fearlessly. “I am. I know what I’m fighting for now, just like you.” 

R-C

Daario rushed over as soon as he noticed Daenerys was a member of the party moving toward him. They were several hundred yards from the road on a hill, overlooking the blockade. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m going to negotiate for the safe release of the captives,” she explained.

Arya was impressed by her outward calm. She knew Daenerys was likely nervous, but she was giving away nothing. A stranger would likely assume she made life and death decisions everyday. 

“You can’t do that!” Daario tried futilely. 

“Can’t I?” she tested. “Watch!?”

Searching those opposite him for allies he settled on her. “You, you’re her guard, you can’t allow this to happen.” 

Daenerys who had been intentionally looking straight ahead and nowhere else angled her chin toward Arya. “Are you going to tell me I can’t do this?” she asked innocently. 

She bit back a smirk, privately enjoying this playful side of the woman she loved. “Why would I do that?”

Daario wasn’t having it. “What!? You can’t be serious! They have even more men now. Five more just showed themselves.” 

“We’re just going to talk,” Daenerys justified. 

“They didn’t block the road for more than an hour to talk Daenerys, be reasonable.” 

She shrugged. “When it’s over, I’ll meet you back here and we can discuss which of us was right.”

Tyrion and Missandei chuckled at the Princess’s little joke but Daario wasn’t laughing. He put his hand on Daenerys’s arm. “You can’t do this.”

“Lower your hand,” Arya commanded, “or the blood spilling starts here.” 

Daario looked to Daenerys, as though he expected her to criticize the unruly guard. She did nothing of the kind. “Do as she says. This is a waste of time. Those people have been terrorized long enough.”

With a frustrated huff, he dropped his hand. “Fine, I’ll come with you.” 

“We agreed to this number,” she lied. “You stay here with these men, you can provide covering fire with your bows if necessary.” She didn’t wait for the sell-sword to agree before she moved on. Every step carried her and most of the people dearest to her closer to danger. 

“We agreed on this number, did we?” Arya teased when they wouldn’t be heard. 

From the saddle next to her Daenerys laughed. “It sounded good.” 

The moment of peace was nice, but it couldn’t last. She had to give Daenerys a final instruction while she still could. “If I yell, flee. If you can, grab a horse, any horse and ride, if not, just run. Keep going until I come to get you.” 

“I sincerely hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Me too,” Tyrion whined, reminding them he was there, “I hate running, it’s too hot.” 

R-C

By the time they faced their opponents there were more than thirty-five armed men across from them. The majority wore cheap armor. A few had helmets but most didn’t. Among those close enough to really see, there were scars, bruises, overgrown hair and chipped teeth. A group further back, situated on horses were archers she supposed. 

It was silent for a moment and then another while both sides sized up the other. Daenerys was waiting for a leader to present himself. None did. She stepped forward, out of the line of her people. She didn’t go far but the single step sent the right message. She cleared her throat and spoke loudly. “My name is Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen. I understand you men wished to speak with me.”

She counted the seconds as the tension turned awkward. A few of the men smiled, others looked at one another in surprise. Finally, a man stepped forward. He was big and burly, easily three times the Princess’s weight and taller by more than a head and a half. He was imposing with a thick brown beard and dark eyes. Those eyes swept down her body, spending little time on her face and much more on her curves. It was enough to make her want to squirm and hide behind her hands, but she refused to show weakness. She was a Dragon. She wouldn’t cower because some man leered too long. He probably wouldn’t know what to do if he got her anyway. 

Her heart raced in her chest. She’d gone into this with the best of intentions. She wanted to save two innocent people but now she was beginning to doubt her resolve. Could she truly see this through to its conclusion?

“Well Princess, you don’t listen so good, do ya?” he said, earning a laugh from his companions. “We told your man to send you alone.” 

“Apologies,” she said, managing a smile, “but I’m sure you can understand that as the lone Princess of the Seven Kingdoms I am never alone. These men and women represent my personal guards and closest aides, I attend no meeting without them.” 

He laughed, causing his big belly to shake beneath what looked like iron armor. “This ain’t no meetin’, you’se coming with us.” 

“This could be anything we want it to be Ser. Now I’ve told you my name, may I know yours? It’ll be difficult to negotiate if I don’t know who you are.” 

His name seemed like a good starting point. It was largely irrelevant but what happened next would tell her a great deal. If he told her his name, then she knew he was willing to converse, if he refused, then the larger plan would need to be revised. 

“My name don’t matter!”

“It does to me,” she tried, “manners dictate I call you by name.” 

She held her breath while she waited. and it occurred to her how badly she wished she could hold Arya’ hand. The guard wasn’t far and yet Daenerys yearned for her touch. She felt stronger when she had Arya’s hand in hers. The foot between them felt more like a mile, an unbridgeable divide.

“Aye, of course,” he said sarcastically, nudging one of the men next to him. “Manners, can’t be unpolite can we Princess?” He didn’t require an answer. “Name’s Rolf.”

“Pleased to meet you Rolf. Now can you tell me about those two?” She pointed to the terrified couple. It hadn’t been visible at a distance, but she could see they were each bound with a thick length of rope. She knew Tyrion doubted their plight was genuine, but Daenerys doubted they were talented enough to fake the terror she saw on their faces. By the looks of things, it had been a harrowing ordeal. They were covered in mud, spotted with bruises and cuts, and even the undamaged flesh appeared burned by the sun. Not for the first time since she learned of their existence did Daenerys wonder how long they’d been stuck on the road in the blistering heat. The man looked as though he’d put up a fight. His shirt was torn with the neckline stretched down to expose a large portion of his upper chest. The woman wasn’t crying but she had been, the stains on her cheeks told her story. Daenerys was appalled. She wanted justice for these people, but first she needed to secure their freedom. 

“They ain’t important,” Rolf said dismissively. “I heard you’d stop to help’em though, and ya did.” 

This had Daenerys’s attention. “Heard from who? How did you know we’d be here? I myself didn’t know until several days ago.” 

“I got a friend in the Red Keep,” he boasted, “told me you’d be passin’ by and said you wouldn’t take kindly to us holding people.” 

Daenerys resisted the urge to smile. She’d learned more about Rolf in the last ten seconds than she had in the rest of their exchange combined. So, someone in King’s Landing orchestrated this. “You’re a smart man Rolf, and you’re right. I couldn’t just pass by and leave these people.” 

“I know,” he said smugly, entirely too pleased with himself. 

“They don’t mean anything to you, you said so yourself they were just a way to make us stop. Let them go, they’ve already served their purpose.”

“They’s can have more than one purpose,” Rolf contended, “especially the Lady there.”

The assumption made Daenerys’s skin crawl, but she buried those feelings deep. Getting angry was the natural reaction to such depravity, but it would be no help here. She needed to remain composed. Her anger could come later. “Fine then, I’ll keep my gold dragons.” 

“Take the gold back to the camp,” she said, turning away from Rolf for the first time to address Tyrion. 

Rolf took notice and didn’t like it one bit. “Hey wait! Where’s the dwarf going?!” 

Daenerys feigned disinterest as she faced the bandits again. “You said you wanted to keep them, so I’ll keep my gold.” 

Rolf’s undisguised excitement at the mention of money would have been laughable under less life-threatening circumstances. “How much?” he wanted to know. All around him his men were drooling at the prospect of piles of gold.” 

“More than five thousand gold pieces,” Tyrion exaggerated. He held up the purse for them to see. “Release them and the Princess says this is yours.” 

Tyrion was very good. He showed no emotion, but kept subtly moving his hands causing the coins to clang together audibly. “Five thousand buys him, we’re keeping her.”

Daenerys was immediately dejected. That was all the money they had. She couldn’t leave this woman with these animals, not knowing what they would do to her.

“Five thousand is more than fair for both of them,” Tyrion was saying. “Be reasonable, the Princess is generous, if you allow us to take both of them with us, we’ll see you rewarded properly when we reach King’s Landing.” 

“My boys need to have some fun,” Rolf said with a sick smirk and a deep laugh. Many of his number joined in. On the ground the bound man squirmed, trying to wiggle closer to the woman in an effort to protect her. 

While she was busy trying to craft her next argument, a new voice spoke up. “Take me instead!” Missandei proposed. 

Daenerys’s head twisted to the side so abruptly it’d surely hurt for a week. .Arya was doing the same, but the handmaiden’s eyes were on the terrified woman alone. “Missandei, no!” she hissed. 

She stepped forward, undeterred by Daenerys’s warning. Arya put a hand on Missandei’s arm, but she stepped out from under it immediately. “Take me,” she said again, “that woman has suffered enough.” 

Rolf was an idiot, but even he could tell he was getting the better end of this trade. “Give the gold to the girl and send her over,” he instructed. 

Watching Missandei cross from one side of the road to the other was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. Her instincts were screaming that she needed to stop it, but she didn’t know how. If she called an attack now, the hostages and Missandei would be trapped between the warring groups. Even after the man and woman were safely with them, Missandei would still be vulnerable. Daenerys had no idea how she was supposed to keep everyone alive. She was treading water. Sooner or later, when her arms tired, she was going to go under. 

It wasn’t the fear of drowning she was worrying about though, it was facing Grey Worm and having to tell him what happened to the woman he loved. With renewed resolve Daenerys was prepared to do whatever it took to see Missandei returned unharmed. 

Her mind filled with all manner of creative plots, but each one was quickly dismissed as too dangerous or downright outlandish. She had no clue how to rescue Missandei now. 

Once Missandei and the gold had crossed over, the captives were untied and set free. They hugged before quickly hurrying across the road hand in hand. “Tyrion make sure they’re okay,” Daenerys ordered. 

In Valyrian she called out to some of the Unsullied. Five armoured soldiers stepped forward at Daenerys’s request and Rolf was instantly suspicious. “What was that!? What did you say?” His men had been tying Missandei’s wrists, but Rolf went to her and put his sword to her throat. “Tell me what you said, what are they doing? If they come over here, I’ll kill’er. I’ll kill’er.”

“They are healers,” she lied convincingly. “I asked them to tend to their wounds and to take them back to our camp. You have your money and my closest advisor, your business with them is done.” For the first time Daenerys inserted some steel into her tone. She’d been playing nice, but that was over now. Missandei’s throat had a sword pressed against it, being friendly wouldn’t fix that. 

“Fine,” Rolf grumbled. He pushed Missandei away and then returned his sword to his belt. He’d pay for putting his hands on Missandei before the day was done. She swore it. 

“You next,” Rolf said on his way back to the front. “Come over and join your friend and no one gets hurt.” 

“What was the plan Rolf? You want me but then what? Were you going to kill me, trade me, ransom…”

He stopped her when she hit the right one. “The King would pay a fortune to get his only daughter back.”

She chuckled humorlessly. “Have any of you ever met my father?” she asked the lot of them. 

One man raised his hand. “Aye, once.” 

“Good, step forward then, I’ll need your expertise.” 

He was older than Rolf with some grey filling in the sides of his head and beard. He had a burn scar on the side of his neck and Daenerys couldn’t help thinking maybe the King gave it to him. In his younger years Aerys was said to use a traditional flame instead of wildfire. It was possible for a man to survive. Maybe he fell into a brazier as a boy, maybe it had nothing to do with Aerys, but her first inclination was to blame her father. 

“When you met the King was he a kind man? Was he fair and generous?”

“He murdered my brother and tried to kill me.” 

“That sounds like him,” she said plainly. “So ask yourselves. if you kidnap me, what do you think is more likely to happen. do you think he’ll open up the treasury and pay you all the gold inside, or do you think he’ll hunt you down and kill you?” 

It was Rolf who was once again speaking for his people. “He won’t be able to find us. We got a plan, we’re goin’ where even the King can’t find us.” 

How naive. “There is nowhere you could hide from him, not if he thinks you harmed me. If he can’t find you, he’ll find someone else; your mothers, your fathers, your brothers and sisters, he’ll punish your wives, and your cousins, your children and the ones they play with. The streets of King’s Landing will run red with blood, maybe not yours but everyone you’ve ever known, everyone you’ve ever loved.”

Next to Rolf a man spoke up. “Is she serious? He said we’d get enough gold to go to Essos and live like Kings, that was the deal. He never said nothing about everybody getting killed.” 

“I don’t know,” Rolf admitted, his uncertainty on full display. For once her father’s reputation was useful. She took advantage. It would give these fools something to think about and might provide the chance Daenerys needed to facilitate Missandei’s release. 

“The King is not known for his mercy,” she announced. “I suppose it’s possible that things might go your way. You’d have to kill not only all these soldiers you see before you, but also the dozens more surrounding us. If you could do that, I’d go with you, but then what? You send word to my father with your demands and hope he pays? I’d wager he’d answer in Fire and Blood instead of gold.” She let that sink in for a moment and then she pushed a little further. “You boys already have thousands more coins than you did this morning, not bad for a few hours work. Quit while you’re ahead. It’d be a mistake to rely on my father to behave rationally.” 

The genuine fear she saw, not only on Rolf’s face but on most of those around him told her she was on the right path. 

Rolf’s mouth opened to reply but before he could one of his friends noticed a collection of Unsullied lurking nearby. “Fuck, she’s right. I see them foreigners in the grass.” 

“There’s more over here,” another shouted as he spotted a bunch with Grey Worm in the lead. 

“Call them back!” Rolf demanded. “Call them back, or I’ll…” he didn’t have a threat ready and it took several seconds for him to settle on one. He hurried to Missandei. “I’ll kill her!” 

They weren’t doing this again. That was twice this man threatened to hurt her. There would not be a third. “You hurt her, and none of you will ever get to spend a single one of those coins.” 

“Call them off and I won’t have to!” he bartered hastily, his eyes bouncing from side to side in search of a threat. 

“Unsullied!” she called in Valyrian, “show yourselves!” 

As they always did, they followed the command they’d been given. They stood up and gave Rolf and his misfits a true look at them. The kidnappers panicked as they realized they were utterly trapped and thoroughly outnumbered. “Stop them!” Rolf demanded. “Tell them to put down their weapons or she dies.”

Daenerys tired of this. “Look around you. You are surrounded by some of the finest soldiers in the world! If you harm her, none of you will see your homes again.” She could see the resolve wavering, she kept pushing. “Your friend Rolf is hiding behind my friend and he’s hiding behind you, but you don’t have to die for him. You can’t win, whoever sent you here knew you’d fail, they wanted you to be killed, don’t give them the satisfaction. You have that gold, you can keep it, just release my friend and lay down your weapons, no one will stop you. As Princess of the Seven Kingdoms I give you my word. You’ll be safe.” 

It took only a moment for the first man to lay down his sword and leave. Once he was successful in getting past the perimeter of Unsullied many others followed. Rolf called a few out by name to try and coax them into staying but he wasn’t very persuasive. 

As more and more fled in disgrace Daenerys noticed none would meet her eye and none touched the gold either. Before long only Rolf remained, still hiding behind Missandei. 

She thirsted for his blood in a way she was unfamiliar with. Rolf had crimes to answer for and she eagerly counted the seconds until he met justice, but first, Daenerys had a question or two that needed answering. “Why do this?” she asked him as he cowered behind the kneeling handmaiden. In contrast to him, Missandei was stoic and steady while he shook wildly. He knew he’d overplayed his hand, knew the only thing he had left to bargain with was his life, knew the coins at his feet weren’t worth quite as much now that he was staring down dozens of furious Unsullied. 

“We were paid, told where to be and what to do. I didn’t want this, I didn’t have a choice,” he said attempting to shift the blame.

“Who paid you?” 

“Don’t know his name, met’m in the Landing, in Littlefinger’s brothel. He gave me the gold and told me what to do.” 

“What were your instructions exactly?” Arya wanted to know. She stepped up beside the Princess. Daenerys was happy to have her there. 

“Kidnap some people off the road, wait here for you to come. He said you’d give yourself over to save them.” 

“What about once you had her?” Arya asked, pushing harder. 

“Was supposed to take her to a place in Flea Bottom and wait.” 

“Wait for what?”

“He said he’d bring the money and tell me where to release the Princess.” As he finished, he sought Daenerys out. “We was never going to hurt you, I swear. We were just gonna take ya and then let ya go.” 

“You’re holding a sword to my best friend’s throat,” she reminded him coldly. “It’s a little hard to find sympathy for you at the moment.” 

He lowered the sword, down from where it had been tight to Missandei’s neck. He kept his hold on the weapon but was no longer wielding it. “He lied, bout everything,” Rolf blurted out. He seemed to want to tell her why this wasn’t his fault while he still had the chance. “Said you’d have a handmaiden and five guards, no more. He said it’d be easy, that you would give up rather than let your men die for you.” 

Daenerys wasn’t sure what to think. Was someone opposed to her wedding? Was this about Loras? Few people knew she was going to Highgarden, but surely anyone who did knew she wasn’t travelling with only five soldiers. Was she right when she said whoever arranged this wanted Rolf and his men killed? She’d been manipulating him then, but perhaps it wasn’t inaccurate. 

Daenerys couldn’t think of anything else to ask. He already said he didn’t know who set it up, and if the meeting took place in a brothel no one would remember it anyway. She glanced to Arya. “Anything else?”

“This place in Flea Bottom, the place you were supposed to take the Princess, tell me about it, who lives there?” 

For the next several minutes Rolf dutifully rambled on about anything he could think of that pertained to the house or its occupants. He rightly sensed it would keep him alive, so he was drawing it out. When he started repeating himself Arya had heard enough. “Last chance, anything else we should know? Anything else you can tell us about the bastard who sent you here? Think hard, it might just save your life.” 

Wide eyed and pale, Rolf opened his mouth but said nothing. Stammering, he tried to think of something that might grant him a stay of execution. “The money,” he said, pointing to the gold with his sword, “take it back. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t’ve taken it. Forgive me.”

Daenerys was unmoved. The money was trivial. He was dying because he repeatedly threatened Missandei’s life, not because he stole some gold. “Last chance,” she said, “the man who hired you. Tell us something new.”

“He, he, he, he works for the Spider I think.” 

She looked to Arya, hoping to confirm she heard it correctly. The guard was already turned, ready to meet her gaze. They wore similar expressions. That was new information and completely unexpected. Why would Varys arrange this? He employed a lot of people, so it was possible one of his birds had a hand in this without his knowledge, but for a man who claimed to see and hear all, he gave her no warning before she left. 

“Thank you, Rolf, that’s all I needed to know. Let Missandei go please.” 

More than angry enough to carry out his sentence with her own hands, Daenerys tried to focus her rage. She wanted to be there for Missandei, and for the man and woman who had been caught up in the trap meant for her. She’d need to pass the violent task to someone else and put her attention where it belonged. Naturally she thought of her lover first. “Arya, would you please…”

“No need,” she replied. Daenerys’s steps faltered. Was Arya refusing to carry out her wishes? That didn’t sound like her. Daenerys peeled her eyes off Missandei and sought out her guard. Arya was looking at something over Rolf’s shoulder, Daenerys followed her eyeline and saw Grey Worm stalking closer to the last bandit. Rolf erroneously assumed the danger was in front of him, but he had no idea how wrong he was. 

Leaving his spear standing straight up in the grass, he removed his helmet and left it on the ground near his weapon. Dark eyes were staring but to the Princess’s surprise it wasn’t Rolf or Missandei, holding his attention, it was her. She knew what he wanted, so she nodded. He didn’t need to be told twice. Silently he drew his sword and crept up behind Rolf. He knocked him to his knees and pressed the sword into his neck. Daenerys didn’t think it was coincidence that Grey Worm put him in the same position Missandei had been in. Rolf called out to her, but his plea was muffled as the sword’s sharp edge cut deep into his windpipe. 

Daenerys didn’t know what she was supposed to feel. She’d never ordered someone killed before. She bristled when she was forced to witness her father do it, but she was devoid of regret or sympathy for the man dying opposite her now. He deserved it. It unnerved her to think that maybe her father felt the same way. Was he as empty as she was each time he killed? When he murdered Arya’s family had he felt anything? The questions and the closeness she felt to him in that moment made her dizzy. She probably would’ve succumbed to it, and crumbled right then, but Missandei arrived in front of her. In the space of a single heartbeat her problems felt much less crippling. She threw her arms around Missandei and used her to stay grounded in the moment. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to get hurt. I’m sorry, this was all my fault.” 

“I’d do it all again,” she said, selfless to the end. “Let’s go check on the others. They were with them longer than I.” 

She was right. She always was. “I had them taken to safety.” She linked her arm with Missandei’s and headed to where they left their horses. 

Arya stayed back, but Daenerys could feel her there. Grey Worm arrived before they reached their mounts. He was wearing his helmet again and carrying his spear. He didn’t say anything, perhaps there was nothing to say. 

They were an odd bunch, a Princess, a foster, a dwarf and some slaves but they’d done it. They saved two innocent people from being brutalized and eventually killed and then managed to thwart a royal kidnapping. She’d need to decide what it all meant later. She had condemned a man to death. It had come easily, too easily. Why hadn’t she felt what she thought she should? Who had arranged her almost kidnapping? Was it Varys or someone looking to implicate the Spymaster? She didn’t know. What would she do when she learned the truth? Did it matter when it was destined to fail? She and everyone she loved was alive and well and a kidnapper, bandit and probable raper was dead. She could live with that. The day was ending well. 

R-C

Daenerys was a natural leader. Arya reached the conclusion by standing close and watching her interactions. She’d taken what was a difficult circumstance and resolved it in a way that left everyone feeling satisfied. It went beyond simply killing Rolf and getting Missandei back alive, beyond saving the man and woman who had the misfortune to be taken hostage. Those achievements were impressive, but it wasn’t what made Arya take note. 

In the aftermath of the violence everyone around her wanted different things. Eager to right a wrong the Unsullied wanted to chase down and kill the fleeing bandits. Tyrion was concerned about the time the delay was taking and wanted them back on the road as quickly as possible. Missandei wanted to tend to their guests, a married couple named Nathanial and Marci. They were making their first trip to the capital, to visit their son, who was an apprentice working at one of King’s Landing’s many forges. 

She juggled the competing requests with ease. She got the bulk of the men moving, appeasing Tyrion. Then she sent him to the front to lead, while she offered the injured husband and wife her carriage. “We’ll ride near the carriage,” Daenerys decreed, “I want to be close in the event they need anything. I’m no Maester but I don’t like the looks of their injuries.” 

For the warriors who thirsted for action Daenerys said, “Take twenty-five men and ride ahead. Ensure there are no more surprises waiting for us.” Grey Worm nodded in agreement, but Daenerys wasn’t done. “If you see any of our friends, I trust you’ll treat them accordingly.” 

He responded by putting his fist against his heart and bowing his head. “Be careful,” she advised as he was leaving. 

It was remarkable really, it wasn’t only that Daenerys found a way to meet everyone’s needs, it was that she garnered such respect while doing it. She noticed it in Missandei first. The Princess and the slave shared a long hug after Missandei was safe. Words were exchanged in High Valyrian that left Missandei visibly emotional. Arya suspected it wasn’t nearly dying that moved her to tears, but rather hearing Daenerys’s passionate defense of her. The former translator was supremely intelligent, so she surely knew just as Arya did that the reason Rolf was dead was because of the crimes he committed against the slave, not the Princess. 

Arya didn’t like to speculate, especially about people, in her experience men were fickle, reactionary things capable of changing sides and shifting loyalties every time the winds blew. This made it hard for her to predict what any man might do in the coming years, but she felt confident in her feelings this time. By saving Missandei and then allowing Grey Worm to kill Rolf, Daenerys had won an ally for life. By and large, the Unsullied were fond of the Princess. They liked her and even trusted her to a degree, but Arya didn’t think Daenerys realized yet just how much support she gathered today. She could have stayed back and ordered her soldiers to clear the road. It probably would’ve resulted in the hostages being killed, but many nobles and royals would have considered that an acceptable outcome. Daenerys didn’t. She put herself in harms way, to save a slave and then killed a man for the unforgiveable sin of threatening to murder a woman who most viewed as Daenerys’s property. Grey Worm would never forget what Daenerys did for him, saving Missandei and gifting him with the chance to get revenge. With Grey Worm’s loyalty came the fealty of almost eight thousand more just like him. They followed him, and now he was indebted to Daenerys. It was a hunch but Arya had a feeling they were going to need an army of highly trained soldiers sooner or later. 

R-C

While most were stopping to rest the horses and drink water, Daenerys, Missandei and Arya retired to the carriage to see their guests. Luckily for all of them, the carriage was opulent and large, allowing for more than enough room for everyone. 

They were sitting side by side. Marci with her head on her husband’s shoulder. They straightened up and separated when the carriage opened, and Daenerys Targaryen climbed aboard. “May I ride with you a while?”

She did her best to ignore the stunned expressions. “Of… of course Princess,” Nathanial said. “It was very kind of you to let us rest in your carriage, but we’re much better now and we can…”

“The carriage is yours for as long as you need it,” she assured them. 

“Oh, that is too generous,” Marci gushed, “Princess you’ve already done far too much. If you let us out anywhere along here, we can be on our way.” 

“Speak with my friends and I for a few minutes and then if you still wish to go, I will permit it,” Daenerys proposed. She didn’t like the idea of these people leaving. They had nothing but tattered clothes and were still injured, but she wouldn’t hold them against their will. 

As soon as everyone was settled, the carriage began moving. “You already know Missandei, and this is Arya, my dear friend and personal guard.” 

Marci’s eyes widened when she heard Arya was a guard. Next to her, her husband had taken stock of the Martell armor and the sword and assumed as much. “Thank you very much Princess, for saving us like you did. We’ll never be able to repay you.” 

She leaned forward and grasped one of Marci’s hands. It was thin, heavily bruised and fragile looking. She took care not to cause pain. “You owe us nothing. It is I who should apologize to you, you were kidnapped as a way to entice me and my party to stop.” She paused and needed a moment before she could finish. “I’m sorry for everything that happened, you were innocent and had it not been for me…”

“We wouldn’t be alive, or together,” Nathanial finished for her. “Missandei,” he said smiling at the handmaiden. He was a handsome man under the dirt, grime, cuts and bruises. “You gave yourself up in my Marci’s place. You’re all heroes.” 

It would take longer for Daenerys not to feel responsible, but he was right about Missandei. It was a small comfort to know neither Nathanial nor his wife seemed to be holding a grudge. 

“We should’ve known better,” Marci said casually, talking more to herself than to them. “We heard the roads were safe, we thought it’d be okay.” 

“is it true you’re going to King’s landing?” Arya verified. 

“Yes,” he said, before his wife elaborated. 

“Our son got a job. He’s an apprentice at a smith, working on the Street of Steel. He wrote and sent money for us to visit, we thought it’d be okay, but…” she trailed off. It wasn’t hard to imagine what became of their money, their horses and any items they brought along for the trip. As she listened Daenerys silently hoped that Grey Worm and his men found a few of the animals she let go. 

It was a blessing that she’d be able to see this kind, unlucky couple where they needed to go without adding to her own journey, which was already behind schedule. “You can ride with us and under my protection until we reach the city. Then we’ll see you reunited with your son before we return to the castle.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to. We can walk…”

Daenerys was not going to let a battered and beaten husband and wife walk the miles it would take to reach the gates. That was never going to happen. “Nonsense. We’ll likely pass the forge where your son works on our way to the keep. Besides my friend here likes weapons and would surely enjoy seeing the items for sale.”

“She’s not wrong,” Arya supplied, playing her part well. Missandei chuckled and shook her head, sending dark curls bouncing. 

“Thank you, Princess,” Nathanial said while his wife nodded in agreement. “You are too kind.” 

“Just rest for now,” she instructed. “The next time we stop, Missandei will bring you tea that will help with the pain. You’re safe now, no more harm will come to you.”

“What’s next?” Arya asked her as she helped Daenerys dismount from the carriage that was still moving. 

“We go talk to Tyrion,” she decided, making her way to where her horse waited, “I want to ensure Nathanial and Marci are properly compensated for all they lost.” 

“Are you okay?” Arya’s concern pulled her from her thoughts where she was busy organizing the long list of pending items into the order in which she’d attempt to accomplish them. 

“I’m relieved,” she admitted honestly, knowing the truth was safe with Arya. “When Missandei gave herself up, I thought I lost her.” 

“You didn’t,” Arya reminded her. “She’s strong, like you.” It was quiet until they were side by side on their horses. “And Rolf, any regrets?” 

She didn’t know what one was supposed to feel when ending a life, but Daenerys very much doubted she was following the path laid out. She felt nothing, no regret, no self-loathing, no sadness. She might’ve fretted about it but there was an absence of positive feelings too, she didn’t feel happy, or relieved or excited, she didn’t feel powerful or proud, it just was. It needed to happen, and she’d done it. “I’m okay,” she summarized, “I think.”

“If you need to talk, to someone who understands,” Arya offered sweetly, “I’m here.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. She intended to leave it there, but her mouth opened, and honesty spilled out. “I keep waiting to feel something, regret, sadness, anger, but I don’t.” She didn’t give Arya the chance to respond. “Then I remember I’m a Targaryen and I think I should probably be pleased, or amused, but I don’t feel any of that either.”

“Because you are nothing like your father,” she insisted. “There is no wrong way to do this, you just get through it.” 

It sounded so simple. Daenerys found herself hoping Arya was right. “Maybe.”

“Just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and remember why you did it, for Missandei and for Nathanial and Marci.” 

“Did I do the right thing?” she asked abruptly, needing to hear that the permanent solution she’d chosen was the right one. It all happened so fast. Negotiating, seeing Missandei with a sword to her throat. Daenerys didn’t remember making a decision, instead it all felt natural, instinctive. She’d done what felt right in the moment whether it was using her father’s madness to scare Rolf’s men, or having him killed when Missandei was safe and he was no longer a threat to anyone. Right or wrong, it was done, and she needed to make her peace with it. Even if she decided killing him was a mistake, it wasn’t as if she could take it back. All she could do was live with it. “Should I have let him live?”

“You did the right thing,” Arya stated, easing the pressure building in her chest. “You got justice, not only for Missandei but Marci and Nathanial too” 

She shuddered. “I hate to think of what they did to them before we got there.” 

“They’ll recover. This time tomorrow they’ll be in King’s Landing with their son. That’s only happening because of you.” 

“I could have let him live,” she mumbled, wondering again if murder was the right choice. Was she becoming her father? He killed and believed it was necessary, how could she navigate these waters and make certain she didn’t tumble into madness like Aerys? “Maybe I should’ve, my father…”

“You are not him!” Arya proclaimed firmly. “Did you enjoy it, killing him? Did it make you feel big and strong?”

“I didn’t feel anything,” she confessed quietly. 

“Then why do it?”

“Because he deserved it,” she said. “He broke the law and he needed to be held accountable.” 

“Exactly.”

Daenerys didn’t see what her admission proved and was preparing to tell Arya so, when the guard clarified her logic. “Do you think your father considers the law, or accountability when he burns people?” 

“Murder is still murder,” she said, unwilling to let herself off the hook quite yet. 

“Murder is killing for yourself, for your pride, for money, in anger or hate. What you did was execute a criminal, you made the Realm a better place.” 

“I was angry, I was so angry.”

“It’s okay to be angry Daenerys, it’s natural, but you didn’t base your decision on that anger, and that’s what matters. You executed him because he was guilty of crimes against the Seven Kingdoms, not because he made you angry.” 

Daenerys wasn’t sure she agreed with that. Everything Arya said made sense, but she knew it would take longer for her to make peace with killing a man, even one as despicable as Rolf. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: They’ll be back in King’s Landing for the next chapter and for the rest of the story. A lot is going to be waiting for them. Like I said I almost cut out this misadventure on the way home, but as I was editing it, I liked it far better than I did while I was writing it. 
> 
> Plenty more to come. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is still reading and commenting. It means a lot. This story is a massive undertaking, and it helps that people enjoy it. 
> 
> Until Next Time
> 
> Russell Craig


	44. Chapter 44

It would be difficult to explain the unique relationship between a person who serves and their liege. Whether serving an entire family as she’d done with the Martells or a single woman, as she was doing with Daenerys, the strange connection persisted. Arya blamed it on proximity. Even before she fell in love with Daenerys and before Daenerys loved her, Arya still knew more about the Princess than almost anyone else. It was an unavoidable side effect of spending her days with one person, devoting all her attention to one thing – Daenerys’s safety. Her job was to be close to Daenerys, literally. In that circumstance, whether you want them to or not, bonds were forged. 

In her youth she had been on the other side of the arrangement. Although Arya was raised to respect and appreciate the dedication and sacrifice of those who served her family, she could plainly see that while she followed the letter of that particular law, she missed its deeper purpose. Whether it was Nan, Maester Luwin or Ser Rodrick, Arya liked them all, but she never stopped and considered the price they paid to serve her parents. Older and slightly wiser now, it made her ache to go back and thank all those people who helped her and cared for her, the same ones she took for granted so thoroughly. 

At its core the relationship is shaped by the distinct disparity in power. It effects all things even when the dominant one isn’t wielding it like a bludgeon. They are not equals, and in the beginning that clouds and taints everything. For Arya that depression didn’t lift for months after she made landfall in Sunspear. It wasn’t until she finally accepted her predicament and made her peace with her role in the world that it became easier to tolerate. Most days she could grit her teeth and do what was asked of her without secretly imagining the person issuing the orders dead. 

She couldn’t speak for the majority of the Martells or what they thought of her, she wouldn’t try, but certain things weren’t in dispute. Over time they relied on her more and more and she became less foster and more faceless servant. When this happened, the nobles became less reserved. They would say things in the dark-haired woman’s presence that they never would’ve uttered in front of Ned Stark’s daughter. That was when Arya learned the value of staying in the shadows and listening. When those she served forgot she was there, they spilled their secrets freely. 

It wasn’t all that different in King’s Landing. Yes, she now served Daenerys by choice, but it hadn’t always been that way. Around the Red Keep, most were ready and willing to overlook her, to discount her abilities because of her gender. Seen as an insignificant, Dornish bastard, she was not the sort of person those in the Red Keep thought worth fearing. If they only knew. 

Trying to understand the people around her had become almost second nature. Oberyn had taught her that knowing someone’s motivations, especially the things they’d never admit out loud was a valuable skill worth far more than gold. As usual he was right, though Arya steadfastly refused to tell him so. His ego was already big enough. 

During the final push toward the city, it wasn’t particularly difficult to comprehend why the people around her were behaving as they were. Tyrion was rather obvious as he tried to keep them moving and speed them along. He offered to explain to the King and the Hand why they were late and now that the danger had passed, he was likely regretting that choice. He was doing all he could to try and minimize the number of things he had to apologize for. 

Grey Worm was in a foul mood, he barked orders at his men, spoke only in Valyrian and rode at Missandei’s side without looking at her. Arya counted no fewer than four separate attempts to engage the Commander in conversation. Three by Missandei and one from the Princess but he rebuffed them all. From their expressions it was clear the women were at a loss. Arya on the other hand understood perfectly. If it had been Daenerys who Rolf nearly killed, she’d be enraged too. Not even the blood he spilled satisfied him, just as it wouldn’t be enough to placate Arya if she were in his place. She felt for Missandei and Daenerys, who only wanted to help, but it was pointless. Grey Worm would continue to blame himself and question his every choice until he was confident he knew how to prevent Missandei from being vulnerable like that again. 

Despite being nearly killed, the handmaiden acted as if nothing was amiss. She was rather convincing, actually. She was quick to smile, engaged Daenerys in discussion and when she glanced in Arya’s direction the guard didn’t see the haunted quality she was expecting. She was just about to reach the conclusion that Missandei was a marvel and tougher than the bunch of them, when she noticed how she turned her face away from Daenerys midway through laugh. Her pained expression alarmed Arya. She watched closer. Several times while Daenerys was speaking Missandei covertly swallowed hard as if testing the muscles and measuring the accompanying discomfort. How hard had Rolf been holding her? Idly Arya wondered if it was Rolf who caused the damage or Missandei herself when she was kneeling against the blade, afraid to breathe. Acutely aware that everyone was worried about her, Missandei was quick to try and prove that everything was fine. Arya didn’t object but she did promise herself she’d make a point of checking on Missandei later, once they were back at the keep. 

Lastly there was Daenerys. She was busy alternating between fretting over Missandei and the guests riding in her carriage. No matter how often she was assured everyone was okay, she wasn’t inclined to believe it. Not unlike Grey Worm, no words would be enough to change how the Targaryen was feeling. Arya tried to help by meeting Daenerys with a smile each and every time violet eyes sought her out, She considered herself successful whenever Daenerys smiled back. 

Even after all this time, understanding Daenerys was a complicated undertaking. Arya was dedicated to mastering the craft, but her efforts were frequently thwarted by the many complexities and contradictions that made up the woman she loved.

Daenerys. the woman had come a long way, and it had little to do with the distance she travelled. She scarcely resembled the timid, frightened royal Arya encountered in the Water Gardens. Although it was obvious to Arya, most were oblivious to the change. Their ignorance was rooted in a faulty assumption. that if something looked the same as it always had, then it was no different. Outwardly Daenerys might seem similar, save for the new ribbon in her hair, but the two were barely recognizable. 

On the inside, where it mattered, Daenerys was nothing like the woman who cowered when faced with Viserys’s rage. She’d found her voice, found a purpose and had begun standing up for herself. She was no longer a shy, easy to manipulate Princess who could be swayed or bullied into changing her mind. Now she was strong, determined and principled, a combination that should give pause to any who might oppose her. 

Tired of waiting patiently for her father or her brothers to involve her in politics, Daenerys had found a way to help on her own. With assistance from Tyrion, Daenerys not only got to contribute, but did it in a way she enjoyed. With each meeting she had, each purse of gold she distributed, she found her footing in the world. Before they left for the Reach, she’d handled Rhaegar, Daario and Mormont in succession, refusing to bend to any of them. She was learning to play their games and she was good at it. Anyone needing proof need look no further than Illyrio, the fat Magister from Pentos. He thought he was using her, but by the time he’d left, Daenerys had him eating out of the palm of her hand. Slowly, Daenerys was coming to a realization that Arya reached long ago, she wasn’t like the rest. Daenerys was special. Arya worried she’d take it hard, disappointed that she couldn’t live up to her family name, but her fears were unfounded. Daenerys embraced the things that made her different and day after day became more comfortable in her own skin. It was a beautiful thing to watch. 

Daenerys’s willingness to not only acknowledge her limitations but admit them freely was also refreshing. Most nobles Arya knew loved nothing more than to overestimate their abilities, to boast that nothing was beyond them, but not Daenerys. She knew her own weakness and compensated by asking for help, a rarity among royalty. All were impressed by Daenerys’s form of leadership but none more than Tyrion. Repeatedly, she caught the Master of the Coins observing Daenerys in silence. Was he seeing the same limitless potential that Arya did? 

Confident that Daenerys was safe with Grey Worm, Arya guided her horse in amongst the rows of Unsullied. Several nodded to her in greeting, all knew her and there was a mutual respect even if she knew none of their language and they only bits of hers. She admired the Unsullied, long before she shared a barracks with them. She first saw the famed warriors in Essos and listened intently to Oberyn’s tales of their training. She’d been stunned when he told of their obedience. Arya thought them mindless, how else could they fall on their swords to please their Masters, men and women who considered them property? In King’s Landing she lived with them, sparred with them, got to know them and tried to learn from them. She worked tirelessly to match their fevered dedication to continually improve. Over time she came to understand that she misinterpreted the reason an Unsullied would fall on his sword if commanded to. It may have been the Master’s order, but it was the soldier’s choice. Each Unsullied honored himself and the men fighting beside him by doing whatever was asked of him. It wasn’t mindless at all – it was obedience after endless thought. 

Aerys may hold the whip, but upon closer inspection Arya could see there were different levels of devotion. All orders were obeyed, but not all orders were equal, just as the people issuing them weren’t equal either. Power could be funny like that, it depended largely on perspective. Arya didn’t think it was a stretch to imagine Aerys believed he had the eight thousand eunuchs ready to fulfill his every command, and that may be true, but in actuality he had seven-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine who took their guidance from one. The way Arya heard it, Aerys bought them, but it was Daenerys who met with them after their arrival and spoke to them in a language they’d understand. Daenerys was the one who suggested they select a leader to speak for them, and once they had, she was the first to call him their Commander. The King likely couldn’t differentiate Grey Worm from White Rat or Red Flea, but the men could, and it was a significant distinction. They chose to follow Grey Worm and for slaves who had never been allowed to choose anything up to that point, it wasn’t a decision made lightly. 

With the gates of the city visible in front of them. Arya steeled herself for what was coming. The cunts in court would whisper, Tywin would bitch and moan, Rhaegar and Aerys would get their says too but Arya hoped with all her heart that Daenerys ignored them all. They hadn’t been there, they had no right to judge. Arya was there, she stood at the Princess’s side and watched the growth of a Dragon in awe. 

R-C

Daenerys felt no anticipation, no warmth, no relief as she passed through the gates and entered the grounds of the Red Keep. Wasn’t coming home supposed to feel good? It took all of her resolve to keep her horse moving when she desperately wanted to flee. She could do this, she had to. Somehow Arya knew she was needed, and she returned to Daenerys’s side after the better part of an hour riding with the Unsullied. Daenerys was too grateful she was near to question how she’d known to come. Without making contact, Arya managed to give the Targaryen the strength she needed to see this through. A dull but persistent ache in the back of her head provided a physical manifestation of her internal feelings. 

It occurred to her how badly she wished to be somewhere else. She wasn’t even picky. She’d gladly go back to Highgarden or return to the roads where she was almost kidnapped, she’d even settle for being in the shadow of the castle she hated, if it was her only option. As promised, she saw Nathanial and Marci reunited with their son. The young man was handsome with a broad chest and large muscles. He was more than a little surprised to encounter a Princess, but he got over his awkwardness quickly, putting the focus where it belonged, on his parents. He was unhappy to hear about their ordeal, but thankful to Daenerys and the others for rescuing them. She assured him it was no trouble and wished all three well before she took her leave. She hadn’t lied when she said she needed to go, but she was genuinely disappointed when no one tried to tempt her to stay. If anyone even hinted that she’d be welcome, Daenerys would have remained with the happy family consequences be damned. It didn’t escape her that the reunion shared between the apprentice and his road-weary parents was nothing like the one that awaited her. Marci’s son was pleased to see her and eager to talk to her, Daenerys doubted many in the Red Keep felt that for her. 

R-C

Most of what she saw as she climbed down from her horse was predictable. Before she left or at any point since she could have drawn up a list of those most likely to be in attendance and she would have gotten it almost exactly right, with a few glaring omissions. She expected her father, the Hand, the Kingsguard and Varys, she expected Cersei and Rhaegar, along with Aemon, but she didn’t think she’d see Viserys or Eliza standing near the King. They had returned. It was never meant to be permanent and yet the disappointment she felt at the sight of him was both real and intense. She’d gotten used to having him gone. She’d need to exercise caution, until avoiding him became second nature again. She was quick to focus on the good news. For one, she had Arya to protect her, and two, Viserys would be leaving for Dragonstone before long. 

If there was a bright spot in the sea of boring, unavoidable conversations she was destined to have, it was the man standing five feet from the nearest person. He was there for the same reason, wearing a colorful shirt and a self-satisfied smirk, Daenerys almost waved. He wanted no part of the King or his advisors and Daenerys could certainly relate to that. As she climbed down from her stallion, she was already thinking about all the questions she wanted to ask him. She’d liked Prince Oberyn from the start but now that they shared a certain affection for a grey-eyed soldier, Daenerys hoped they’d grow even closer. 

Above all else Oberyn was Arya’s friend and it was good that he had come, especially now that she no longer planned to return to Dorne. It occurred to Daenerys as she watched Oberyn smirk proudly at Arya’s stunned expression that her lover might change her mind and join the Prince if he asked her to. She didn’t want Arya to go, but she couldn’t fault her for wanting to get back to the life Aerys interrupted. In the heat of the moment, while her father approached, she made a rash decision, she’d let Arya go, if that’s what she wanted. Daenerys would miss her terribly, but she wouldn’t ask her to stay. 

“My daughter returns to us,” Aerys said as he opened his arms for a hug. Jaime Lannister was on his left with the Mountain towering several steps behind. 

“Welcome back Princess,” the charming guard added. 

“Thank you both.” She hugged her father and caught Jaime’s eye as they separated to make sure he knew she appreciated the kind words. 

“You must be tired,” her father said, sounding relatively lucid. “Take your time, get a meal and a bath, a nap if you need one. We’ll meet in the throne room when you’re ready.” 

Daenerys was more than a little uncertain of how to respond. History didn’t give her much practice dealing with a logical, rational, considerate Aerys Targaryen. “Thank you, Father,” she said emphatically, “I’ll see you there, shall we say two hours?” 

He agreed with a nod. As they turned Jaime paused and contributed a nod of his own, as if to confirm it wasn’t a trick. 

Rhaegar limped toward them. Though fully able, Aemon walked next to him, moving at his father’s speed. “Dany!” her brother called before his body caught up. 

With care she stepped around her father and went to Rhaegar, hoping to make it easier on him. “Did you have a good time? I’ve missed you!” Was it her imagination or was he squeezing her a little tighter than usual? Perhaps he sincerely was glad she was there.

“I missed you too,” she replied, since it was more accurate than saying ‘happy to be home.’ 

Aemon was next. He didn’t say anything, but they didn’t need words. He understood her. He knew what the trip meant to her and he knew how she’d feel returning to the Red Keep. He didn’t say ‘he was glad she was back’ probably because he wasn’t. He wouldn’t want for her anything that she didn’t want for herself. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said before he backed away. That was the best she could offer him, he knew and accepted it. 

Daenerys wanted to release Arya, so she could go to Oberyn, but this wasn’t Highgarden and people would comment if she gave her guard too much freedom. Arya would need to stay with Daenerys for the time being. Since that couldn’t be helped and Viserys didn’t appear to be compelled to seek her out, Daenerys slowly started drifting to the left, away from Tywin and his daughter and toward the Dornish Prince. If she couldn’t permit Arya to go to Oberyn, she’d take Arya to him. 

A line quickly formed after Aemon was gone. She noticed that not everyone was joining it. Tywin for example remained where he was, with Cersei next to him. He stayed there and expected Tyrion to go to him to provide an update. The Master of the Coins did so, but he didn’t look happy about it. Likewise, Viserys and Eliza stayed where they were. Apparently, her brother had as little interest in seeing her as she did him. 

Daenerys smiled falsely as one after the next people loyal to her father came to inquire about her trip. Mercifully the interactions were brief. When the Spider’s neared the front of the line, Arya stepped up from behind Daenerys’s shoulder and blatantly positioned herself between the Spymaster and the Targaryen he may have tried to kidnap. For her part, Daenerys was no closer to deciding if she could trust Varys than she’d been when Rolf named him. If it was his plan, it wasn’t a very good one, surely someone as worldly as Varys would know better, wouldn’t he? Her gut told her that nothing about what happened on the road was as simple as it seemed. She may have been reluctant to think Varys was dumb enough to hire Rolf, but powerful men frequently did stupid things in their quests to keep and gain more power. That alone wasn’t definitive enough to absolve him of any wrongdoing. As the guard moved, she and Daenerys shared a look. What should she do? Even if he was plotting against her, this was not the time or the place to discuss it. With her eyes she tried to ask Arya for advice. She answered with a slight smile that was gone almost instantly. Daenerys took it to mean she could proceed with the conversation. She’d tread carefully. 

They spoke for several minutes, neither mentioning Rolf or the unpleasantness he brought with him. He sounded sincere, but perhaps that was what made him so good at his job. He gave nothing away. Either he had no part in what happened or he was a better actor than any Daenerys had ever seen. 

A few insincere thank you’s later, it was Jorah’s turn. Arya remained in place, with her hand on her sword, as though Mormont was every bit the potential danger the Spider had been. Given that he tried to kill her once, Daenerys couldn’t find fault in Arya’s position. He tried to engage her in deeper conversation, asking about her trip and what she thought of the Reach, but she brushed him aside without being rude. The days outside King’s Landing had done nothing to dim the rage that burned inside her on Arya’s behalf. 

She made up an excuse to extricate herself from the conversation and then swept the area in search of Oberyn. When she spotted him just feet from where he’d been, she smiled, hurrying over. “This is a nice surprise.”

He shrugged as though travelling thousands of miles was an everyday occurrence. “Someone had to see that Eliza made it to the capital safely.” 

“Did she?” Arya asked grimly. 

Oberyn expression was similiar. “I’ve done all I can.” 

“I’ll help where I can,” Daenerys offered. “Missandei why don’t you go and invite her for tea later this afternoon?”

“I’m sure she’d like that,” the handmaiden said before she slipped away. 

“That is very kind of you Princess,” Oberyn said, ducking his head. He watched Missandei go and then his whole demeanor changed, becoming less formal and more playful. “I told this one you were different, she didn’t believe me but…”

“Go fuck yourself, I’m not saying it!” Arya snapped, making Daenerys gasp. 

“I will, if I have to, but I much prefer when others do it for me. Now go on, say the words, you always do, no matter how much you protest,” Oberyn taunted, countering Arya’s anger with calm, “because they’re true.”

She looked between them, the mentor and the pupil, waiting to see who would break first. Neither one even looked willing to bend. In the interest of avoiding a long, drawn out disagreement, Daenerys sought to keep the peace. “Say what exactly?”

“Nothing,” Arya barked. 

“It’s not nothing,” Oberyn contended, “don’t mind our friend Daenerys, she is just resistant to the truth.” 

She was at a loss. If this was how they normally communicated it was a wonder they got anything accomplished at all. Wary that she might make things worse without meaning to, she tried to clarify. “What truth is that?” she asked carefully.

Oberyn crossed his arms over his chest and smirked, a devilish look that foretold trouble. “Tell her, you know admitting it is the only way.” 

“I’d rather die,” Arya spat back fearlessly. 

Chuckling darkly the Viper shook his head. “I sincerely hope it doesn’t come to that. I’d hate to break the Princess’s heart.” 

Daenerys was shocked. Did he know about them? How?! Arya hadn’t told him, there wasn’t time. They could have exchanged letters, but Daenerys didn’t think so, Arya would’ve told her if she’d been writing Oberyn, wouldn’t she? Had he discovered their secret some other way? 

“Her heart will be fine,” Arya growled. She punctuated the words with a hard glare aimed directly at the Prince. “You’re old and slow, that doesn’t exactly inspire fear.” 

The Targaryen held her breath. Up until that moment she’d been fairly confident whatever she was witnessing was happening in jest, she was less confident now. Oberyn’s eyes darkened considerably when Arya called him old and it didn’t feel like a game any longer. She shivered as a chill ran down her spine. “Arya, come now, we should probably go get cleaned up, it’s been a long ride.”

Oberyn saw through her attempt with ease. “Do as she says, run along and get cleaned up before I add fresh blood to all the other stains.” 

Oh shit. There was zero chance Arya was going to be going with her now, not after that. “Arya,” she pleaded. 

Oberyn kept twisting the knife. “Didn’t you hear girl, your wife wants you.”

Predictably Arya’s quiet anger blossomed into full blown fury shortly after ‘wife’ crossed Oberyn’s lips. “What did you just say?!” she shouted. 

“Do your ears not work?” he ridiculed. “Time in the capital has made you soft.” 

“I’ll show you how soft I am,” Arya swore. Daenerys didn’t like the sound of that. When Arya took a step forward, she was so concerned about the possibility of violence that she grasped the guard’s arm to try and hold her back. 

“I don’t know what’s happening, but I know you’ll regret this later,” she whispered in a rush. “Just calm down.” 

For a moment she saw a flicker of the woman she loved, the tender, generous, compassionate woman. She rewarded Daenerys’s efforts with a smile that seemed authentic. “Everything is going to be fine.” She extended her arms and swung them in a wide arc as she backed away. Being separated from Arya when she was only trying to help hurt and she might’ve lost her temper if that had been all she got, but Arya turned toward the frantic Dragon and provided one final message. “I promise.” 

The statements were so separate that it took several seconds for Daenerys to recall what Arya was promising. She said that everything was going to be okay. Given how suddenly and how wildly out of control everything had become between her and Oberyn, Daenerys wasn’t sure that was a promise her lover could keep. 

“Just say it,” Oberyn pressed, playing up their back and forth for the small audience that had crowded around. “Don’t embarrass yourself.” 

“No,” she resisted. “Where?”

Daenerys’s worry shifted to confusion. Where what? What were they even talking about? How could two friends go from smiling to this in minutes? 

“Here’s fine,” Oberyn decided plainly, looking around. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your new friends.” 

Daenerys expected that slash would cut deeper than any of his earlier attempts, especially considering how Arya felt about most of the people in the castle. It stood to reason that Oberyn knew it too. He was trying to incite her. 

“Are you sure you remember which side of the sword you’re supposed to hold?” Arya fired back. 

She thought she heard a hint of humor, thought she saw the ghost of a smile on Arya’s beautiful face, but it was gone long before she could confirm its existence. In a blink, the question of whether Arya had been smiling became an irrelevant point as Daenerys realized something more immediate. “You’re going to fight!” It wasn’t a question, but an accusation, one she aimed at Arya. When no suitable reply came, Daenerys kept going. “You can’t fight here.” 

Arya hesitated and then looked around, seemingly noticing the number of people observing them for the first time. In addition to some of the Unsullied, there were several members of the Kingsguard, Varys and others. “Follow me,” Arya instructed, “we can do this in the yard.” After she addressed Oberyn she turned to the Targaryen. “You may want to send for Aemon, he’s not going to want to miss this.” 

She could only stare dumbly. Was Arya really suggesting they go and find more spectators for this nonsense? “I’ll find him and meet you in the yard,” Missandei supplied from nearby, being helpful even when it involved utter foolishness. 

She knew exactly where Arya was going to take them, which also meant she was running out of time to salvage things. “Arya stop this, please,” she begged, keeping quiet so Oberyn wouldn’t hear. 

As happened the last time, there was a momentary break in Arya’s exterior. “It’s okay, everything is going to be fine, I told you…”

Nothing about this was fine. “I know and I’m sorry I made it worse by trying to stop it, but he’s your friend and you’ll regret hurting him.” 

“Do you trust me?”

This wasn’t about trust, it was about common sense. “Arya this isn’t…

“Do you trust me?” she asked a second time. 

“Yes,” she admitted simply. She looked away, but a hand under her chin redirected her eyes up. 

Violet met stormy grey and they were abruptly empty of the anger that had been lighting them. “Then trust me, we’ll be laughing about this later.” 

How could that be possible? She wanted to ask one of the many, many questions that were swimming in her head, but Oberyn was quicker. “Shall we or are you prepared to admit defeat and tell all these people what we Dornish already know?”

Arya stopped walking not far from where Daenerys had practiced the bow and put a hand on the Princess’s shoulder. “Stay here a minute or two, when I’m done, we’ll go get cleaned up like you wanted.”

It was so soft, so sweet, Daenerys couldn’t comprehend it. How could the same woman taking care of her, be cursing and hurling insults at Oberyn? The argument hadn’t even started, it just sprouted up out of nowhere. “Or we could go now,” she said gently. She leaned in the guard’s direction and whispered, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

With a laugh Arya jogged away from Daenerys and toward Oberyn who had located a spear somewhere and was putting on a show with it for his adoring public. Daenerys could only marvel at how fast it was twirling. It was an indistinguishable blur until it stopped, and each time it did, it ended with the sharp tip thrust violently toward an unseen enemy. 

When he saw Arya approaching Oberyn once again began playing with the crowd. “It’s not too late, just fall to your knees, kiss my boots and tell the truth.”

Undeterred Arya drew the sword off her belt. “Can you do more with that spear than twirl it, old man?”

“What’s going on?” Aemon asked as he and Missandei arrived at Daenerys’s side together. “She said they were fighting…”

“I’m not really sure,” she admitted. “They started arguing and then…” she stopped talking, because she didn’t know what more to say. How could she describe the rapidly deteriorating situation. 

“Arya’s good but that’s the Red Viper of Dorne,” Aemon said, as though Daenerys didn’t know. When she looked at him, Aemon was already facing the action. She groaned. Damn it. 

The knot in her stomach twisted violently and it was a struggle to keep her breakfast down. No one trained with Arya more than Aemon. Her nephew had a healthy respect for Arya’s ability. If he didn’t think she had a chance, it just reinforced Daenerys’s darkest fears. “I have to stop this,” she said as Missandei put an arm around her. She took the first step toward the combatants, intent on intervening but it was too late. Arya’s sword, the one Daenerys gave her cut a vicious gash into the air on a direct line for the top of Oberyn’s head. “Fuck,” she hissed as she resigned herself to just suffering through this until it was over. When Missandei tugged her back toward Aemon, she went. 

R-C

Oberyn took note of her sword almost immediately. He stopped twirling his spear and gestured toward the Valyrian steel. “That is not the sword I gave you when you completed your training.”

“It’s not,” she confirmed.

She twirled the sword, mimicking the Martell. He smirked. “Did you steal it?” 

“No,” she said giving nothing further. 

Amused by her limited explanation, Oberyn made a game of trying to guess. “Find it on the side of the road? The King been paying you?” he paused just long enough to see Arya’s lack of reaction to either idea and then he moved on. “Oh, I know,” he said, jumping up and down in his excitement. Arya didn’t need to know where his mind had gone to know with clarity that what came next would be either wildly inappropriate, implausible or both. Oberyn never worried about letting facts get in the way of a good story. “You rescued a fair maiden, and her father gave you the sword for saving her virtue?”

Arya rolled her eyes and scoffed but said nothing. Oberyn took it as permission to keep going. “You didn’t protect her virtue and she was so grateful she gave you the sword in the morning?”

She felt her face heating up. She needed to stop this before he decided to discuss her affection for Daenerys. “Yeah, sure, you got it, that’s exactly what happened.” 

“I knew it!” Oberyn cheered, raising his spear above his head. 

Their conversation up to that point had been largely private, as they circled one another, weapons in hand, but naturally Oberyn had to take full advantage of the chance to gloat. He had a reputation to uphold, Gods forbid word get around that the Red Viper was meek, or worse yet, forgettable. She knew then she was going to need every ounce of her ability and a fair amount of luck to keep up with Oberyn. He clearly wanted to get the Red Keep talking and he was going to use her to do it. 

“You and the Princess are looking quite close,” he noted. “Making the most of your time in the capital eh, friend?”

With his quip hitting a little too close to her weak spot, Arya deflected. “Oh, how things change,” she remarked, “I remember a time when you did more than talk when someone put a spear in your hand.” 

“Touched a nerve, did I?” he joked accurately. With a chuckle he shook his head. “Lady first.”

Finally, Arya thought as she stalked closer. All the talk was giving her a headache. A large part of her relaxed as she prepared to fight the best warrior she’d ever known. She hadn’t known Oberyn was coming, she’d been unnerved since noticing him standing apart from the King. Privately she feared his reaction when she told him she intended to stay. He’d come for her and he was going back empty handed. He was the closest thing she had to a brother anymore, she didn’t want to disappoint him. 

As they always did, her problems faded away, becoming smaller and less dangerous when she was fighting. Combat required her entire focus. There was no room left to imagine Oberyn’s disappointed expression or the hurt he’d try to hide when he learned she was staying in King’s landing with them. Instead of going back to Dorne, to him, the girls, Ellaria and the only home she had left, she’d be staying. Her whole world was limited to the patch of dirt they were standing on, Oberyn and his spear. Everything else could wait. She lashed out with her sword, aiming for the center of his head. 

The thick shaft of the spear stopped her sword. They met with enough force that she put a notch in the wood, making Oberyn chuckle. “Not bad at all,” he commented. 

Knowing he’d be coming at her next, she took a defensive posture and waited. Three times he made like he was going to plant his feet and lunge, and each time he pulled back at the last second. She wasn’t going to fall for that. She rolled her eyes to let him know what she thought of such a novice tactic. He tried one more time to illicit a response. The reply was only words. “That won’t work,” she warned. 

Oberyn’s smirk became a full smile. “It did once.”

Her cheeks heated up. “Gods, don’t remind me. I don’t know where you found the patience to teach me anything.” 

“It was your first lesson,” he remembered, “beware the fake. Had to make sure you hadn’t forgotten everything I taught you.” 

If he wanted proof, she’d show him. Tossing the sword from her left hand to her right, she took a swipe at his leg, he jumped over it and followed through, leading with his knee in the direction of her head. With the palm of her left hand she pushed against the side of his leg and knocked his knee away from her face. She smirked as she straightened back up and he did too. The last time they sparred was the day before she started her training. He knocked her unconscious with that exact move. She had a headache for days and a bump far longer. “Quicker than last time,” he acknowledged. 

“Learn from your mistakes,” she quoted, “that was the second thing you taught me.”

Between the words ‘taught’ and ‘me, Oberyn started moving. It began the same way, except this time he followed through. As the length of the spear surged toward her middle, she fled, sidestepping and then hurrying to put some distance between them. 

“I thought you’d be slower,” he confessed. 

“I thought you’d be faster.” 

That did it, she moved toward him, he moved toward her, and they met in the middle. Against anyone else Arya might’ve assumed she had the advantage in close against a spear, but Oberyn wasn’t the typical opponent. Yes, he sacrificed some range and allowed Arya to get within reach with her sword, but he also wielded the shaft of the spear better than she’d ever seen anyone do. She swung hard and fast, aware of how deadly and dangerous he could be if he had time to be precise. With each slice or chop she hacked at the spear, leaving all manners of scars in the wood. When she went for his legs, he jumped, when she went for his head, he ducked, when she went for his arm he twisted and when she went for his chest he blocked. She lost count of how many different strikes she took, and without fail Oberyn deterred them all, surviving the onslaught. The spear would never be the same, but Arya was never able to make contact with the man holding it. 

After a particularly vicious attempt the tip of the spear was the only thing keeping Valyrian steel away from Oberyn’s eye. He waited until all of her focus was on their weapons and then he caught her off guard with a knee to the ribs. Her armor took the brunt of it, but it did knock her back a step and it was embarrassing. Not one to let an advantage go to waste, Oberyn kept pushing. He began spinning the spear and delivered a strike to Arya’s inner thigh with the shaft. She wobbled but didn’t fall, cursing as she tried to retreat to a safe distance. Instead of letting her go Oberyn started rotating that spear again and tried to repeat the same move on the other leg. She was ready and had her sword in place to knock the blow away. Dark eyes alight and pleased, Oberyn danced away. “Your time here hasn’t ruined at all, has it? In fact, I think maybe you are better than before.” 

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she admitted, thinking about her multiple sessions with Aemon. 

“Lots of people watching,” he pointed out. “What you say we give them a show?”

“What was all this then?” she inquired, gesturing to her leg where there would definitely be a bruise tomorrow. 

“Foreplay,” he said with a laugh. “Think you can handle it?” 

Honestly, she didn’t know, but she was already looking forward to finding out. Rarely could she really let loose. Usually she needed to be cautious to ensure she didn’t harm someone carelessly. She didn’t need to worry about Oberyn however, he was more than capable of avoiding the worst of her attacks. For once she didn’t need to hold back.  
It was also thrilling to think she was about to experience the legendary Oberyn Martell at his deadliest. 

“I’ll let you go first.” To emphasize the advantage he turned his back on her and stuck his spear in the dirt in front of him. He was giving her his entire back and adding to the difficulty by releasing his hold on the weapon and still it wouldn’t be enough. If she rushed at him in hopes of drawing blood before he rounded on her with the spear, she’d waste the opportunity. No, the best she could hope for would be to knock him off balance, to put him at a disadvantage for what came next. 

Years of expecting assassins in every room left Oberyn with razor sharp instincts and keen senses. Sneaking up on him would be impossible, so she decided to do the opposite. She’d run fast and make sure he heard her. If she rushed for the center of his back, and only chose which shoulder to strike at the last instant, it was less likely he’d be able to anticipate her preference. 

Everything was silent, until it wasn’t. With a war cry Dothraki screamers could be proud of, she ran straight at Oberyn, using her shouts to try and conceal her footsteps. When she was five strides from bumping into his back, she angled he body to the side. In front of her Oberyn put both his hands on the spear. She raised her sword. The muscles in his back flexed as he tore the spear from the ground. Anticipating the swing that would follow she adjusted her aim to the opposite side. Her sword was just inches from making contact with the back of his right shoulder when he rotated, pulling the spear along with him. She was almost too slow, but at the last moment she sensed the spear nearing her knees. She jumped as high as she could, folding her legs under her. She managed to just barely clear the spear. While gravity pulled her down, Oberyn steered the spear up, forcing an ugly meeting in the middle. She threw her sword between them in a futile attempt to minimize the damage, and somehow, she avoided getting skewered. The sharpened tip of the spear ended up a little too close to her groin for Arya’s liking. 

Having taken his shots, Oberyn needed to pull the spear back in and regroup. Arya planned to capitalize on the small window when he’d be too busy to attack her. She threw herself at him with vigor, making her first attempt for his head before her feet were back on the ground. She landed in a roll and popped up swinging. Only his incredible reflexes allowed hm to avoid falling victim to any of a half a dozen tries. Likewise, without his relentless training, Arya never would’ve had the necessary stamina to keep pressing her advantage. When he backed up, she went with him, step for step, taking swats at random points to keep him guessing. When she got too close for his taste, he used the spear to clear a path by aiming it at her stomach and forcing her back. She’d sidestep left or right, moving just enough to dodge the tip of the spear and then try to continue where she left off. They were both beginning to slow, but Arya sensed he was worse than her. As long as she stayed close and didn’t let him make use of his weapon’s length, she had a chance. 

When he repeated the same move that worked early, she blocked it, preventing another blow to the gut with the hard wood stock. It did nothing to deter her and delayed her only slightly. He was running out of room. 

His eyes warned of an upcoming strike, so she braced for it. When he moved the spear Oberyn didn’t thrust it at her like she was expecting, he went the other way instead. In a move she’d only seen him do to impress Ellaria and the girls, he put the spear into the dirt hard and used it to aid him in a cartwheel. Arya realized too late what was happening. His right leg was already coming toward her mouth. She leaned away but still got clipped by his boot. Several people gasped when they saw it. From the corner of her eye she saw Daenerys take a step toward her before Aemon pulled her back. She staggered, dropping to a knee while she rolled her tongue against her cheek and tested her jaw. That would leave a mark. 

Opposite her and standing still, Oberyn appeared entirely too pleased with himself. “Had enough?”

She scoffed, an act that made her jaw throb in protest. “Please, you’ve kicked Ellaria harder in bed.” 

Oberyn wasn’t the only one laughing, but he was the loudest. “You girls been talking about me again?”

She straightened up and gave him a smile, aware there was blood in her mouth and on her teeth. “Ready to finish this?”

“Just waiting on you,” he acknowledged, before waving her over to him. 

Before she obliged him, she spit onto the ground, a mixture of Saliva and blood. She had to give Oberyn credit, he must’ve been a phenomenal Pit Fighter. He certainly knew how to keep things interesting. 

R-C

How much longer could this be expected to go on? Daenerys was starting to think the two fighting would survive, but she was increasingly confident she wouldn’t. Watching Arya spar was one thing, but this fight was real, she could tell no one was holding back. She still didn’t even know what they were fighting over, she just knew she had to hold her breath each time Oberyn raised his spear and wince when their weapons clashed. 

She may have hated it, but she was in the minority. The match was riveting to most of those around her, including Aemon, who looked as though he wanted to be out there too. He was quick to point out when he thought Arya was winning, but utterly silent when he had nothing good to say. He had been so sure Arya was about to be named the victor and then bam, Arya gets kicked in the teeth, literally kicked in the teeth. How much longer was she going to need to endure this? 

The longer it went, the more people heard about it and came to bear witness. Grey Worm and dozens of his Unsullied were watching, along with City Guards, some Kingsguard, even a few of Daario’s Second Sons. They all seemed to be getting a perverse thrill out of watching two friends try to kill one another. Daenerys didn’t see the appeal. She could only shake her head. 

While in Dorne she’d seen one of Oberyn’s daughters challenge Arya with a spear. She thought the young woman skilled but seeing her father now, it was no mystery where the girl got her talent. It was also indisputable that she still had much more to learn. At first glance the spear seemed like such a primitive weapon, a long stick with a pointy end, but Daenerys never realized how versatile it could be. Were she not so scared, she’d be intrigued. 

Not even when Arya was on the attack, did Daenerys relax, because Oberyn proved time and again to be an expert at seizing on the tiniest of openings to try and gain the upper hand. She didn’t know what the stock of the spear was made from, but it was taking a beating. Splinters and fragments of broken wood littered the yard. 

No matter what side she came from, or which angle she used to align her attacks, Oberyn was always there, with his spear ready to block away anything Arya tried. 

When it was his turn, Oberyn lacked empathy. There was no doubt he wanted victory as badly as Arya did. It was when the Prince was grunting with effort and moving so fast Daenerys’s eyes could barely keep up that the Princess got a glimpse of just how skilled her lover was. Her gifts were more understated than Oberyn’s, but no less remarkable. More often than not, when he thrust his spear, he hit nothing but air. It was only when they were in close, trading blows that Arya relied on her sword to help. 

The beginning of the end came when Oberyn capitalized on making contact with Arya’s thigh. While she was unsteady and slow, he planted his feet and thrust for the center of her chest. To avoid the pointed end, she tried to back up, but she stripped. Daenerys gasped and Missandei gave a comforting squeeze to the hand she was holding. Daenerys looked at the handmaiden for an instant and when she turned back to the fight, Arya was flat on her back with Oberyn standing over her. Was it over? Daenerys would never admit it, but she was relieved, even when it was evident Arya was losing. At least now this madness would stop. 

With him standing over her, spear in hand, Daenerys thought the end had come. Arya disagreed. She took a deliberate, hard swing at one of Oberyn’s hands. He adjusted his grip just in time, moving his hand further up the spear to a safe location. Any question about Arya’s intent died when the steel cut deeply into the spear. If Oberyn hadn’t moved his hand the results would have been disastrous. 

Daenerys went back to holding her breath. On the field, Oberyn was looking down at Arya with an unreadable expression. He held up the hand he nearly lost and shook it out. “That was close,” he said, disapprovingly. 

Undeterred Arya’s sword flashed again, aiming for the exact same spot. This strike was clearly harder, even to a know-nothing like Daenerys. The spear rippled as Arya chopped into it. She was just about to ask Aemon what she was doing when it became clear. Multiple seemingly random attacks had been anything but random. Arya actions had purpose. She wasn’t trying to hit Oberyn, she knew he’d move his hand. Her desire was to weaken the spear at a strategic location. The last swing got the job done and cracking wood echoed around them. 

Honestly, Daenerys didn’t see the point. Sure, the spear was shorter now and less threatening, but Arya was still on the ground and Oberyn was still standing…

That was as far as she got, because the Gods and Arya had to prove her wrong. She waited until Oberyn was assessing the damage to his weapon and then she pounced. Contorting her body in a way Daenerys had never seen anyone do before, she arched her back and rolled her hips, getting off the ground. Daenerys thought her goal was to stand but rather than getting her feet under her again, she kicked one out as she rolled toward Oberyn. She made contact with the side of his knee. Just like with the spear once was not enough. She did it again, kicking him harder. As he sprawled in an effort to stay upright, he was separated from his spear. He fell and Arya was on him in a blink, with her sword pressed to the side of his neck. 

Daenerys wanted it to be over more than anything, but she’d been wrong before. She felt no joy seeing Arya win. The tension in the air was thick and more than a few of the spectators whispered that the fight wouldn’t be finished until Arya exacted a sufficient amount of revenge for whatever slight caused them to fight so seriously. Daenerys prayed they were wrong. 

She didn’t think she was getting her wish. Arya was kneeling over Oberyn with her sword at his neck. The Dornish Prince was defeated, but neither moved, leading more speculation about what would constitute a victory. As she was silently willing Arya to let him up, Oberyn’s hand came off the ground. Unarmed his hand balled into a fist, and she guessed he intended to punch Arya in the side of the head. She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing what was inevitable at this point. She blocked out all the other voices and just listened for Aemon. Aemon would tell her which of them had won, and how bad the damage. Five seconds, then ten before the silence was shattered by laughter. Two different voices mixing together. She’d recognize one of them anywhere. Her eyes popped open and she turned her critical gaze to the field. Arya was still on top of Oberyn and her sword remained at his neck. Oberyn’s fist hung in the air like a cloud, halfway between where it started and where it was going. Arya’s right hand, which had been empty last Daenerys saw it was now gripping Oberyn’s wrist, keeping it from reaching her. They stayed like that, one on top of the other, laughing like children. “What’s happening?” she asked, not caring who answered. 

Missandei shrugged apologetically, while Aemon at least spoke. “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

Fine then. She knew two people who weren’t confused. She’d ask them. She stepped away from Aemon, Missandei and all the other onlookers and chased after Arya. 

By the time she reached them she had rolled off of Oberyn and they sat side by side in the dirt, breathing heavy. She was deciding where to start when Oberyn said, “Whoever trained you did a fuck of a good job.” 

“More compliments?” Arya said between pants. “Haven’t you had enough yet?”

He lowered his hand from his sweat covered face and smiled at the soldier. “You won,” he decreed loudly, “I haven’t been beat like that in a while. You don’t have to say it.” 

This again. “Say what?!” she roared, having run out of patience. 

“You didn’t tell her?” Oberyn reprimanded. 

“I did,” Arya responded looking at the Princess seriously, “I told her not to worry, that it was fine.”

“Which you’d do even if it wasn’t!” Daenerys proclaimed. “Now you’ve had your fun, someone better tell me what’s going on?!”

Arya was legitimately repentant, so it was Oberyn who spoke for them. “We were just getting reacquainted.”

Was he fucking serious? All of this was to say, hello? They nearly killed themselves. “You get reacquainted by nearly killing her?”

“Well, we Dornish have another way…” he began. 

“STOP!” Arya shouted. “Bite your tongue and don’t finish that sentence.” 

Having reached her limit, Daenerys wasn’t in the mood for jokes or games. She was tired of being the only one with no idea what was happening. “Tell me!” she demanded. 

This time it was Arya who responded. “We took part in the Dornish reunion ritual that allows us to keep our clothes on.” From the ground she reached a hand out for Daenerys to take. Her cheeks turned red as she realized what Arya was saying. She took the offered hand, if for no other reason than so that she’d have something to do. Arya used it to pull herself up. When she was on her feet, and close enough to the Princess to whisper, she finished, “I thought you’d prefer a little fighting to the alternative.” 

She knew it was a joke, but she wasn’t in the mood. She thought each one was seriously trying to hurt the other. “So, you weren’t angry?” she clarified. 

“Of course not.”

That didn’t make sense. She hadn’t imagined it. Arya had been furious and Oberyn kept taunting her. “But you said… and he kept wanting you to say something.” 

Standing now too, Oberyn leaned against Daenerys’s shoulder, they were facing different directions, but she had Arya against one side and Oberyn the other. “She won,” he said, the epitome of fatherly pride, “she doesn’t have to say it.” 

Before Daenerys could erupt, Arya soothed her with a touch on her arm. “I don’t have to, but I will. You were right.” 

Oberyn laughed. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.” 

“Careful,” Arya warned before she leaned away from Daenerys. “You may be right, but I still won.” 

They were laughing and joking like the old friends Daenerys knew them to be, so it had to be another game, right? It was hard to believe everything she’d just seen was because Arya refused to tell a grown man that he was right. They were willing to die to settle a petty dispute over which one of them was right? “Right about what?” she had to know. She needed more if she was going to make sense of this. 

“You,” Arya admitted quietly. 

With one word Daenerys’s anger and annoyance melted away. Oberyn and Arya had been talking about her? Her doubts must’ve been obvious because Arya elaborated. “Back in Sunspear, he told me you were different from the rest of your family.”

“I was right, obviously. Still, your faithful guard refused to admit it.”

Arya came back from retrieving her sword and returned it to her belt with care. “He was right,” she said simply. 

Now that she knew, she couldn’t say she felt any better about it. It was pointless and reckless, but both seemed healthy, so she tried to put it behind her. “Can we go now, or are there more battles you need to wage?”

“We can go,” Arya said seriously, ignoring or missing Daenerys’s sarcasm. 

“Thank the Gods for that,” she mumbled under her breath. “Prince, we’ll see you later.”

He nodded respectfully. “I’m already looking forward to it Princess, I can’t wait to hear all the stories you have to tell about our mutual friend.” 

“Absolutely not,” Arya insisted, uncomfortable with the idea of them trading stories. 

Taking the opportunity to begin paying Arya back for not telling her the fight was a game between friends, she decided to let her worry. “I’d love that,” she gushed, making Oberyn grin, “I think I have a lot you might like to hear.” 

“That’s…”

“Enough,” Arya interrupted, putting a hand on the small of Daenerys’s back. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get cleaned up from the road?”

“It can wait.”

“It really shouldn’t,” Arya disagreed, giving the Princess a nudge toward the castle. 

She allowed Arya to practically drag her away and then when she’d gotten near the door she gave Arya a shove of her own. “Go and see Oberyn, spend some time with him. He didn’t come all this way for me, or Eliza, he’s here for you.” 

“What about you?”

“I’ll be upstairs, you can join me when you’re done,” she proposed. 

“Are you upset?” Arya asked in a low voice. “I’m sorry about Oberyn and the sparring…”

She was tempted to play the part longer, but if she thought Daenerys was upset, she wouldn’t leave and she deserved the chance to see Oberyn after so long. “I’ll let you make it up to me,” she promised, “but first go spend time with him. You know where I’ll be when you’re done.”

“I’ll see you soon?” she verified. 

“Definitely.” Daenerys almost broke the rule and told Arya that she loved her, but she swallowed the words down at the last moment. The crowd dispersed almost immediately after Arya defeated Oberyn, but a few stragglers still lingered nearby. She couldn’t with any confidence say no one would hear them and that made it too great of a risk. When they were alone next however, when she didn’t have to hold back, she intended to tell and show Arya just how deeply she was loved. 

Standing on the third step down from the castle entrance she watched Arya and Oberyn embrace. The affection between them was visible and it warmed her heart. Even after everything her father did to the Starks, even after he sent Arya to Dorne as a foster while her surviving family went to Highgarden, Arya still managed to find some good in it. Her ability to create a real, lasting relationship, with a nobleman no less, after everything that happened was a testament to her strength and her underlying goodness. 

“Sister,” Viserys said as he descended the steps to stand beside her. She turned away from Arya, but Viserys had already seen what had her attention. “She’s quite something that guard of yours. I’m beginning to understand what you see in her.” 

Viserys leering at Arya made her uncomfortable, but she blamed it on being out of practice dealing with her difficult brother. “Welcome home, did you enjoy your time in Sunspear?” 

It was an honest question, but one that she only asked because she forgot who she was speaking to. Daenerys might’ve enjoyed months away from the Red Keep and she might’ve envied the opportunity Viserys was granted, but she always knew he’d never make the most of it. He was entitled and selfish and he felt learning anything was beneath him. He was born a Prince and he felt that alone was enough to justify anything he did, right or wrong. 

“Are you trying to be funny? That backward corner of the Realm and their ridiculous customs don’t matter. I hated every day of it. Even Father agrees it was a mistake, that’s why he’s giving me Dragonstone and ten thousand men.” 

With effort she hid her displeasure. She loved Dorne and didn’t like the way he was demeaning it, but she knew starting a fight with Viserys on her first day back wouldn’t benefit anyone. Also, she’d been there when Aerys ruled he was giving Dragonstone to Viserys and she didn’t think he made mention of so many soldiers. It didn’t matter. If Viserys wanted to make himself feel better by thinking he’d get one hundred thousand men, Daenerys wouldn’t interfere. When he was happy, he was less trouble. “You may be right,” she said, waiting until he smiled in agreement before finishing the thought. “Before long you’ll be Lord of Dragonstone.” 

“Oh, sweet sister,” he said stroking her cheek. She resisted the urge to lean back and knock his hand away. “I have so much to do here before I can leave.”

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry for any mistakes. My health has made writing and editing a challenge lately, but I wanted to get this chapter out. 
> 
> To the people who wanted Gendry, I hope you aren’t too disappointed. I considered it, but it didn’t really fit with what’s going to happen next. The girls have much bigger problems on the horizon than an irrationally jealous Daenerys. 
> 
> Oberyn is back. I had to give him a grand entrance, and what better way than letting him fight Arya. All because she wouldn’t say “you were right.” Seemed like something the characters might do. 
> 
> Viserys is back too. That’s rarely good for anybody. I doubt he’s going to approve of Daenerys’s personal growth.
> 
> The next chapter will have lots of Oberyn, some time in the throne room and Viserys doing what he does best. Hang on, things are about to get interesting. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I’ll post again as soon as I can. 
> 
> RC


	45. Chapter 45

“Come sit,” Oberyn directed, “you standing there like that is making me feel like a poor host.” 

Arya looked around the room. It was larger and better decorated than a substantial number of the guest quarters in the keep. Someone was obviously trying to make a favorable impression on the Dornish Prince. She guessed it was Tywin. Aerys wouldn’t care and Rhaegar was too smart to think a pleasant view would alter Oberyn’s opinion of the royals. 

“Come sit,” he said gesturing to the table, “it’s been too long since we’ve shared a drink my friend.” 

He bent over his bag, searching for something. Arya went to the table. He was right, and Arya had missed him. “Had I known you were coming I would have tracked down a bottle of that wine you like.” 

With a wicked grin, he straightened up holding a bottle of the very wine she was talking about. “I knew I’d have to bring my own or go without.” 

She smiled, glad to see her months away hadn’t changed Oberyn in the slightest. He would never change. “How long have you been here?” 

He located glasses for them and got to work pouring. “A few days. When I arrived, I learned you were escorting the Princess on a trip outside the city.” He passed her a glass with an easy smile. “Where did you go? Everyone here was quite secretive about it.” 

“Highgarden,” she replied before taking a sip. 

Oberyn understood the significance at once. “Did you see your sister?” 

She nodded. “Finding Sansa was the primary reason Daenerys pushed her father to permit her to go. She’s there and she’s doing well, the Tyrells are kind to her, she’s happy.” 

Oberyn moved his drink aside and then brought his hand down on hers. “That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you both. What was it like to see her again?” 

She could tell by his eyes that Oberyn hadn’t missed the admission she casually slid into her telling, but he was resisting the urge to inquire allowing Arya to focus on Sansa. “It was amazing and infuriating. She’s stubborn too, so it wasn’t easy, but it was good. She makes dresses and sells them in a little shop near the castle.” 

Her assumption that Oberyn was holding his tongue proved true a moment later when he asked, “How does Daenerys know you have a sister?”

She picked up her wine but didn’t drink from it. Would he be disappointed in her for revealing the truth to a Targaryen? She steeled herself for a potentially negative reaction. “I told her about Sansa,” she confessed, “I told her everything, I had to.” 

“Arya,” he admonished quietly before exhaling slowly, “that was incredibly dangerous. She could’ve…”

“She’s known for a while and she hasn’t told anyone,” Arya reassured him. “She understands why I need to be a Sand.” 

She knew Oberyn wouldn’t be satisfied with that, and he wasn’t. “It was still a risk. If she reveals your identity, even unintentionally, you’ll end up back in the throne room.”

She contemplated not telling him about her near execution, if only to spare him, but he was her friend and she didn’t want to lie to him, even by omission. “I’ve been back, Mormont accused me of desertion to try and get rid of me.” 

Oberyn was on his feet in a flash. “He did what!?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she promised him, “it didn’t work and that’s what helped Daenerys to see things needed to change.” 

She motioned for him to sit and he did. “What does that mean?”

“Plans are underway to replace the King,” she explained. “Daenerys spoke to Olenna Tyrell while we were in Highgarden and Rhaegar is gathering supporters here.” 

“That’s…” he stopped speaking and just shook his head. “I suppose it’s better.” 

“I won’t ask you to support him,” Arya stated clearly, “but I pledged to do what I could to help Daenerys, and that includes seeing Rhaegar take the throne.” 

He said nothing for a time, he just took a long drink from his wine. “A lot has happened since you left, hasn’t it?” he eventually realized. 

“Yes,” she acknowledged, “and I want you to hear it all.” 

He held up a hand to stop whatever she was about to say next and then refilled both of their glasses. When he was satisfied with their quantities of wine, he allowed her to proceed. “Alright, tell me then.” 

R-C

Daenerys was on her bed, reviewing the book of maps Missandei gave her. Off to the side, she kept a list, two lists actually. She listed the houses likely to support Rhaegar’s ascension on the right, and those who would oppose it on the left. 

Arya had been a great help in differentiating the two groups. The knowledge passed down by her father about the rebellion proved invaluable as she learned which influential families had reason to see Aerys removed. Arya had plenty to tell, including more than one tragic tale of the King killing a man’s children or his wife to punish the smallest of slights. As horrific as those stories were, they were useful now and news. Such things were rarely discussed in the Red Keep, and never with her. She’d been protected from the worst of her father’s behavior and that left her at a disadvantage. She had to catch up. 

Before Arya, Daenerys assumed her father well regarded by most of the nobility. They prospered under his reign, so she saw no reason why they’d join a plot to replace him, but she was naive Gold couldn’t cure all wounds, and men had long memories, especially when it came to those who wronged them. The Tullys in Riverrun were just one example, they were doing well under Aerys’s rule, but Arya had been adamant they would side with Daenerys in a heartbeat if she asked. When she expressed doubts, Arya added that mentioning she had Arya Stark’s allegiance would solidify the bargain. 

She made plans to devote serious time to study in the coming days. She’d go to the library and find books detailing the histories of the various houses. She’d learn what she could about the relationships of each family to her own. Some would undoubtedly be good, many thrived and were unapologetically loyal to the Targaryens in King’s Landing, those were not the allies Daenerys was seeking. She wanted the downtrodden, the marginalized, the aggrieved, she wanted the men who had been waiting for a chance like this for years. 

It was impossible to overstate how significant it was that Lady Olenna, and the Tyrells were with them. When word spread that she of all people supported Rhaegar, others would follow her lead. 

Daenerys had hoped the North would be eager to join them. Support from the largest of the Seven Kingdoms would be meaningful. They certainly had reason to hold a grudge and were frequently ignored not only by her father but by most Southerners. A huge force could amass in the North and no one would notice until they began marching South. It could be an incredible advantage, but one Arya advised her to forget. Even if the whole North wasn’t under Bolton rule, Arya questioned if the Northmen would care enough to raise their swords. As Arya put it, “One Targaryen is as bad as the next, so why bother.” Hearing that the first time Daenerys bristled, she battled against the instinct to defend her family and won, reminding herself as many times as it took that it was not only Aerys the North had reason to despise. Rhaegar had wronged them too. Arya left open the possibility that she could reach out to a few of her father’s most loyal allies, but it was a risky proposition. Ned Stark hadn’t lived in Winterfell for a long time, and if they contacted the wrong Lord, it would be over. 

Dorne was proving to be equally problematic. Viserys and Eliza’s wedding aside, there was no love lost between the Martells and the Targaryens. Their dislike of the King was real and deep seated, but it paled in comparison to how they felt about the Crowned Prince. It was her brother who had been married to Elia and then disregarded her and her children when he no longer wanted them. It was difficult to imagine a scenario where they willingly assisted Rhaegar in his quest to be named King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

She was just about to begin assessing likely candidates in the Iron Islands when Missandei arrived at her side and dropped a thick, dusty book onto the desk where she was working. It landed with a thud and dislodged all manner of dust and filth, making the Princess cough as she covered her face. “Thank you for that,” she said sarcastically, speaking through the hand she refused to lower. 

“I’m sorry,” Missandei replied sincerely, waving her hand back and forth to disperse the dust. “I was just so excited that I couldn’t wait.” 

The handmaiden was always happy, but she rarely behaved so childlike. She was smiling brightly and bouncing with excess energy. “What’s this?” she wondered, putting her hand on the front cover. It was cracked in several places but was otherwise unscathed for a relic of its age. 

“I found it in the bottom of a crate in a storeroom.”

“We keep books in the storeroom?”

“Only those which don’t fit on the shelves,” Missandei told her. Daenerys pictured the library in her mind, with its wall to wall shelves more than twice her height. They had even more books than those they put on display? “This one is in Valyrian, but is written by a Dragonminstrel?” Her uncertainty bled through at the end and she looked to Daenerys for confirmation that she’d said the word correctly. 

“Dragon Minstrels were ancient story tellers,” she explained “but instead of dedicating themselves to the triumphs and failures of man, these authors were devoted to dragons.” 

“Really?” Missandei verified in utter disbelief. 

“There hasn’t been such a minstrel in Westeros for ages. They died out with the dragons. They’re rarely spoken of anymore. I only know of them because I’ve read so much of the Dragonlore.”

“It’s a good thing you did,” Missandei noted. She gently lifted Daenerys’s hand off the book and began flipping through. She took care not to damage the brittle pages but moved with obvious haste. “This book seems to be the life-long work of one such man. It begins when he saw a dragon in his youth and carries on until his death many, many years later.” 

“That’s remarkable, you read all this?” she asked her friend, calculating how much there was to learn. 

“Hardly,” she answered with a chuckle. “I read just enough to understand what it was, but I did discover this.” 

Arriving at the right page she put her finger on a small paragraph near the bottom. It was faded, but still legible. Daenerys squinted, then looked to Missandei, expecting she would tell the Princess what it said. Missandei smiled and pointed at the text. “Read it, you won’t believe it.” 

Curious she lowered her face to the book. She had to concentrate to see the shapes of the letters, they were more than a little faded. More taxing was taking the words she’d seen and making sense of them in her mind. After she had, she read aloud, slowly. 

The others think I’m mad. They think I’ve lost my mind, but I have never felt better. I think it is they who have lost their grip on reality. How can we claim to tell the story of dragons if we do not see these magnificent creatures through all stages of their lives? We wouldn’t dare write a man’s history when years of his life were unknown to us, why is it different for dragons? It shouldn’t be and after this it won’t be. At first light I’ll begin climbing the rockface several miles North of where I currently sit. Several dragons make their home on the uneven peaks. I will climb up and watch them, for as long as it takes. I will not stand on solid ground again until I have witnessed a dragon’s birth with my own two eyes.

Daenerys couldn’t believe what she was reading. Her head snapped up and she sought out Missandei. “Is this true?” It couldn’t be? Since Illyrio gave her the dragon eggs she’d made it her mission to learn what she could about them, but deep down she knew the chances of discovering something new were slim. Now she was looking at evidence to the contrary. “This is unbelievable.” A thought occurred to her and a knot formed in her stomach. “Did he survive? Did he finish the story?”

With a nod Missandei picked up the book and began turning more pages. Once she’d found the right one, she placed it in front of Daenerys again and pointed to where the Princess should begin. 

I’ve done it. I am the first of my kind to observe a dragon egg hatching and live to tell. I understand now why all the others who attempted the endeavor failed to return. Firstly, the rumors were true, one of the dragons on the peak did have an egg. I’ve seen all manner of egg hatch in my life, chickens, birds, even those slimy lizards that occupy the riverbed, but nothing prepared me for watching a dragon enter the world. 

I’d been on the peak for days, just waiting, staying hidden on the far side of the cliff when the dragons were near and venturing closer only when they were gone or sleeping. I was beginning to think I would need to return to town and stock up on supplies, but then the largest of the four dragons I’d been watching returned alone. He’d been gone for several days and came back carrying a dark egg in his razor-sharp talons. Until that moment, I’d only seen dragon eggs in pictures or from very far away. Now after only a fleeting glance I knew I’d drastically misjudged them. I wrongly assumed they would be similar to the other eggs I’d seen, larger, but not unique. How ridiculous. 

With a shriek that had me cowering, the dragon opened his claws and released the egg while it was still in the air. It dropped quickly, and I was certain it was going to shatter against the unforgiving rocks, but it didn’t. Despite landing hard, the egg didn’t break, it didn’t crack, it didn’t even dent. 

The dragon waited only long enough to ensure the egg was safe and then he flew away. My mind filled with ideas about where he might go. Was he going to get the others? Had he chosen to abandon the egg? Had he gone perhaps to secure the food the hatched dragon would surely need? 

Alone with the egg I couldn’t help but want to get a better look. It landed with a thud and not a crack, but I wanted to check for myself that it hadn’t broken. I crept closer, keeping one eye on the sky, wary of the dragon’s return. 

From several feet away I was able to confirm the egg was every bit as large as it had seemed at a distance. More unexpected was the texture and coloring. I was captivated by the intricate design on the shell. All other creatures I’d seen, their eggs served only a functional purpose, but this dragon’s egg was almost decretive. It was dark, with black, grey and purple swirls passing through. It was beautiful in its own right. I couldn’t look away. 

The shell appeared uneven, so I reached out and tentatively touched it to verify it was. The hard, coarse egg was unlike anything I’d felt before. The foreign feel was all too appropriate for a dragon. 

I was back in my hiding place less than ten minutes when the dragon appeared overhead. The same one who dropped the egg was alone again, and this time he carried nothing. He stayed in the air longer than was usual, circling over the egg. Several times I wondered if he could see me. It was almost an hour before he landed. 

For the next three days I waited anxiously for something to happen. Afraid to sleep, I was starving and in desperate need of water, but I couldn’t go back empty handed, not when I was so close. 

It happened late one night. By luck and not design I was hidden behind the dragon. He remained alone. I hadn’t seen any of the other three dragons who resided there since the arrival of the egg. Was this deliberate or coincidence? I had so many questions. I stayed low to the ground, peeking around rocks, doing my best to keep watch without announcing my presence. There was little warning, one moment he was standing near the egg as he often did, and the next he was breathing fire directly onto it. Even from my place dozens of feet away I could feel the intense heat. It is something I’ll never truly recover from. The strength of the flames was breathtaking. Had I been hiding on the opposite side, in a way that afforded me a view of the dragon’s face and mouth I would’ve been burned along with the egg. I can’t help wondering how many scholars like myself met their end that way?

The fire was so all-consuming, so terrifying that it made it difficult to think of anything else, but as the dragon’s mouth closed and the flames subsided, I heard for the first time a distinct crackling sound. I blamed it on the fire and not the egg at first, believing that nothing could survive such an onslaught of flames, but I was wrong. While I watched in wonder the flames dimmed low enough to spot the egg in the center. It broke apart surrounded by fire, separating in thick, uneven pieces. When the last of the shell had fallen away what was left was a small dragon. From where I was, it was impossible to be exact, but the colors of its flesh and scales appeared to match the shades on the egg. The wings were much larger than the body, and its legs though thin, were steady. Having seen what I set out to, I immediately began crawling away. The last thing I wanted was to be discovered and become the new dragon’s first meal. 

I had barely started when the cliff shook under the full-grown dragon’s mighty roar. I instinctively froze, glancing toward the beasts. The newly hatched dragon didn’t seem to notice me, but the elder clearly had. I was certain my end had come. I muttered a feeble prayer to the Gods and readied myself as best I could. Death never came. In a gesture I can only describe as dismissive the dragon turned his large head away from me, focusing once again on his young. 

I didn’t need another invitation. I scurried as quickly as I dared toward the edge and began climbing down. I was nearly on the ground, my heart still racing, when it occurred to me, I hadn’t done anything different when I was caught. I was crawling around the cliff and rocks exactly as I had been for days. Why had the dragon noticed me this time? The only logical conclusion was obvious, and I wanted to laugh at my own ignorance. Of course he had known I was there. I thought I was being so deceptive but what hope did I, a mere man have of outsmarting a dragon? 

I was on the ground when I followed that particular thought to its completion. “He let me live,” I said aloud. He knew I was there, and he let me watch anyway. 

“He survived,” Daenerys said as she reached the end of the chapter. “I can’t believe it.” 

“It matches what we know,” Missandei noted, “the hard shell, the colors.”

“They were born in dragonfire.” She shook her head and closed the book. “It makes sense in a way,” she acknowledged, thinking through what she knew and what she’d just uncovered. “I always wondered why the eggs never hatched, but maybe this is why. When the last dragon died, there was no one to breathe the fire they needed.” Though logical, the prospect saddened her, because it left open the possibility that many more dragon eggs existed out there, and like hers, had no chance of being born. They’d waste away to nothing, becoming dead before they ever got the chance to live. 

With awe she shook her head. “Just imagine what other secrets this book has to share.” 

“We will find them all,” Missandei predicted, “but first you need a bath. The King is expecting a report about what happened at Highgarden.”

Daenerys wanted to sit down with the book and think of nothing else, but Missandei was right. Her father had given her two hours to rest and recover from the journey and she squandered most of it reading. “Ready the water,” she directed. While Missandei did that, Daenerys focused on the book. With the upmost care she tucked it away in one of her desk drawers. It would be safe there, until she could read the rest. She was already looking forward to it. 

R-C

It took over an hour for Arya to tell him everything she felt he needed to know. He’d especially enjoyed when Rhaegar thought he sent her with malicious intent. He was proud when she spoke of saving Missandei from the thief, amused when she recounted Daenerys’s nameday and horrified each time they discussed the King’s erratic behavior. He refilled their drinks often and asked a lot of questions about Sansa to allow for reprieves between the heavier topics. She’d known deep inside that Oberyn would never conceal her sister’s attempts to make contact, but it was still good to see his shock and then outrage when he learned Doran or someone else in the Water Gardens had been preventing her from communicating with Sansa. 

“I didn’t know,” he promised her. “I would never have kept it from you, if I had. When we get back, I’ll speak to Doran about it and…”

“It’s okay,” she said, meaning it. “Sansa and I have been reunited.”

“Yes, and it could have happened years ago if my brother and others had done the right thing.” 

Aware that she’d never be able to talk Oberyn out of his anger, she chose to change the subject instead. “This is the last place I thought I’d see you.” 

“It had been too long,” he said, his tone and posture softening. “I wanted to see you, to see with my own eyes that you were alright.” 

“I am alright,” she confirmed, “and I appreciate you making the trip. It couldn’t have been easy, especially not travelling with Viserys.” 

Oberyn’s expression left no doubt that the route back to her had been long and unpleasant. “There wasn’t a person in the Water Gardens who was sad to see him go.” 

“I feel for Eliza, being his wife will be difficult.” 

“I know, I’ve spoken to her about it. She knows she can come to me if she needs help.” 

She remembered one of her earliest meetings in the capital. “She’ll be the Lady of Dragonstone.”

“I heard. I urged Doran to reconsider, but he refuses to stop it.” 

She rolled her eyes. “It’s easy for him, he’s not the one who will be married to a tyrant.” 

“I love my brother,” Oberyn said to start, “but he’s wrong this time, and Eliza is going to pay for it.” 

“I’ll do what I can for her, and I know Daenerys wants to help her as well,” Arya offered.

“You’ll be in Sunspear, there will be little you can do. Once they are married, what happens in their home is between them. No one will intervene.” 

She swallowed hard. She put it off for as long as she could, but the time had come. He deserved to know and telling him wasn’t going to get any easier. She feared he wouldn’t understand. He hated the Targaryens for good reason, and Arya was choosing Daenerys over him. Since she lost most of her family, she had no choice but to make brothers of a different kind to fill the void. These siblings didn’t share her blood but were no less important. She loved Oberyn and didn’t want him to hate her. “I’m going to stay. Daenerys needs me and…”

“You’re staying?” he repeated in disbelief. “Here?” 

She nodded, but couldn’t keep from looking down, afraid of what she’d see if she met his stare. “Do you remember when we were in Essos, you told me to go, to make a life of my own, one where I could do what made me happy.” 

“You said you wanted to be a soldier, you completed your training, you have a position waiting for you at home.”

Home. As she thought of it, she saw flashes of all the homes she’d known. There were grey banners and snow-covered hills, the unforgiving sun, hot sand under her feet and a spear in her hand, and Daenerys’s smiling face. “I found my place,” she told him. “I hate it here, but I love Daenerys and I can’t abandon her.” 

“Love,” he whispered when he heard her say it. 

“I’m sorry, I know how much you’ve done for me, and I’m grateful, I swear I am, but I just can’t leave her. She’s so alone here.”

She felt the warmth of his rough hand over hers on the table, but still she couldn’t bear to lift her gaze. If he was angry or worse, disappointed it would destroy her. She wasn’t strong enough for that. “Look at me,” he commanded. 

Slowly she raised her eyes, willing herself to face this with bravery. She saw sympathy. Oberyn was leaning toward her, with his elbow on the table. “It’s okay, you’re okay, we are okay.” 

Unshed tears blurred her vision. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t apologize for being in love, not to me or anyone else. It is the best of things. Many of the greatest mistakes I’ve made involved the women I loved.” 

She smiled against her tears. She always smiled when Oberyn talked about his romantic history. It was obvious each time he did that he had fond memories. He cherished them as fervently as he did the daughters who were living proof of his various partners. “I’ve missed you,” she admitted freely, “and I miss Dorne, but Daenerys needs me here.”

“It’s okay,” he told her again. “I’d follow Ellaria anywhere too, even here.” 

She smiled at the comparison but was quick to set things straight. “I don’t know if we’ll last as long as you and Ellaria, she’s supposed to marry Loras Tyrell.” 

He barked out a laugh. “I have a better chance of bedding him than she does.” 

“I know, she says nothing will change but I’m not so sure.” She didn’t mean to reveal her doubts, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t have anyone else to confide in. 

“Perhaps she’s right, perhaps not, but just because it doesn’t last forever doesn’t mean it can’t be special or that it isn’t important.” 

“So, you think I should stay?” she asked, desperate for some hint that she was on the right path. 

“Only you know how you feel,” he stated wisely, “but whether it’s tomorrow or ten years from now, you’ll always have a home in Sunspear and a family waiting there.” 

No longer content to stay seated she stood up and hurried around the table. Oberyn was on his feet by the time she reached him. She jumped into his arms. “Thank you so much,” she said as her grip on her emotions faltered. “Thank you for everything!” 

She always expected she’d express her desire to remain in King’s Landing to Oberyn in a letter. She delayed writing it but knew eventually she’d have no choice. She didn’t realize just how badly she needed Oberyn’s acceptance until she stood in his arms sobbing all over him. He was her family and whatever the future held, it gave her comfort knowing she’d have him in it. 

R-C 

Spirits were high as Daenerys and Missandei left her bedchamber for the throne room. In her mind she practiced what she intended to say. It wasn’t just her father she needed to convince. 

How best to summarize all that had happened? Although, she had no desire to marry Loras, Daenerys knew precisely how lucky she was. She could’ve been forced into a marriage with a demanding, abusive jerk, like Eliza was. Once wed, she’d have little recourse. Marriages were sacred and private. A wife had few options beyond suffering in silence. It wouldn’t be like that with Loras. Somehow her father had chosen for her a man who wanted to be married even less than she did. To the world they’d be husband and wife but hidden beneath the surface they’d be friends who protected one another’s secrets. They had a lot left to talk about and decide, but Daenerys knew a better offer wouldn’t find her, not unless the King and his heir suddenly decided a Dornish bastard was an appropriate partner for Westeros’s Dragon Princess. 

“Shall I go and get Arya?” Missandei proposed. “She’s probably with Prince Oberyn.” 

That was a good guess. The last thing Daenerys wanted would be Oberyn and Arya’s time getting cut short. Yes, she missed Arya but that had little to do with not feeling safe and much more just wanting her close. “She deserves a chance to visit with her friend.”

“As you wish, Princess,” Missandei said, her undying loyalty evident. “Would you like me to arrange for another guard. 

Two options immediately presented themselves – Daario and Jorah. Inviting Daario to protect her now would only undermine all her efforts to distance herself from him. He’d likely interpret her choosing him as proof that she wanted to rekindle their affair. That would be counterproductive. She thought she got through to him last time when she confessed that she loved someone else. It wasn’t worth undoing all that just to have a guard. 

Jorah was an even less appealing option. Daenerys’s anger still ran deep over the part Jorah played in trying to get Arya executed. Even if it was only for one meeting, she didn’t want him to get the impression he was forgiven. “No, it’s okay.” 

“You need a guard, and not only for your father, if Arya learns that you…”

She didn’t need Missandei to finish for her point to be valid. Her father’s disappointment and ire she was used to enduring, upsetting Arya on the other hand was intolerable. She considered selecting a random soldier on patrol and giving him a new assignment but then the throne room came into view and a whole other idea began to take shape. 

“Aemon!” she shouted, rushing toward him. He was standing there, alone, off to the side, waiting for someone or something before going in. 

“Just the person I wanted to see,” he said opening his arms for a hug. She went to him. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten, I want to hear all about your trip.”

“You will,” she swore, “I promise.” They separated before Daenerys continued, “I’m glad you were here. How would you feel about serving as my guard for this meeting?”

Grey eyes so alike Arya’s widened, and he looked around, checking for the one person who wasn’t there. “Is Arya okay?”

His concern was touching, and it made clear how engrained the bond was between them, even without Aemon knowing of their blood relation. “She’s fine, I just gave her permission to spend the afternoon with Oberyn. She’s missed him.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“So, do I have a guard?”

“Of course, I’d be honored.” 

When the meeting came to order, it seemed her father was still having a good day. He was as logical, as he’d been when he greeted them outside. “I’d just like to say one more time, to my daughter and all those who were gone, ‘welcome home!’” 

Attempting to get ahead of the fact that they were a day later than the deadline she’d been given, she addressed it directly. “Thank you, Father, and may I just say I am sorry we were so late arriving. It is entirely my fault and regret if it caused problems for anyone here.” 

She watched her father closely, trying to determine the extent of his outrage, but what she saw was a man who was confused more than angry and who appeared inclined to forgive. “That doesn’t matter,” the King ruled calmly. “All I care about is that my daughter has returned safely.” 

At a loss to explain Aerys’s kindness she looked to those around her. Missandei looked surprised but happy, as did Aemon. Next to her Viserys was seething in silent fury and Rhaegar watched the exchange in silence, with a slight smile on his face. 

“How did things go in Highgarden?” Tywin asked for the Crown. 

He wasn’t looking to Daenerys for the answer, he was speaking to his son. “It went well,” Tyrion said, looking to Daenerys for permission to go on, she provided it with a nod. “The bond between the Tyrells and the Targaryens is as strong as it’s ever been.” 

“And the negotiations?” Tywin pressed. 

“The Princess took the lead in the negations, I’ll let her speak to them.” 

All eyes were on her, she cleared her throat, gathered herself and then spoke as confidently as she could. “It went well,” she said to begin with. “Both Loras and I agreed that it would be to the benefit of both houses if we were to marry.” 

“You did?” Rhaegar verified. 

“We did,” she said while looking directly into her brother’s eyes. “Since Viserys’s wedding is upcoming, Loras and I decided to take things slow.”

“What does that mean?” Tywin asked, a little harsher than Daenerys was expecting. “Did he agree to marry you or not?”

“He did,” she replied. “He’ll be passing through the capital soon on his way to a tournament, and we’ve made plans to meet. If my schedule permits, I may even accompany him to the tourney.” The words tasted bad on her tongue, but she reminded herself that Loras would be a good husband. He’d ask little of her, and there was no reason she couldn’t continue to be with the person she actually loved, since Loras too would be seeking companionship outside their union. 

Clearly many of the King’s advisors hadn’t anticipated a successful negotiation. Tywin was the most vocal, asking, “He agreed to marry you?”

Rhaegar provided a brief but emphatic “Really?”

And Varys contributed a quiet, “Well this will keep things interesting.” 

She answered all of them at once. “Yes, Loras and I came to an understanding that had the full support of Mace and the rest of the Tyrells,” Daenerys decreed, enjoying the way she was unsettling so many. 

“Congratulations Dany,” Rhaegar said, shaking off whatever doubts he had and remembering his obligations as her brother. 

“Yes,” Aerys said. He stepped down from the throne with Jaime Lannister at his side. When she realized he was walking toward her, she stood up and stepped forward to meet him. “I’m proud of you sweetheart. Congratulations, the Tyrell will make a fine husband.” 

A few brave souls in the audience snickered at that, but Daenerys’s only focus was her father. She couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this generous and forgiving. “Thank you, Father,” she said, “Loras and I agree, we’re a good match.” 

As they embraced the court cheered, though she couldn’t say if they were clapping to applaud Daenerys’s wedding or the interactions between the King and his daughter. 

Once their moment was over, the King returned to the Iron Throne and Daenerys to her seat. Tywin had more questions about their trip but directed them exclusively to Tyrion. While she listened, she thought about the reactions she got when discussing her potential marriage. Tywin had likely been the driving force behind the idea, so why did he seem less than thrilled to hear it was a success? Varys’s curiosity could be explained away easily enough. He was undeniably a talented spymaster, but surely this couldn’t be the first time a meeting had an outcome he couldn’t anticipate. Lastly there was Rhaegar, she had questions about Rhaegar’s attitude, but was far more interested in why her brother hadn’t told her about the purpose of the negotiations before they left. He had tried to dissuade her from going but didn’t mention the marriage directly. Why not? It might’ve caused her to reconsider. 

When they were dismissed Daenerys was tempted to escape and go in search of Arya, but she quelled the urge and approached her brother’s chair. To get to Rhaegar, she had to pass Viserys. Without speaking it was obvious the second born was upset at his sister. She’d only been back a few hours, they’d spent almost no time together, what could she have possibly done to offend him already? 

“What was that?” she asked Rhaegar. She took care to keep her voice low. 

“Not here,” he tried to redirect her. 

“Why does everyone except Father seem thoroughly unhappy that the marriage they arranged might actually happen?” 

“Not here!” he repeated. 

He was brushing her questions aside, but he wasn’t the only one with answers. She thought about asking someone else, but who? Tywin would have no incentive to share his feelings, and Varys was a master at both lying and hiding his true emotions. 

Since she couldn’t talk about what was really on her mind, she addressed a secondary issue. “How long has Father been like that?”

Rhaegar who had been firm in his refusal to talk about what was happening, opened up a bit on the subject of Aerys. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he advised, “by this time tomorrow he’ll probably be back to his old self.” 

Although she knew it was unlikely, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t follow up for more details. “When did it start? Do we know what caused it? Maybe we could…”

Rhaegar used his free hand to touch Daenerys’s arm. “Yesterday, he spent an entire meeting talking about the whispers and what they were saying.” She knew to anticipate sharp changes, she knew better than to hope for him to improve, but he was still her father and hope seemed like the least she could do for him. “This morning he woke up like this. The Maester can’t say if tomorrow will be better or worse, there is just no way to know.”

“I know,” she said, because she really did. They’d had this conversation countless times before. Logically she knew better than to expect a miracle, but each time he had a good day, each time he treated her like a daughter he adored rather than a stranger he tolerated, she couldn’t help hoping that the change would be permanent. It never was of course, and Daenerys constantly had to mend the damage to her heart as her dreams of a loving father got dashed again and again.

Across the room Varys was speaking with Tyrion when he looked over and met her eye. He nodded and she returned the gesture while she debated if she should go over to him. She hadn’t decided if she held Varys responsible for the bandits who stopped them on the road. When they discussed it, she and Arya were on opposite sides. Daenerys wanted to confront him and see how he answered the charges against him. Arya thought it would be a mistake to reveal what they knew before they had a better understanding of his motivations. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, so she did nothing, at least for the time being. 

R-C

Arya had left Oberyn and was on her way to find Daenerys when she ran into another Targaryen. She was prepared to walk past Viserys without so much as an extended glance between them, but Daenerys’s brother was in a more talkative mood. 

“Arya, right?” he asked as they came together from opposite ends of a long hallway. 

“That’s right Prince,” she confirmed, “welcome home.” Her kind words were hollow, meant to be polite, because it was necessary. She didn’t care for Viserys, but he was Daenerys’s brother and a Prince. 

“I saw you in the yard, you’re quite skilled. I’m beginning to understand why my dear sister has taken such a liking to you.” 

She didn’t know what game he was playing, but she knew better than to trust Viserys Targaryen. “The Princess is very kind. I’m just a simple soldier.” 

“I’d say you’re more than that,” he went on. “I’ve been watching you, and you’re quite something. Come to work as my guard, when I move to Dragonstone you can lead the troops my father is giving me.” 

She chose her words carefully, acutely aware of how volatile the young Prince could be. “That is a very generous offer Prince, and I’m flattered by it, but I’m sworn to your sister.” 

The soft, inviting tone was gone in a blink. “You really want to defy me?” he asked, his anger building with each word. 

This was the Viserys she’d met in Dorne, this was the one she knew. “As I said, I’m flattered by the interest, but until the Princess releases me, I’m bound to her.” 

“That’s a mistake,” he said bluntly, “but it’s yours to make. I’d still like to get to know you better.” She said nothing, because she could sense that there was more coming, she was cautious as she waited for it. “Perhaps you and I could get acquainted tonight,” he suggested. 

The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight. They warned of danger and she took heed. “I’m afraid I have plans with the Princess tonight,” she said to try and put an end to whatever this was. 

With a smirk that made her skin crawl, Viserys waved away her rejection. “I’ll take care of Daenerys you just be in my bed when I arrive.”

Bile burned the back of her throat. She’d known from the moment Viserys addressed her that it wasn’t because he wished to make peace between them. She’d been wary and anxious when she couldn’t tell what he was working up to, but now that she knew she wished for the ignorance back. Viserys wanted to sleep with her? “Excuse me?” she said, because all other words failed her. 

“My bed, tonight,” he ruled with an a1uthority. 

“As I said, I have plans with your sister.” 

“Not anymore. You’ll be in my bed when I arrive, or I’ll go to my father and tell him you’re plotting against the Realm.” 

Arya felt sick. The ease with which Viserys worked through her various defenses, made it clear this wasn’t his first time. How many others had he done this to, how many different women suffered the indignity she seemed destined to? It was probable that Arya was nothing more than the next in a long line. Was there nothing she could do? 

“I’m a guard, not a whore.”

Her resistance didn’t deter him. “You’re whatever a Targaryen needs you to be,” he corrected. “That may have meant you spent the last months protecting my sister, but tonight it’ll require you to join me.” 

“Daenerys…”

“I’ve already made arrangements to ensure Daenerys will be protected. You needn’t worry about anything, except fulfilling my every need.” 

Her emotions were on a pendulum, swinging from dread to rage and back at an uncatchable speed. “I’m not a whore!” she told him again, as her anger bubbled up under the surface. 

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” he countered smugly. “The King has little tolerance for traitors and once I tell him what I discovered about you…”

“What did you discover?” she fired back. He didn’t have anything, and in another castle, under a different King that might’ve mattered. 

“Don’t you worry about that. I can be very creative when I have the right incentive.” It was obvious that he was enjoying himself, taking pleasure from the fact that he had her trapped. “When you’re being tortured for crimes against the Crown, you’re going to wish you’d made a different choice, believe me.” 

Was that it? Was that all her life had become? She had to choose between two horrible options; either sharing Viserys’s bed or being tortured and executed for crimes she didn’t commit. 

“I’ll see you later Sand,” he said with a laugh. He left her there dumbfounded to bask in the hopelessness of her situation. He was several feet away when he stopped to taunt her again. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Daenerys you’re unavailable to serve her tonight.”

The arrogant smirk said more than the words he used. That’s when she knew for certain that all of this was to hurt Daenerys. Being the weapon turned against the woman she loved was more painful than anything Viserys had planned for her. 

R-C

Daenerys, Missandei and Aemon had been all over the keep searching for Arya. First, they checked Daenerys’s bedchamber, then Oberyn’s guestroom and lastly the barracks. They couldn’t find her anywhere. 

The only hint came when Oberyn told them that he and Arya had spoken and shared a bottle of wine, before she left to meet up with the Princess. When she worried, Oberyn reminded her it was a big castle with lots of places to look. Missandei and Aemon added that Arya was beyond capable of looking out for herself and despite all of that being true, Daenerys couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. 

On her way to illicit the Unsullied in her hunt, she walked past Viserys and his guard Trant. She had no intention of stopping. Viserys didn’t say anything, but he did seek out and hold Daenerys’s gaze, smirking in that particularly slimy way of his. She brushed it off. Her brother would need to wait, Arya was the priority. 

Walking away from the barracks, she felt a little better about the whole mess. Grey Worm and a contingent of his most loyal men would scour the castle grounds for Arya and pass along the message that Daenerys was looking for her. With the outdoors covered, Daenerys pledged to redouble her efforts inside. “We should check your bedchamber again,” Missandei advised. 

“Where do you want me to look?” Aemon asked, willing to help in any way that he could. 

“Can you go past the kitchen?” Daenerys asked as she grasped for any innocent explanation for where Arya may have gone. She hadn’t been out of touch all that long really, but Daenerys’s instincts told her she needed to get to Arya and soon!

Her bedchamber was empty, and what was worse, there was no sign Arya had been there since they last checked. Where could she be? She was debating whether or not to leave her lover a note when a knock on the door divided her attention. “Arya come in!” she yelled, moving away from the desk. 

Daenerys was nearly in Arya’s arms before she realized the person coming through the door wasn’t her lover at all. Jorah Mormont was in her place, all too willing to accept the hug Daenerys was offering. 

To worried to let the awkwardness bother her she dropped her arms to her sides and glared at the knight who had been her friend once. “What are you doing here?” 

Accepting that she wasn’t going to rush into his arms, he lowered his too. “I… I’m…”

She didn’t have patience for this. “What are you doing here!?” she asked loudly, separating each word with an extended pause to make sure it was perfectly clear. 

“Your brother sent me,” he said in a rush to justify his presence, “he told me you’d need a guard this evening.” 

“I don’t need a guard,” she replied vehemently. “I have Arya and why would Rhaegar send you…”

“It wasn’t Rhaegar,” Jorah admitted, “Viserys is the one who told me Arya wouldn’t be available to be your guard tonight. I’m here because I thought…”

“Stop!” she ordered, not caring that she was being rude. The uncomfortable feeling she’d been wrestling with as she searched for Arya was changing into something else, something darker and more debilitating. She had to put a hand on the wall to keep upright. Viserys had arranged this? She didn’t know his reasons, but they couldn’t be good. Her brother didn’t have a compassionate bone in his body and everything he did was done with a self-serving objective. Her need to find Arya was even more urgent now. 

“Daenerys, I just…”

She didn’t want to hear it. The last thing she had time for listening to Jorah justify his dislike of Arya or the reasons he felt entitled to be Daenerys’s guard. “Get out!” she shouted. 

“Princess,” he tried, softening his voice to make him less threatening, “there is no need for that.”

“Viserys was wrong. I don’t need your assistance, and I don’t want your company, so you can leave.” 

She knew before he opened his mouth that he wasn’t going to obey her. He was defiant. “You need a guard.”

“Not in my bedchamber I don’t. Aemon is on his way back, he’ll provide protection until we locate Arya.”

“You think Arya’s missing?” Jorah deduced after a prolonged pause. “She’s not, Viserys said he assigned her a job, something he needed to get done before the wedding.” 

Was Jorah under the impression that thinking Arya was with Viserys was somehow better than her being unaccounted for? Daenerys got no relief from the idea that Arya was somewhere with her petty brother. “What job?”

He averted his eyes. “I don’t know, he didn’t say. I’m sorry, Daenerys.”

“Get out!” she yelled. If Jorah didn’t have any other useful information, she was wasting time looking at him. 

“I can help. I can help you search.”. 

“Why would you?!” she asked him hotly. “You wanted Arya dead, what do you care if Viserys harms her?”

“I regret that, you know I do,” he said, defending his actions, “but why would Viserys hurt Arya? They don’t know one another, and Arya hasn’t been around long enough to anger him.” 

As he asked the question, the answer came to her. She remembered a guest room in the Water Gardens where she would have been beaten by her enraged brother had Arya not stepped in to save her. Viserys believed their father would have called off his wedding and returned to the capital, had Daenerys not spoken out in Arya’s defense. Viserys didn’t know how to forgive or forget. He was just the sort of man to stew in his anger for months, letting it fester until he got back. It was nearly too much for Daenerys to take. Whatever was happening was her fault. He was hurting her and using Arya to do it. Viserys had unknowingly chosen the perfect target. 

Standing became too challenging and she sank to the floor as a sob tore from her chest. Jorah reached out for her, but Daenerys preferred the floor to his touch. Luckily, she didn’t have to choose. Missandei hurried past Jorah and kept her from falling by taking most of her weight. “Come on, we can go and see if the Unsullied have found anything.” 

“He’s going to hurt her, because of me,” she whispered. 

“We’ll find her,” Missandei insisted. 

They were in the hall before Daenerys noticed she had shadow. She looked over her shoulder and saw Jorah following from a few steps behind. “I told you to leave,” she reminded him, while Missandei continued to guide her away. 

“Forget him,” Missandei encouraged, “he’s not important. Let’s find Arya.” 

She was right. Arya needed her. Daenerys knew as well as anyone just how depraved her brother could be and she wouldn’t leave Arya in his clutches a second longer than necessary. She’d been through too much already at the hands of Targaryens. With purpose she straightened up and began walking under her own power. “Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

“I won’t be until I know Arya’s safe, but there will be time for crying later. Arya needs me now.” She heard the words in her own ears. and they kept her focused. Nothing mattered more than Arya. 

“Yes, she does,” Missandei agreed. “Where do you want to start looking? It’s a big castle.”

“We need help,” she decided. It would take far too long to search the entire keep, so she’d need to enlist allies, but who? “Go to Grey Worm and get them started searching indoors as well. They can start near the barracks and move across.” 

Missandei nodded to make clear she would do as she was asked, but she had another idea too. “Should I request the help of the Second Sons as well.” 

She thought of Daario and almost declined. He would surely try and use the situation to his advantage and Daenerys didn’t like the idea of owing him a favor, but Arya was running out of time. “Do it.” 

“Anyone else I could reach out to?” 

“What about Varys?” Jorah proposed from the rear. “No one knows more about what is going on around here than he does. If Arya is missing, he’ll know where to look.” 

Missandei hesitated, aware of the conflicted feelings Daenerys had about the Spider. “No,” she ruled. “I don’t trust him.”

“That’s a mistake,” Jorah said in an attempt to persuade her. “Varys isn’t perfect but…”

“If I can’t trust him,” Daenerys interrupted, “then I won’t be able to believe a word he says. He’d be a liability. I won’t waste valuable time on a man I can’t rely on.” 

“Tyrion then?” Missandei proposed. “He’s almost as well informed as Varys.”

That Daenerys could agree to. “Make sure he understands the need for discretion!” Daenerys said before Missandei could get too far away. There were dangers in making Arya the center of attention, it increased the chances people would ask questions about her, gossip about her and potentially uncover the truth about who she really was. Daenerys didn’t want that, but she couldn’t find her without help. Risks needed to be taken, but she trusted Tyrion to assist without making things worse. 

A handful of rooms later, she was no closer to being reunited with Arya. When Daario came rushing toward her, she thought he brought news. “Did you find her?” she asked before he could say anything. This was his chance, if he found her, she’d forgive almost anything. 

“My men are looking,” he assured her. 

“Then why are you here?” Jorah asked him, as a longstanding dispute between them reignited. 

“I’m here for Daenerys,” he said to Jorah, while looking at the Princess. “I thought we could go wait in your room. My men know to find us there when they’ve located Arya.” 

What a joke! Did he really think she was going to go sit somewhere with him and sip wine while they waited for an update? For a man who boldly claimed to know her better than anyone, he didn’t have even the most basic understanding of how she felt. 

He took the prolonged silence as agreement. “Jorah can keep looking,” Daario said, putting his hand on Daenerys’s arm. “We’ll go and wait for word.” 

She snatched her arm out from under him so roughly she nearly struck him in the process. “You are unbelievable,” she said more to herself than to him. “You just can’t help yourself. You hear I need help and your first instinct is to run in here and try and make use of it.” 

“That’s not…” Daario started to say. 

She threw up her hands. “For two men who hate each other so passionately, you are more alike than either of you care to admit.”

The sell-sword appeared offended by the comparison. but said nothing. It was Jorah who verbally disputed the claim. “I didn’t do anything. I came to help.”

“You tried to get Arya killed,” she accused him fiercely. 

“That was diff…”

“You did what?” Daario asked with a smug, satisfied smirk. He cut off Jorah’s latest excuse, but Daenerys barely heard it. 

“It’s none of your business,” the knight contended. 

Daenerys had spent too much of her life involved in meaningless, repetitive conversations like this one. It was time for a change. Without a word she marched away, leaving Jorah and Daario behind her. They both called to her, but she ignored them, sticking her head in the next doorway to see if Arya was there. 

“What’s going on?” Oberyn asked her as she was coming out of one of the keep’s many offices. Still no Arya. “There are soldiers scouring the castle, what are they looking for?”

Daenerys swallowed hard. Could she tell him? She’d promised him she’d protect Arya and now she would need to confess that Arya had gone missing during her watch. That was hardly appealing, but it was a vast improvement over the guilt she’d feel lying to him. “They’re looking for Arya.” 

It was quiet with a thick layer of tension hanging between them. “You still can’t find her?”

“I thought we were simply missing each other,” Daenerys explained, “that she was in my bedchamber while I was looking for her in your room, but now I know my brother arranged it.” 

“Rhaegar!?” Oberyn hissed with fire in his eyes. 

“No, not Rhaegar, Jorah told me Viserys asked him to serve as my guard because he needed Arya for something else.” 

She didn’t know Oberyn well, but he understood the significance of what she was implying. “We must find the Prince,” he said with a grim determination. 

“He is in a meeting with my father,” she replied. “Has been for more than an hour. Arya doesn’t appear to be with him, so…”

“Does Viserys know the truth?” he asked, gripping Daenerys’s shoulders and looking her straight in the eye. “Did you tell him?”

There was no mystery about what he was really asking her, it was obvious. Only one truth could cause such a reaction. “No, I’d never reveal such a thing, least of all to Viserys.” 

“Then we need to find her, before your brother finishes his meeting.”

She nodded and was going to speak, but before she could Daario and Jorah arrived, finally catching up with her. They’d been lingering behind her a while but hadn’t approached. She guessed they thought she would be reluctant to start a loud, disagreement with witnesses. They were misjudging her and her companion. She didn’t care if Oberyn heard her scream at them, in fact, she thought he’d likely join in. 

“Princess,” Jorah said kindly, “we should return to your chambers, perhaps she’s back there.”

“Feel free to go check,” she retorted, without emotion. 

Sighing Jorah prepared for another attempt. Daenerys turned back to the Martell and tried to get them focused on what was actually important. “You know Arya better than anyone. Where do you think she’d go? Did she have a place in Sunspear, or the Water Gardens where she went when she wanted to be alone?”

He considered it a moment and Daenerys took a small measure of comfort from the fact that there was someone who cared for Arya as deeply as she did. In Oberyn she’d find an ally, no matter how long they had to keep searching. “The tower,” he announced. 

“What tower?”

“In the early days of our friendship,” Oberyn began, “she’d sneak away to the Tower of Spear when she needed to think. She said that being up so high made her feel free.” 

A tower, that was exactly what she needed to know. She began picturing the highest points in and around the castle. 

We don’t have a Tower of Spear,” Jorah supplied unhelpfully. 

“No, but we have lots of towers with high windows,” Daenerys noted. She hadn’t wanted Jorah and Daario to follow her around but perhaps her patience would be an asset now. She assigned each man a tower to search and gave them orders to go. They left, reluctantly, sensing rightly that refusing her wouldn’t be healthy. 

“Where can I look?” Oberyn asked when they were alone. 

“You can come with me,” she offered, “I saved the highest tower for us. It’s not far.” 

It was quiet while they walked, but not uncomfortable. More than once she wanted to engage Oberyn in conversation, but she didn’t even know where to begin. She couldn’t devote the necessary energy to thinking up things to say when all of her was dedicated to Arya and where she might be. 

“There is something else you should know,” he said as they began making their way up a long, winding staircase. 

“About Arya?” she clarified. 

She looked back from three steps ahead and saw a severe expression on his handsome face. “More often than not, when she snuck away to the tower, it was because she was thinking about her family. She told me once it reminded her of home, Winterfell had a tower that one of her brother’s used to climb.” 

Having committed everything Arya said about her family to memory, she easily picked out the brother known for climbing. “Bran,” she whispered. 

The door at the top of the tower was closed, all the other times Daenerys had seen it, it was open, left ajar so the guards patrolling didn’t need to take the time to open and close it incessantly. 

“This is it,” she said quietly as she ran the last few steps, nearly tripping on her dress in the process. 

“I’ll stay here and make sure you aren’t disturbed,” Oberyn decided. 

This made her stop, her hand resting on the doorknob without turning it. “You aren’t coming in?” He had been just as frantic as Daenerys, though he hid it better. He had every right to see Arya too. 

He smiled knowingly. “You’re the one she wants.” 

He sounded so sure, it made Daenerys question just how much he knew about their relationship. “You can…”

He didn’t let her finish. “Go,” he encouraged, “she shouldn’t be alone.” He nodded toward the door. “No one will bother you.” 

“You don’t have to stay, few people come up here. She picked a good spot.”

He chuckled. “She usually does.” There was a delay before he asked, “Is there anything else I can do, for her or you?”

That was hard to answer without knowing what made Arya flee, but she could think of one thing. “If you see Missandei downstairs you can let her know we found Arya, and she can call off the search.”

She was relieved when Oberyn agreed without asking why. Arya was a proud and private woman. She wouldn’t take kindly to knowing Daenerys mobilized half the keep to search for her. If Oberyn could get to Missandei however, she’d never have to know. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he pledged, “you just take care of our girl yeah?”

“Yeah,” she vowed seriously. “Thank you.” Oberyn’s contributions had been the missing piece. Daenerys dreaded to think how much longer it would have taken to find Arya if she hadn’t had the Prince’s insights. 

She waited until he was out of view and then she took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping inside. Her heart picked up speed when she saw Arya was there, right where Oberyn guessed she’d be, standing in front of the window. 

“Arya,” she said as she made her way closer, “what are you doing?” 

Any relief she felt at finding her lost love disappeared when she heard Arya’s response. “Just wondering how badly it would hurt if I jumped.” 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I’m genuinely curious what people think of this one. I felt like I didn’t capture Viserys properly in my other stories, and I really wanted to get him right this time, so I watched Season One again and tried to recreate is unique brand of maliciousness. I hope I came close. 
> 
> In other news, Daenerys learned how dragon eggs are hatched. 
> 
> See you next time,
> 
> RC


	46. Chapter 46

The footsteps warned her someone was there. She knew who it would be. It wasn’t surprising to hear Daenerys asking what she was doing. 

She told the truth, revealing exactly what she’d been contemplating when Daenerys walked in. 

“What’s wrong. Is it Viserys?” Daenerys asked, barely breathing between the words. She rushed to Arya’s side, probably to try and prevent her from doing something drastic. 

Inside she seethed as she pictured the Targaryen Prince. She wanted to release everything she was thinking and feeling, just dump it all on Daenerys, but she couldn’t. She’d realized fairly quickly that Viserys’s motive for demanding her was to hurt his sister. He may be a deplorable man, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what would cause maximum pain.

“Did I ever tell you about the first men I killed?” she wondered aloud. 

“N…no, I don’t think so. Arya are you okay?”

She ignored the question. “It happened when I was in training,” she explained, “they were recruits like me.” She stopped and thought back to that pivotal day in her life. Almost a full year before the Targaryens came to Sunspear, when she believed her life would take a whole different road. “I didn’t sleep that first night, I was exhausted but too afraid to close my eyes. A woman surrounded by men, our beds close enough to reach out and touch one another if we wanted, and I knew some of them wanted to very much.” 

She heard the moment Daenerys understood the nature of the story she had to tell. She tried to stop it, but a muffled gasp slipped through. She didn’t need to look away from the window to picture Daenerys covering her mouth. “Arya, you don’t have to…”

“They worked us hard, ‘weeding out the weak’ they called it. Twenty quit the first week, but I stayed, I knew it was where I belonged, even if the instructors didn’t agree and the other recruits mocked me, I knew. I’d always known, all the way back in Winterfell I preferred swinging a stick and pretending it was a sword to any of the things a proper young Lady was supposed to enjoy.” 

“You had a dream, there is nothing wrong with that.” 

She’d appreciate Daenerys’s sentiment sometime later. For now, she had a story to finish. “Eventually I couldn’t stay awake, I’d fall into a restless sleep, too exhausted to keep my eyes open another minute, tossing and turning, either in fear or from the nightmares.” 

Two hands caught one of hers between them and squeezed. Even still, she kept staring out the window. “Every day that passed, I knew I was one day closer to something happening.” She turned to finally look at the Princess. She had tears in her eyes but glassy or not, they were beautiful. “I was ready,” she declared, “there were two of them. They attacked me in the middle of the night.”

“They deserved what they got!”

“I had a knife, the one I gave Missandei, I slept with it. When I woke, I knew it could only end in one of two ways, either they were going to get what they wanted, or I was going to have to kill to stop them.” 

A tear broke free and slid down Daenerys’s smooth cheek. She didn’t wipe it away, too busy gripping Arya’s left hand to do anything else. “You did what you had to do, it wasn’t your fault.” 

Arya wasn’t looking for absolution. “I killed them both, pushed their corpses onto the floor at the foot of my bed, and went back to sleep,” she recounted. “I put the knife back under my pillow still wet with their blood and you know what?”

“What?” Her voice cracked a little on that single word. 

“I slept like a baby. No nightmares, no fear, I just rested for the first time in weeks.” Having told the relevant history, she tied it to the present. “From that night, I never doubted what I was, I knew I was doing what I was meant to, what the Gods put me here to do. I’m a fighter.”

“Yes, you are,” Daenerys agreed gently. She raised Arya’s hand to her lips and kissed her scarred knuckles. “You are a fighter and you’re a protector and I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Arya told her plainly, willing Daenerys to really hear it, to believe it and take it in. “No matter what, I love you and I don’t regret coming here, or choosing you, I wouldn’t change any of it.” 

She lowered Arya’s hand away from her face, but only far enough to lean into the guard’s space. “Why are you talking like that? Tell me what’s happening. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s…”

“You can’t fix it,” she declared boldly. That was the sad truth. This was Arya’s problem and Daenerys getting involved wouldn’t benefit either of them. If she stood up for Arya, it would provide Viserys all the proof he needed, he’d continue using Arya as a weapon against his sister to exact his revenge. 

“Don’t say that!” Daenerys resisted passionately. “We can do anything! We can, I know it, so just tell me what’s going on. What did my brother do to you?”

She laughed humorlessly as she was reminded of a distant memory. She decided to share it with the woman she loved. “My father used to say it was our choices that define us. He said the mark we leave on the world comes from the choices we make in important moments, the things we do, or don’t do when it counts.” 

“Sounds about right,” Daenerys commented. 

“I believed that. I believed one of my moments was that night in the barracks when I killed two recruits and felt nothing. I made a choice to end their lives and I never doubted it was the right one.” 

“It was,” Daenerys insisted. “Arya, what you did, it was right, you have to know that.” 

“I believed that,” she said, looking away from the Targaryen to stare out the window. She couldn’t be watching Daenerys’s expressive eyes when she told her why all of this mattered, Arya didn’t want to see what her lover felt when she understood what had Arya contemplating all the choices that led her to this place. “If it was right,” she summarized, “I don’t think the Gods would put me in this position. Forcing me to do it again but putting me against one of the few men in all of Westeros I can’t kill. I’m being punished, it is the only explanation, punished for every horrible thing I’ve ever done.” 

It didn’t take long for Daenerys to put the pieces together. She dropped Arya’s hand like it burned. “Viserys,” she mumbled under her breath. Arya hadn’t wanted to tell her, but she wouldn’t lie. She wouldn’t tell her everything though, she wouldn’t share her suspicion that Viserys’s only interest in her was as a means to hurt Daenerys, Arya wouldn’t put that weight on her shoulders. Instead she’d let Daenerys believe her brother had other reasons, whether it was a genuine attraction or payback for what happened in Dorne, either was better than Daenerys taking the blame. 

“Most of my life I believed my Aunt Lyanna was your brother’s prisoner,” she said, changing topics wildly. She trusted Daenerys would be able to keep up. “I used to wonder how she died and imagine what I’d do in her place.” 

Rightly, Daenerys didn’t know what to say. Arya could hear her swallowing hard, and fighting tears, but no response came. Arya didn’t mind. She had more to share anyway. “I thought I’d die trying to escape, or failing that, then I’d take my own life, cutting my throat or jumping from a window.”

When Daenerys realized why that particular memory was relevant, she threw herself at Arya’s back, wrapping her arms around her waist and pressing herself firmly against the younger woman’s spine. “Don’t even think about it!” she ordered. 

There was a lot she would do for Daenerys, but that was one request she couldn’t honor. The truth was, she’d been staring at the window for a while before the Princess arrived, questioning if she was brave enough to go through with it. She knew the answer now. “Maybe this is another of those moments my father talked about,” she guessed, savoring the feel of Daenerys’s body against hers. The armor did little to stifle the warmth and it was nice. “Maybe the right choice this time is to fall on my sword or jump from this window.” 

“No!” Daenerys shouted between sobs that shook the both of them. “No! Stop saying that!” 

“I can’t do it,” Arya admitted in a low, even voice. “I just can’t.” Daenerys erroneously thought she was still talking about ending her life and loosened her hold on the guard slightly. Arya corrected her misconception. “I can’t lay there and let him do what he wants, I can’t give up like that.” 

With a strong arm Daenerys turned her, so she was facing away from the window and looking instead at the heartbroken Dragon. “You don’t have to!” Daenerys declared vehemently. “You don’t serve Viserys, you serve me! I’m ordering you to stay with me tonight.” 

She smiled sadly at Daenerys’s attempt. “I already tried that, he said that he’d tell your father I was plotting against him.” Watching Daenerys sag when she realized her scheme wouldn’t work was painful, but it was preferable to what she had to say next. “If I have to die, I don’t want it to be there, in front of him, like all the others. I can’t let your father be the final thing I see in this world.” 

With seemingly no concern for her own welfare Daenerys balled up a fist and slammed it into the center of Arya’s armor with force. “Stop saying that!” she demanded. “You aren’t going to die!”

“What other choice do I have?” she asked, secretly hoping Daenerys could see a solution.

“You aren’t dying!” she screamed. “You can run. Oberyn is here, he’ll help you. Just go. Viserys will be going to Dragonstone soon, he’ll forget about this…”

That was one of the first ideas she considered and then dismissed. Could she flee, yes. But doing so would require her to stay gone and likely dodge Targaryen soldiers for the rest of her days. She wasn’t opposed to that, and Daenerys was right, Oberyn would assist her, but she’d never get to see Daenerys again. In some ways that seemed worse than death. Also, she was less certain that Viserys would move on. “He held a grudge the whole time he was in Sunspear and then sprang his trap as soon as he saw me again.” 

It was clear from her expression that Daenerys hadn’t given thought to why her brother was doing this. Now she was. “You think this is because of what happened in Dorne?” 

She answered carefully. “I can’t think of any other reason he’d suddenly find me so desirable.” 

Momentarily crestfallen Daenerys found a reserve of strength and made use of it. She straightened up, angrily wiped at the traitorous tears and then crossed her arms over her chest. “Well fuck Viserys, he doesn’t get to punish you for doing your job. You’re not even his guard, you’re mine!” The way she said the last word made it clear she was talking about much more than just her duties as a soldier. “I’ll talk to my father, and Rhaegar and explain what’s happening, I’ll stop this.” 

Arya lined up their eyes to make sure she had Daenerys’s full attention. “This isn’t yours to fix. This is my problem.”

“Whatever we do, we do it together,” she recited, “isn’t that what we said?” 

“That was different,” she tried, knowing it wouldn’t work. 

“Different or not, it’s still true. I love you and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you and that includes my brother! Stay here, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She sounded so sure, so righteous and so strong Arya was tempted to let her go, but she remembered all the reasons that was a bad idea before Daenerys could get too far. “Stop,” she said, freezing Daenerys near the door. “Think about what you’re saying. Are you going to tell your father or Rhaegar why you care if I sleep with Viserys?” Arya didn’t let her reply. “If you do stop him tonight, do you really think he’ll give up? Once you defend me, he’ll keep pushing, just to see how far you’ll go.” 

“I’ll go as far as it takes,” she pledged. 

Arya had always known she was undeserving of Daenerys’s love, but it was entirely too evident in that moment. “I love you, and I love that you’re willing to fight for me…”

She didn’t get to finish her thought. “What’s the alternative?” Daenerys inquired hotly. “Let Viserys rape you? Let you fall on the sword I gave you? Watch you leave and hope my father doesn’t send men to hunt you down?”

She didn’t respond because she had no good answers to give. She’d been confident she was capable of ending her life before Daenerys came through the door, in the time since she grew less certain. She didn’t know which of the options laid out she would take, but she did know the choice and the consequences were hers. She refused to share that burden with Daenerys. 

“Just kill him,” Daenerys said as her anger boiled over. “No one would miss him, and you’d be justified. He was trying to rape you, so you killed him, just like those recruits. You’re far better with a sword, just do it.” 

She managed a tight smile for her lover. She was letting her temper do the talking and she wasn’t thinking clearly. “Will the King see it that way?” No matter how justified she was, killing the Prince would mean an execution, likely after weeks of torture.

“We could run. We could go together, tonight,” Daenerys proposed, grasping onto her next idea. “We could run. I could get gold and we could be miles away before anyone knew we were gone.”

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine the world Daenerys was describing. It was as close to perfection as Arya’s inadequate mind could get. To have Daenerys and be free of the Red Keep and everyone in it, was an ideal situation for her, but it would alter Daenerys’s life dramatically. Could she do that? Was it fair to even ask? “Last time a Stark and a Targaryen ran away together it started a war,” Arya reminded her. She was trying to lighten the mood, but her attempt fell flat. Daenerys wasn’t amused. 

“Why are you finding reasons to go against all my ideas?” she asked, aiming her fury at Arya now. 

“I’m just being realistic,” she clarified. “If I kill a Prince, I’ll be killed, if they think I kidnapped you, they’ll hunt us no matter where we go.” 

“Do you want to die!?” It was an accusation more than a question. 

She didn’t. There had been a time in her life when she didn’t fear death, when she would’ve welcomed it, but things were different here, thanks largely to Daenerys. “I want to be my father’s daughter, to live like he taught me, with honor, and if that means meeting my death tonight bravely, then so be it.” 

Daenerys didn’t want to hear it. She was shaking her head before Arya had finished speaking, the motions so violent her hair was bouncing back and forth. “No!” she rebelled. It was a lone word, but it was packed with all her various authorities and titles, as a Princess, a member of House Targaryen, a Dragon and the person Arya was committed to. “You’re my guard, do you serve me?” 

Arya didn’t answer, aware if she did, it would be used against her. 

Daenerys didn’t have patience for silence. “Do you?” she pressed. 

“Yes,” Arya admitted. 

“Good then I order you to stay here. Keep the door closed, that sword in its scabbard and don’t go within five feet of that window.” 

She was immediately wary. The only reason Daenerys would be making such a decree was if she intended to leave and none of the places she might choose to go in her current state were wise in Arya’s opinion. “While I’m not jumping out the window, where will you be?”

Again, Daenerys didn’t find her funny. “I’m going to have a talk with my brother.” 

She didn’t know which brother Daenerys planned to seek out, but neither filled Arya with much optimism. “Daenerys, I told you, it’s not your…”

“I heard every word you had to say,” she promised, stopping Arya before she could repeat herself. “I heard you, but you aren’t the only one who has to make choices and live with them. Tonight isn’t one of your moments, it’s one of mine.” 

“That isn’t what…”

“I choose,” Daenerys began talking over her, “to not allow another member of my family to hurt you. I choose to stand up for you as you’ve done for me so many times. I know how you feel, but I can’t let you leave me, and I can’t let Viserys have you, so I’m going to do something about it.” 

She wanted to object, to reiterate that it wasn’t Daenerys’s place, that the decision was hers, but the argument was blocked by a lump in her throat. The momentary quiet was the only approval Daenerys needed. “Don’t leave this room,” she instructed. “I’ll come and get you when it’s safe.” 

Arya was conflicted. What could she do? Her mind raced as she thought about her time spent serving Daenerys. It began as fulfilling her oath to House Martell by following Doran’s order when he sent her with Aerys, but it wasn’t that anymore. It was her choice to serve Daenerys now. The woman she was sworn to, had given her strict orders. She could disregard them, she could jump as soon as Daenerys left the room, but in addition to being the noble Arya served, Daenerys also happened to be the woman Arya was madly in love with. Her final act couldn’t be defying Daenerys, it just couldn’t be. Her loyalty to Daenerys aside, letting her face either one of her brothers alone felt wrong. “At least let me come with you.”

When she looked back, she was smiling, despite her obvious anger. “I love you Arya Stark, and I want you beside me, but this is a conversation between dragons and it’s long overdue.”

R-C

Leaving Arya, all Daenerys wanted to do was find Viserys and rip his throat out. Who did he think he was? Forcing Arya into his bed against her will and for what, because she stopped him from beating a defenseless and terrified woman?

She’d had cause to be angry a lot in her life and more so recently, but she struggled to recall another time it affected every aspect of her being so completely. Her vision was blurred though she couldn’t say if it was clouded by tears or rage. Her hands were balled into fists and she swung her arms with every step, silently hoping she’d make contact with something and release some of the aggression built up inside her. Her legs felt heavier than usual with every step seeming more like a stomp. Her ears weren’t working properly. When she passed a couple of people talking in the hall, she could see their lips moving but the only words she heard was Arya’s haunting plot to kill herself so she could die on her own terms. Her mouth was dry, her throat scratchy and she kept her teeth clamped tightly to ensure she didn’t release the scream sitting on the tip of her tongue. The whole situation felt like shackles on her chest, restraining and constricting her heart. Arya, the woman she loved was being hurt and once again it was a member of Daenerys’s own family behind her pain. She meant what she said, she simply refused to let it happen. She would deal with Viserys and put an end to his vendetta against Arya, but first there were preparations she had to make. 

Missandei was waiting when she arrived at her bedchamber. She’d been sitting but popped up onto her feet when she saw Daenerys enter. Her smile didn’t stay in place for long once she realized Daenerys came alone. “Where is Arya?”

She thought about the woman in question and had to fight to regain control of her emotions. Crying wouldn’t help Arya now and time was of the essence. “She’s at the top of the castle’s highest tower. She’s waiting for me there.” 

“Why aren’t you with her?”

It would’ve felt nice to unload some of her frustrations on Missandei. Daenerys knew the handmaiden was loyal and a great listener, but this time she couldn’t tell her what was wrong. She didn’t want to embarrass Arya and telling Missandei what Viserys had planned would take more time than she was willing to spend. No, she needed to stay the course. Do what needed to be done and then move on to the next thing. “I need a favor,” she said holding out an arm to the chair Missandei vacated, gesturing for her to sit. 

She sat and waited for Daenerys to do the same, but she couldn’t. She was too tense to stop moving. She began pacing the length of the room. “What’s wrong?” Missandei asked, accurately sensing that something wasn’t right. “Oberyn told me you found Arya.”

“I did, she’s fine, but I need to ask a favor of you before I go back to her.” She felt guilty for intentionally leaving out her visit to Viserys, but she couldn’t tell Missandei for the same reason she didn’t allow Arya to accompany her, this was her fight and if it went bad, she didn’t want anyone she loved to be involved. This way if called before the Prince, or the King and asked, neither Arya nor Missandei would need to lie when they said they had no knowledge of what Daenerys had done. 

“I’ll do anything for you and Arya,” Missandei swore, “you know that.” 

She tried to smile but it felt strange on her face. “I need you to stay here, if anyone asks, you’re preparing me a bath and you are expecting me back soon.”

“And will you be back?”

“Yes,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure. As she was speaking, she realized her friends would need more than just a story if things went badly with her brother. It wouldn’t matter to Viserys if Missandei and Arya were innocent, he’d hurt them anyway. She amended the plot. “If I’m not back in an hour,” she allowed, taking a minute to think. “I need you to go up to the tower and get Arya. Take the gold from the desk, take as much of my jewelry as you can carry and leave. Take Grey Worm and the Unsullied with you and just go. Go as far and as fast as you can.” 

“What’s happening? You’re scaring me.” 

She bit the inside of her cheek as she worried about how much or how little she should reveal. “Viserys is angry,” Daenerys summarized, knowing Missandei would understand just how volatile the entitled Prince could be. “He’s been harboring a grudge against Arya since Dorne.” 

“Is she alright?”

“She is,” Daenerys confirmed, “and I’m going to do everything in my power to fix it, no matter what it takes, but if I fail, I don’t want you or her to be here.” 

“We can’t leave you,” Missandei resisted. “Arya would never and the Unsullied are required to stay.” 

“She has to,” the royal implored, “you have to make sure that she does, please Missandei, promise me.” Daenerys foolishly had forgotten the Unsullied were slaves bound to her father. “Tell Grey Worm the order comes from me, and that I have my father’s permission.” It wasn’t a perfect solution but by the time the soldiers learned the truth, they’d be far enough away to decide for themselves if they wanted to return. It wasn’t much, but it was the best she could do. 

She was sure the handmaiden could see how important this was to her. “You don’t though, do you?” 

Daenerys answered with a look. “Please, promise me you’ll get the people I care about out of here.” 

“I promise to try,” she qualified, and Daenerys knew that was all she could ask. “Arya is as stubborn as you are, so don’t be surprised if she’s still at the top of that tower tomorrow morning.” 

“Tell her that I’ll follow as soon as I’m able,” Daenerys decided hastily. 

She was speaking without really thinking through the consequences of her statements and Missandei noticed. “Will you?”

She didn’t need to think about it. “Yes, ride toward the Stormlands. Hopefully I’ll catch up before you reach Storm’s End.” 

“Lady Musgood?”

Daenerys shrugged. She hadn’t chosen it specifically because of Ashara, but it was as good a place as any. “You already know the way.”

“You’re worrying me,” Missandei confessed when there was a lull in the conversation. 

She stopped pacing. “I don’t mean to. I just want you to be prepared. Hopefully, I’ll be back in a few minutes and all of this will be behind us.” 

Always practical Missandei put her on the spot. “And if you’re not?”

“Then you do as I ask, but before you leave take Arya to Aemon’s room and make sure she tells him who she really is, who he really is.” 

Missandei instantly understood the weight of what Daenerys was suggesting. “Are you sure that’s wise?” 

Truthfully, she was acting on instinct, making it up as she went, basing her rulings on what she felt in her heart was best. “He deserves to know, and if we’re leaving, we won’t be able to come back later.” 

“I’ll tell Arya that’s what you want, if you don’t come back.” 

“One hour,” she emphasized. “Don’t delay.” While she reminded her of the deadline Daenerys went to the closet and stuck her head in. She’d need one more thing if she was going to pull off the scheme she devised. 

“What are you looking for?” Missandei got out of her seat and came to help, but it was unnecessary, she had what she wanted by the time her friend reached her. “Rope?” Missandei verified as she coiled it around her hand and then shoved it down the front of her dress. 

Guessing they were near the end of their discussion Missandei stood beside her and opened her arms. Their embrace was short but intense. “I don’t know what you’re planning but it’s obviously dangerous, so please be careful.” 

She kissed her friend’s cheek. “Thank you Missandei, for everything. There is no one else I can ask, and no one else I would dare trust.” 

When she stepped back Missandei pinned her with a hard stare. “I will do as you wish, but you best hurry, because I don’t want to have to tell Arya your plan involves her leaving King’s Landing without you.” 

“Missandei, I have to do this. It’s past time someone stood up for Arya Stark and I can’t do nothing, not this time.” 

There was one more hug before they said goodbye. Daenerys truly hoped this wasn’t the last time she’d see her. Still, she took comfort from the knowledge that if she failed, Missandei, Arya and the Unsullied would be beyond Viserys’s reach. Only Aemon would remain, and she knew Rhaegar would take care of him. 

Missandei didn’t wait until Daenerys was gone to beginning packing up the things she’d need if she was required to disappear. Any relief, any peace she felt conversing with her friend quickly evaporated when she was back in the hall. By the time she reached the door to Viserys’s room, she was once again brimming with disgust, anger and hate. Oddly though, she was glad she was seconds away from coming face to face with the man who inspired all of those feelings. 

She knocked hard and fast. While she waited, she put into practice years of concealing her emotions. She buried everything deep under a mask of indifference. It felt wrong to hide her anger, but it was necessary. She needed Viserys to relax. She wouldn’t be able to yell or scream, she had to behave strategically. He’d know how she actually felt before she was finished, but until that time came, it needed to be her secret. 

When he answered the door Viserys already had his shirt off and looked fresh from a bath, his hair still wet. As a young girl she learned to comprehend her brother’s expressions, it was a necessary skill to ensure self-preservation. If he was angry, she knew to avoid him. That’s how she was able to read the nearly imperceptible flicker of surprise before he hid it behind an arrogant smirk. “Hello Sister, it’s lovely to see you but I’m afraid I’m expecting someone else. Perhaps you could come back another time.” 

Barely able to contain his glee as he taunted her, Daenerys had to remind herself of the plan she’d created, so she didn’t ruin everything. “Frightening the help Viserys,” she chastised with a shake of her head. “What does tormenting a Dornish bastard get you?” It sickened her to describe Arya as ‘the help’ but she couldn’t show weakness and that is how Viserys would view her affection. He couldn’t understand the love Daenerys had for Arya, because Viserys had never loved anyone. If he cared about anyone at all, she would be knocking on their door instead of his. 

“It brought you here,” he noted. 

She realized too late that maybe she was giving him exactly what he wanted. Did that possibility require her to adjust her plan? No, what Viserys wanted didn’t matter. Keeping Arya safe did. “Was that the point?” 

“The point Sister is that you interfered where you didn’t belong. Father was going to call off my wedding to that Dornish cunt and then you had to go and invite some bastard to the capital. I spent months there, because of you!” He was screaming by the end but people in the Red Keep were used to Viserys’s rage. If anyone did hear, they wouldn’t think anything of it, there was nothing noteworthy about Aerys’s middle child behaving poorly. 

She felt sympathy for Eliza but pushed it aside. She kept her focus on Arya, where it needed to be. In the same vein, she avoided any discussion about how ridiculous it was to believe their father would have called off the wedding they travelled thousands of miles to formalize. If Viserys wanted to believe Daenerys was to blame, he could. She didn’t care. What he couldn’t do however was take his anger out on Arya. “I didn’t know what would happen, I was just trying to keep her alive.” 

“Why do you care about some bastard? Father already gave you one friend, why take another?” Whether he was mentioning Missandei and the way she came to King’s Landing intentionally to upset her, or if he really believed she was only entitled to a single friend, Daenerys didn’t know. Understanding Viserys’s mind was nearly as impossible as making sense of Aerys’s. She wouldn’t waste energy on it. “She’ll be going home in a few days anyway. it’s all that annoying Oberyn could talk about on the way here.” 

She shrugged as if she didn’t know the answer. The truth was she could talk for weeks about the reasons she cared about Arya, but Viserys was worthy of none of them. “She intrigued me, I’d never seen a female soldier before.” 

Viserys didn’t let the moment pass without reminding her of what he had arranged for Arya. “So, you can understand why I want her in my bed, then?” His devious smirk made it clear that he was trying to anger her, rather than persuade her. Little did he know he didn’t need to try so hard. She was already murderous. Soon he’d have all the anger he could handle. Soon. 

She clamped her mouth closed and swallowed hard as she summoned the resolve to keep going. She’d be required to play a part and to be convincing enough to lull Viserys into lowering his guard and allowing her close. Luckily, she knew just the right way to entice him. 

As soon as Viserys was old enough to understand the concept of marriage, he made it known to anyone who would listen that he wished Daenerys to be his sister-wife as was the Targaryen custom. She had little interest in the practice, especially with Viserys, but he became obsessed, bringing it up to their father frequently enough that as they aged Daenerys worried her future would involve being married to her malicious brother. Selfishly she felt nothing but relief when Aerys made it known that Viserys would be bonded to Eliza. Likewise, one of the benefits of her arrangement with Loras Tyrell was that once she was wed to him, she’d be unavailable to Viserys. Everything hinged on Viserys still holding out hope that she’d agree to sire a full-blooded Targaryen child with him. He believed if that happened the King would reward him by placing him on the throne ahead of Rhaegar. “Is Arya the one you really want?” 

All too aware of her feelings on the subject, Viserys assumed her motives. “You’d do that for her?”

She swallowed down her disgust and forced a smile. “This isn’t about her,” she lied, “this is about us. You’re right, I feel badly about how things happened in Dorne and I want to make it up to you.” 

It didn’t take long for a wide grin to stretch his face. When she saw it, she knew she had him. A normal person would’ve asked more questions or been suspicious about the reason for Daenerys’s abrupt change of heart, but not Viserys. He was so used to getting what he wanted, and so oblivious to other people’s feelings that he accepted her sudden, inexplicable change in direction almost immediately. Her motivations didn’t concern him because Daenerys herself didn’t concern him, at least not past what he wanted her for. Offering him a thing he desired for most of his life was too appealing to refuse. “I don’t know,” he whined, “you’d need to do a lot to earn my forgiveness.” 

It was almost time, and Daenerys was counting the seconds until she could peel the fake smile from her face and express herself honestly. Just a little longer. “I know,” she said, “you won’t be disappointed.” 

When he reached for her breasts, she resisted the urge to knock his hand away and stepped back instead. “Let me lock the door, we don’t want to be interrupted.” She didn’t wait for his approval before going ahead. She could feel his eyes on her as she moved and it made her sick, but it would all be worth it. She repeated, ‘Doing this for Arya,’ in her mind. What she had to endure was distasteful but an improvement over the other potential outcomes. If her choices were being here, letting Arya take her place, or Arya dead, she’d suffer the indignity every time. 

Before she turned to face him again, she glanced to the right, where she knew the tub was. She could see the path he took to get there and the order in which he stripped off his clothes. He left them on the floor, in a line, to be picked up by a servant later. It wasn’t surprising, he felt cleaning up after himself was beneath him. Near the clothes, resting on a small, circular table was an unlit candle and his sword. The golden pommel had jewels attached. Although he wore it everywhere, he rarely used it. Unlike Arya or Aemon who trained with their weapons daily, Viserys’s was almost entirely to display his wealth and importance. She breathed a sigh of relief. This would be easier, if he didn’t have access to a blade. 

“Are you coming Sister?” he asked impatiently. 

‘For Arya’ she reminded herself before she peeked back over her shoulder at a man who repulsed her. “Absolutely. You should probably sit,” she encouraged nodding toward the chair by the desk, “this isn’t going to be quick.” In addition to moving him further away from his sword, this request also made him less threatening and hopefully easier to control. While her back was turned and her actions private, she retrieved the rope she collected. It was already tightly wound, and she did her best to conceal it in her fist. Once she was confident it wouldn’t be immediately visible, she reached up and pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders. Being naked in front of Viserys was difficult enough, but then she heard him moan in appreciation of the view she’d given him. “Leave it,” she said, thinking she was delaying to pick up the discarded silk. Eager to get this over with, she obliged him. Her final act before turning to face her brother fully exposed was to unstrap the knife she’d been wearing under her dress. It was Grey Worm’s gift to honor her nameday, and when she accepted it, she never could have imagined she would be using it for something like this. She wanted to take the knife and run straight at Viserys, but she needed to be smarter than that. A test of strength was one she’d lose. Even unarmed she couldn’t guarantee she’d be able to subdue him, so she had to leave the knife behind. She’d been wearing it on her leg since their encounter with the bandits. As it fell away, landing on the dress, Viserys noticed. “What’s that?”

She had the lie ready. “A secret place to store my purse,” she told him. “I was travelling, and we heard rumors of bandits on the roads, so we hid the gold.” 

By the time she neared the end of her explanation she could plainly see he’d already lost interest. He didn’t really care, he just wanted what he wanted. When she turned, Viserys was too busy admiring her naked body to notice that her right hand was tucked behind her back, similarly he didn’t think to question what she might be holding. “Come here,” he instructed, “I want to know how sorry you are.” 

Being close to him was the last thing she wanted, but it was the only way. She’d need to be close to make her point and that unfortunately meant she’d need to be within an arm’s reach of her perverted brother. “As you wish.” 

He was leaning forward as she approached, looking eager. She worried he might leap out of the chair. She couldn’t let that happen. “Close your eyes,” she said. She heard disgust in her tone but hoped Viserys mistook it for fear. Sadly, she suspected her being terrified would only excite him more. He didn’t comply so she pushed further. “Please, I have a surprise for you.” 

For most of the five steps it took to get from where she dropped her dress to where he was sitting, he stared openly at her. She frantically worked to think of another strategy to tempt him, but it was needless. When she was nearly to his chair, he closed his eyes, but made his wishes known by patting the bulge on the front of his pants. She needed to have him trapped and unfortunately straddling his lap was the most efficient way she could think of accomplishing that. If she could get him lying down, she’d welcome it, but she dreaded to think of what he’d want to do to her before he was willing to move to the bed. Daenerys wasn’t about to take such a risk. 

She sat in his lap and tried not to vomit. He leaned toward her, clearly wanting a kiss but she used her free hand against his bare chest to push him back into the chair. Shifting her weight closer to his hips, she effectively pinned him in place. She kissed his cheek softly and dragged her lips across to his ear. “Put your hands behind the chair,” she whispered. 

When he opened his eyes and looked at her in confusion, she made known what she intended to do. She held up the rope and let it unwind from its coil. “It’s so much better this way,” she exaggerated, praying she was believable. “This is my favorite part.” 

Unlike at the door, this time Viserys’s surprise stayed visible. His eyes were alight with passion and she could see he was intrigued. He’d made no secret of the fact that he wanted her for a long time. Now he was finally getting her. She wondered if he was wary of the rope, of how much mobility he’d be giving up, or if he was too blinded by lust to consider such things. He hadn’t agreed yet, and none of this worked until he did, so she sweetened the deal. “I’ll let you do the same to me,” she said against his ear, “after.” 

Watching Viserys put his hands behind the chair to comply was thrilling. It was working and soon the need for the ruse would be over. She could get dressed and stop pretending she wanted him. Then he’d see the Dragon she was born to be. “I’m going to tie you to the bed,” he warned. 

“I certainly hope so,” she retorted, before she left his lap. “I’ll be right back,” she added to keep him distracted. 

She felt better, safer once she had his wrists bound together, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Using all her strength she pulled to tighten the binds. Predicably, Viserys cried like a baby. “Be carful!” he demanded. 

“Sorry,” she said, “I just wanted to make sure I did it right. I want this to be perfect.” 

“It’s too tight,” he complained as he tried to move his fingers and realized just how restricted he was. Blood flow to his hands would be minimal. 

“You’ll love it, just one more minute,” she vowed as she lied one last time. She tied not one, not two but three different knots into the rope, working to make them as intricate and inaccessible as possible. She stepped back to assess her handiwork. “Can you move?”

“No.” 

“Go on,” she encouraged, “try.”

He did. The chair thrashed slightly but the rope held. The muscles in his arms flexed while his hands remained where they were. He was trapped and the time for games was over. “I can’t. Now get back here!” 

She ignored him, returning to her dress and putting it on. Viserys saw what was happening and likely realized quite quickly he’d been had, but he asked anyway. “What are you doing? Get over here! Untie me, damn it!” 

With the dress covering her again she felt more like herself. Viserys was never supposed to see her like that. The only person she wanted to be naked with was contemplating suicide at the top of a tower because of her brother and now he was going to answer for that. She got the knife last, picking it up and turning it over in her hand. She carried it in front of her, wanting Viserys to see it. 

He was tugging against the rope violently and screaming for her to release him, but she just kept her slow, steady pace, her and her knife. 

“I’m not the same girl I was when we went to Sunspear Viserys. That girl, that sister, never would have tied you up like this and she wouldn’t be contemplating killing you now, but I’m different.” 

Naturally Viserys’s first instinct was to rely on harsh orders even when he was in no position to enforce them. “I am a Targaryen Prince! I command you let me go.”

No longer needing Viserys relaxed, she let the mask fall and showed him everything, the disgust, the hate, the rage. “You aren’t the only Dragon in this room,” she reminded him coldly. 

He spit at her, a glob of saliva landing at her feet, she stepped over it. “You’re no Dragon, I’m the Lord of Dragonstone, you’re nothing.” 

She smiled as if she found him amusing, it was an empty expression devoid of any actual warmth. “You aren’t Lord of anything yet, and I may be nothing tomorrow, but tonight I’m the person who gets to decide if you live or die.” 

Never one to tolerate being mocked, he tried again to free his arms. When he failed, he kept his torment verbal. “You think I’m frightened of you. You don’t even know which side of that to cut with.” 

“I tried to tell you I’ve changed Brother,” she said, mimicking his habit of calling her ‘Sister.’ “When we parted in Dorne maybe you were right, but not anymore.”

She knew Viserys didn’t fear her. He had no reason to before tonight. He was defiant until she got close enough to cut him and then his eyes widened, and he began pulling on the rope again in a futile attempt to get away. With the chair so close to the desk he couldn’t even tip it backwards to gain some distance. He was helpless. With no remorse she put the steel down against the outside of Viserys’s right shoulder. The cut wasn’t deep or long but it served its purpose, it showed that this wasn’t going to end the way he thought it would. 

“Ahhh!” he cried as the blade bit in. Once it had he looked down, watching the slow, steady trickle of blood run down his arm. “What did you do? Untie me, I need the Maester.” 

“It’s a scratch,” she countered dismissively. “The next one won’t be.” 

“Next one?”

“Yes Viserys,” answered, speaking slow and clear, as though she couldn’t rely on him to keep pace, “the next one. I’m going to cut you as many times as I deem necessary for you and I to come to an understanding.” 

“What understanding?”

“You’re done tormenting me and my friends. Missandei, Aemon, Arya, if you so much as look at any of them in a manner that displeases me, I’ll come in here while you’re sleeping and cut your throat,” she threatened. 

He scoffed, spitting at her again. “This is about them? I’ll tell you what I’ll do, tomorrow I’ll go to Father and I’ll tell him about the traitors in his castle, he’ll burn all of you.”

Such a predicable response. “You’re going to tell Father?” He answered with a snarl. “Tell him what, that sweet little Daenerys tricked you and threatened you? You want the whole court to know I tied you up and made you cry?”

“I’m not crying!” he shouted. 

“And I’m not done yet!” she fired back. To emphasize her point she raised her knife and gave him a matching wound on the other shoulder. “Oops, I’m sorry, I rudely interrupted you, you were saying something about how you were going to murder my friends, go on, I’m listening now.” 

He did. “I’ll fuck that pretty Missandei before I tell Father she’s a traitor. I’ve been waiting to get my hands on…”

Daenerys wasn’t going to stand for this. Also, she had a deadline. She needed this resolved before Missandei and Arya fled, if possible. While they were speaking, he was desperately trying to free his hands. All that movement stopped when she put the knife to his neck, pressing hard enough that an unruly twitch could result in bloodshed. “If you go within a hundred feet of Missandei, I’ll kill you in your sleep,” she promised wickedly. It was definitely unhealthy, but she was relishing being in the dominant position for once. This time, it wasn’t her who was scared. He was entirely at her mercy. 

“D…Don’t… do it,” he whimpered. It was a thrill to realize he actually thought she was preparing to kill him. 

Although her brother didn’t know it, she wasn’t as unfamiliar with murder as he thought. She’d ordered Rolf’s death and his crimes were minor when compared to the ones Viserys was guilty of. She considered ending his life and was sorely tempted. The thing that held her darkest impulses at bay wasn’t mercy or affection for a sibling, it had nothing to do with him at all. Her hesitation was caused by the King’s erratic behavior. If Viserys was found dead tomorrow, every guard in the castle would be tasked with finding the killer. Whether they located evidence or not, someone would be held accountable. Aerys’s bloodlust would demand it. Someone would need to die to satisfy his thirst for revenge, and while she was confident no one would think of suspecting her, she was less certain that she could shield the people she loved. It may be unlikely that Arya, Missandei or Aemon would be accused, but that was a risk the Princess wasn’t willing to take. She couldn’t kill Viserys now, not with Aerys as King, he was too unpredictable. 

Her mind raced. She needed to think of something and fast. Her threat to kill Viserys in his sleep was weak, even though she was absolutely willing to do it. The second he was untied he could go to their father and name Daenerys and her friends traitors. She needed some way to counter anything he might say, but what? Unlike her he didn’t have any vulnerable spots. There were no people he cared for that she could exploit. He only cared about himself. Unless… A devious grin settled on her face as a new, darker idea formed in her head. 

“I won’t,” she said moving the knife away and admiring the mark it left behind. He’d have trouble explaining that tomorrow. “What will you do for me?” 

“I won’t hurt them, I’ll leave them alone,” he proposed. Not only was it way too easy for a man as vindictive as Viserys, it was also pathetic and transparent. 

“That’s not good enough,” she told him as she walked in front of him, turning the knife over in her hands every few steps. “If you want to live to get married, to see Dragonstone and rule there, you need to show me that we have a bargain.” 

“Untie me and we’ll make a deal.” 

She rolled her eyes. Pointing the knife down she looked suggestively toward the front of his pants. “One quick slice and I could make you useless for your wedding night.” 

She said it as a way to reinforce her power, to show he wasn’t making the rules, but the fear she saw was genuine and it made her think cutting off his dick should have been her opening move. “Don’t, don’t, just tell me what you want!” he pleaded, sounding nothing like the smug brother she was familiar with. 

That was more like it. “Tomorrow morning, you’re going to go to Father and request permission to leave for Dragonstone immediately. Tell him you’ve reviewed our records and there is much more to do than you initially thought. Tell him you’re anxious to get started.” 

“What? Why would I…?” He clearly didn’t see the connection. 

Daenerys didn’t care if he understood. “Be persuasive. If you aren’t on a ship bound for the island by midday, I’ll tell father about our plot to usurp him,” she said, giving voice to her latest strategy to keep Viserys in line. 

“You’ve lost your mind. Killing us won’t save your friends! He’ll burn them too!”

“All the people I care about have already left the castle,” she lied. “You can’t hurt them anymore. This has never been about them anyway. This has always been about you and me. We’ll settle it, here and now. If you tell Father about this, if you accuse anyone of anything, if you refuse to leave, I’ll confess to plotting to steal the throne and claim you were my accomplice.” 

For a man who always had something to say, Viserys was uncharacteristically silent. “He’d kill you too,” he eventually realized. 

“Yes,” she acknowledged, “he would, but if the only way to keep everyone safe is to die in the flames next to you, I’m prepared to do that. Are you?” She waited before she summarized the rules. “If anything happens to anyone I love, tonight, tomorrow or in ten years, I’ll go to Father and tell him we’ve been plotting against him. I will be killed, but I’ll take you with me.” 

That was it, her grand plan, she was going to sacrifice herself. She told Arya this was her moment to make a big, life-changing decision and this was what she came up with. She’d rather die than let harm come to Arya. If she ever spoke to him again after this, she’d need to thank Viserys for inspiring the idea. He’d used the person she loved against her, and it worked so well that Daenerys decided to try it. Since the person Viserys loved most was Viserys, that was the one she had to endanger. 

“Do I have your attention now?” she asked him. “You have a choice to make, probably the most important one of your life. You can go to Dragonstone tomorrow and begin your life as a Lord, or you can die with me in Fire and Blood.” She stared him in the eye as she spoke, wanting him to know how serious she was about all this. “How do you want to be remembered, as the Prince the King killed or as Lord of Dragonstone, Commander of thousands of loyal men?” 

“Why are you doing this?” he questioned her incredulously. “A slave, a bastard, Aemon, why do you care.” 

“You wouldn’t understand,” she assured him honestly. “Do we have a deal? If you’re on your way to Dragonstone by midday tomorrow, no one ever needs to learn about this, you’ll get everything you want, ahead of schedule.”

A practical detail reached Viserys’s brain and he presented a feeble obstacle. “The wedding, Father won’t let me go to Dragonstone until we’re married.”

As if she hadn’t thought about that. It was one of the first problems she dealt with when crafting her elaborate schemes. “Tell him it’s your dream to be married in the castle that you and your wife will one day rule together. Say that you’ll get things ready. He’ll agree.” 

Just when she was ready to believe he was coming to terms with his reality, Viserys had to remind her how difficult he could be. “I won’t forget this Dany, I’ll never forget.”

“Neither will I,” she vowed with her knife back at his neck, “and I will keep my word, whether it’s tomorrow, a year from now or twenty, if anything happens to the people in my life, I’ll tell Father we are traitors and he’ll burn us both.” 

Her plan relied heavily on Viserys’s heightened sense of self-importance. He was a spoiled, arrogant, petty, bitter man but he saw himself differently. In his mind he was the real power in King’s Landing, the true Targaryen, he was important and influential and it was only a matter of time until everyone around him took notice and he was raised to the level he felt deserving of. That ego is how she knew he’d agree to her terms. Unlike her, Viserys cared about his legacy, he obsessed over what historians would one day write about him. He wanted it said that he shaped the world and ruled the Realms of Men but if Daenerys followed through on her threat, he’d die the traitorous Prince undeserving of any recognition or respect. 

“Best be careful Sister,” he cautioned, “that guard can’t protect you all the time.” 

“What was that?” she mocked. “It sounded like you were threatening me, but you wouldn’t do that, not after we just came to an agreement, would you?” To make her point, she placed her knife against the upper portion of his chest, on the right side, above the nipple. Unlike the earlier cuts which were scratches, she carved a wide gash into his flesh that would definitely need a Maester. “Good luck explaining that,” she quipped as he bled all over himself. 

“You bitch,” he groaned, hissing and panting through the pain. 

“Do we understand each other, or should I keep going?” She moved the bloody knife over to the uninjured half of his chest. “A matching set perhaps?” 

“Don’t!” he begged with panic written all over his face. 

As soon as she lowered the knife, he was braver. “You won’t get away with this.” 

“I already have,” she pointed out. “Either we both live or we both die, but it’s over regardless. 

“You’re mad!”

“Probably,” she admitted, “but I’m also deadly serious. So, the choice is yours, do you want to live to rule Dragonstone or not?”

He averted his eyes, leading Daenerys to suspect her message had finally gotten through. He was no longer defiantly staring her down, barking threats. He was conceding defeat and incapable of looking at her when he did it. “Fine, I’ll do what you want. Untie me.” 

She wasn’t that stupid. If she set Viserys loose, he’d attack her before she could reach the door, No, she had a plan for this too. She went to the table where there was a tray of fruits, cheeses and crackers. There was also a knife. It wasn’t particularly sharp, but there were limits to her generosity. She picked it up and carried it over to the chair. She stood beside Viserys and set the knife in his palm. “You can cut yourself free once I’m gone.”

“That’ll take forever,” he whined. 

“It’ll give you time to think about what your going to do next. For both our sakes, I hope you make the right decision.” 

“Don’t leave me like this!” he yelled once he knew that was precisely what she intended to do. She returned her knife to the inside of her leg, held in place by a cloth strap Arya gave her. She smiled sincerely when she thought of her lover. Viserys would be spending his night with Grand Maester Pycelle, he wouldn’t have time to entertain Arya or anyone else. 

She left him with a parting blow, before she slipped out into the hall, closing the door behind her. “Midday tomorrow, don’t forget.” She lingered just long enough to make certain his screams couldn’t be heard and then she hurried away. She wanted to rush straight to Arya, to Missandei and tell them all was well, but she wasn’t done yet. 

It occurred to her when she was talking to Viserys. For all her threats, she couldn’t be certain he’d abide by her terms and leave the capital. Although her willingness to die seemed to frighten him, it was possible that he’d accuse Arya of a crime out of spite. If that happened, Daenerys wanted to make sure she wasn’t around to respond to the charges. 

Daenerys would send Arya into the city with Oberyn. Since she’d need a guard, she’d go to Aemon. He’d happily agree. If Viserys fled to Dragonstone as she hoped, she would welcome Arya home in the afternoon. If he didn’t, Daenerys wanted her far from everyone’s sight and mind. 

There was a knot in her stomach that wouldn’t untie until tomorrow when she knew it worked. In the meantime, she eased her anxiety by reminding herself the only person sleeping next to Arya was her. 

R-C

The seconds felt longer as she waited for Daenerys to return. She had nothing to do, and plenty of time to think, too much in fact. She thought about love. The Gods had a twisted sense of humor. Long before Aerys summoned them, Arya decided love wasn’t worth the effort. She’d let Sansa and her friends worry about which Prince they’d marry, or which castle they’d live in. She devoted herself to other pursuits. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe love existed, she had the purest example she’d ever witnessed living under her roof, she saw examples of it every day. Without wanting it for herself, she still managed to envy the relationship between her mother and father, subconsciously at first and later more overtly. When she thought of love and imagined what it was like, it was the one between Ned and Catelyn Stark she conjured up in her mind. Other people, their relationships, what pulled them together, what pushed them apart none of that made sense, but her mother and father, them Arya understood. 

It wasn’t just when he said the words, or when she repeated them back. If they never said, ‘I love you’, she would still know how they felt. There were the big, important events, like the necklace he gave her to celebrate their anniversary, or the portrait she had commissioned of his parents and siblings, but there were other smaller, innocent expressions too, the arm he’d lay across her shoulders as they watched the children play in the yard below. All those walks to the Weirwood tree when her mother didn’t believe there were Gods there. Love was real, she’d seen it, she saw the benefits of having a partner to share the joys and the struggles with, but not once in all those years did she ever yearn to connect her life to someone else’s. Love was fine, for other people, just not for her. 

All too clearly, she could see the indulgent smile her mother would aim at her when she said, ‘I told you so’. Arya never liked being wrong, but she’d gladly endure it if it meant Catelyn could be there to give her advice. What was she supposed to do? Daenerys wasn’t the nice man Arya’s mother promised her she’d find, but their love was terrifying, and the soldier was out of her depth. Her parents might not approve of her loving a Targaryen, but she liked to think they’d be happy for her. She was alone for a long time and now she wasn’t. Even if she picked a Dragon, that had to be better, right? 

When the door finally opened to reveal Daenerys, Arya was no closer to a conclusion than when she started. She felt no less unsteady in her body, no more certain of what she was doing. Love was still unknowable to her, and the only two people she could trust to teach her were gone. 

Since Arya’s shortcomings weren’t going anywhere, she could obsess over them later. While she’d been alone, she undressed, out of her armor, and her weapons. She left them on the floor and rushed to Daenerys, getting to her before she could close the door behind her. She took the Princess’s face in her hands and assessed her for injuries. “Are you hurt?” 

“I’m fine,” Daenerys swore. “I’m fine. Everything is going to be fine.” With a mischievous gleam in her eye Daenerys admired Arya’s body. “Had I known this was what was waiting for me, I would have gotten here sooner.”

“What happened?” She needed to know. Did she need to leave, did they? “Where’s Viserys?” 

“My brother and I came to an understanding,” Daenerys said vaguely. “He won’t be bothering you again.” 

Instead of feeling better, Arya was more frightened now. How had she changed his mind and how would he retaliate in the future? “What did you do?”

She sighed, sounding exhausted all the sudden. “I don’t want to talk about him. Viserys doesn’t matter.” 

How could she say that? “Daenerys…”

“I will explain everything tomorrow afternoon,” she decided with finality. “I will answer all your questions, I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but not tonight.” 

Without permission her eyes drifted to the Valyrian steel sword. Would she be needing that to keep them both alive? She didn’t know Viserys well but couldn’t think of a circumstance where Daenerys could compel him to leave them alone. She wanted to push for details but was struck by how weary Daenerys seemed. It had been a long day before Viserys involved himself in it, and she couldn’t fault her lover for being tired. “Tomorrow then,” she agreed. She doubted she’d get much sleep, but if Daenerys wanted to wait, so be it. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, joining their hands and lacing their fingers together. 

“Yes, give me a kiss and then go and take a long, hot bath.” 

The first part was easy. She didn’t even consider refusing. She pulled the Princess a little deeper into the room and connected their mouths. “What will you be doing?”

Before she responded Daenerys pecked at Arya’s lips. “I need to see a couple more people, and then I’ll be joining you.” 

“Is it safe? Your brother…”

“My brother isn’t going to be a problem anymore.” There was a pause before she reminded Arya of their pact. “Tomorrow, remember?” 

She paid careful attention, looking for any subtle clues that Daenerys was scared or anxious, but she seemed perfectly at ease. Considering where she’d been and what she’d been doing, it was highly improbable. 

“Heat up the water, pour the wine and I’ll meet you when I’m done.” She intended to doublecheck that Daenerys was sure, but she got a pre-emptive strike. “I’m sure. The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll get back to you.” 

One passionate kiss later, Daenerys was gone again, back down the winding staircase. Arya busied herself replacing her armor. 

R-C

Fresh from her visits to Missandei and Aemon, she now stood outside Oberyn’s door. This was her last stop before she could make good on her word and return to Arya. She wondered if Viserys had made his way through the rope yet, or if he was still bound to the chair. She felt nervous as she knocked. It was late, too late for a polite Princess to show up uninvited, but she trusted Oberyn would understand. 

“Daenerys,” he said when he saw her. “What a pleasant surprise. How are you? How is Arya?”

She stepped inside and shook her head when he gestured toward the cart of drinks. “Before we left Sunspear you asked me to protect Arya, to do everything in my power to keep her safe.”

“I remember,” he confirmed. “Sit please. Tell me what troubles you.” 

“My brother Viserys, he is upset with Arya. She protected me from him in Dorne and he’s angry and intends to punish her.” 

“Punish her how?” Although he’d just lowered into a seat he was back on his feet in an instant. “I won’t allow this to happen.” 

Daenerys stood too, moving to block his exit. “I stopped it, Arya is safe and she’s in no danger.” 

“What did you do?” he asked, his concern for her striking. They were practically strangers, but she could see Oberyn actually cared about her welfare and was worried she put herself in harm’s way. 

“I kept my promise. I did what was necessary. Viserys will be leaving for Dragonstone in the morning. By midday he’ll be gone from here and he’ll no longer be a threat to Arya or anyone else.”

“Except Eliza,” Oberyn added. 

Her cheeks burned in shame. “I’ll invite Eliza to remain with me,” she suggested in a rush. “I’ll tell my father that I’ll help her plan the wedding, it won’t help much but…”

“You don’t need to do this,” he said, “you have enough problems of your own.” 

It was true that Eliza wasn’t her primary focus, but it didn’t mean she was incapable of doing her part. She’d committed to doing the right thing, for Arya, for Missandei, for the Unsullied, why couldn’t she add Eliza Martell to that list. “It’s fine, I’ll delay her going to Dragonstone as long as I can.”

“I’d be grateful if you could. I don’t want to leave her, but Ellaria and the girls are waiting for me.” 

“I’m sure they miss you as much as you miss them,” she guessed, happily remembering the interactions she’d seen between the family. 

“Will you visit us again?” he asked unexpectedly. 

“I’d love to,” she admitted freely, “and I know Arya would as well.” 

“She told me of Highgarden, you did the one thing I never could, you gave her back her sister.” 

She hadn’t come to talk about this, but now that they were, the words tumbled out. “They never should have been separated in the first place, what happened to them…” she trailed off, not knowing how to describe the brutality. 

“She told you who she is, you need to be careful who you share that secret with,” he warned. 

“I know and I’d never betray her, she means everything to me.” 

He smiled kindly, a gesture that eased some of her tension. “She feels the same about you, as I’m sure you know. She wouldn’t be staying if she didn’t.” 

Daenerys swallowed hard. She hadn’t had the chance to ask Arya if she told Oberyn she was staying, now she knew. “I’m sorry, I know you came all this way to bring her home.” 

“I came all this way because I missed her,” Oberyn specified. “When I first met her, she was so sad, so angry and she had every reason to be. Few people I know could have survived what she did.” 

“I agree,” Daenerys supplied, while waiting anxiously for Oberyn to keep going. Getting a glimpse into how they met was a treat she hadn’t anticipated when she sought him out. 

“I will miss Arya if she stays here,” he confessed, “but I’ve known her a long time and I’ve watched her grow along side my own children. I want for her the same things I want for them, to be happy, to be loved, to find purpose.” He paused and gave Daenerys one of his charming, easy smiles. “I didn’t think she would find any of those things here, but she has, and I’ll support her, like I would any of my girls.” 

“I love her very much,” Daenerys proclaimed proudly. She wanted him to know this was serious, that she would take care of Arya’s heart. 

“Love is as visible as Greyscale if you know what to look for,” he opined. “I see it In you, and I see it in her.” 

She couldn’t say why, but she expected more resistance from Oberyn. She wasn’t sad to gain his approval, it was just overwhelming. 

“But,” he said after a stretch of peaceful quiet, “I don’t think you came to my room late at night to tell me you love Arya.” 

“I need to ask a favor of you, I need your help with Arya.”

“What do you need?”

“Tomorrow morning, I want you to take her into the city and spend the morning together. Return around midday.”

Wise and calculating, Oberyn knew there had to be more to it than that. “And?”

“If when you return, I’m waiting for you at the stables, you’ll know Viserys is gone and everything went according to plan.” 

“If you’re not?”

“Turn around and take Arya far away from here.” 

“Will you tell me why?”

“Viserys and I came to an understanding tonight. He agreed leave the capital and stay away from the people I care about. I don’t want Arya in the castle if he changes his mind and goes back on his word.” 

“Your brother can not be trusted Princess,” Oberyn said with confidence. 

“I know, but in giving me what I want, he gets what he wants too. I think he’ll go to Dragonstone, but if I’m wrong, I need to know Arya is safe.” 

“You’re brave,” he remarked. “I saw it in the Water Gardens, I see it now. I’ll do as you ask. Arya won’t like it.” 

That was a vast understatement. “She doesn’t need to like it, she only needs to do it. I need her to be safe.” 

“What about you?”

“If Viserys betrays me, my plan is to flee the capital as well. With luck I’ll find you and Arya before long.” That was a plan, though it was unlikely she’d be permitted to leave, or breathe after Viserys makes accusations against her. She kept those details to herself, however. Oberyn’s role was to make sure Arya stayed alive, her fate was far less important. 

R-C

Daenerys was on her way to breakfast with Aemon as her guard when the Crown Prince of Westeros limped up to them. “What are you to doing?” 

“Breakfast,” Aemon answered for her. “Can I fix you a plate?” he offered helpfully. 

With a smile for his son, he shook his head, allowing silver curls to fall in front of his eyes. He used his free hand to wipe them aside. “No, I’ll be fine, thank you.” He had a slow, methodical look around and then asked, “Where is your guard Dany?”

“Aemon is my guard today,” she chirped happily, knowing her attitude would infuriate him. If he wanted to ask about Arya, he was going to need to use her name. 

“Why is Aemon your guard?” 

“Because I asked him.” 

He sighed, before pinching the bridge of his nose and looking down, a clear sign of his annoyance. “Where is Arya? I heard half the castle was looking for her last night.” 

“It wasn’t half the castle,” Daenerys defended, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying. “Viserys is still upset that she protected me from him back in Dorne. He was making her uncomfortable, so she went to clear her head, she’s fine.” 

“What did he do?” Rhaegar inquired. “Is she okay?”

It was a probable that a large amount of his concern was because he wanted to remain on Daenerys’s good side, she didn’t care, she’d take it. “She’s fine,” she said again, “I talked to Viserys last night and we came to an agreement.” 

“What kind of an agreement?” Rhaegar asked skeptically. 

“I told Arya to spend the day with Oberyn,” she said bypassing the question she didn’t want to address. “Last I saw they were heading into the city.” 

“Do you have meetings?” 

Was he going to claim she couldn’t go to her scheduled appointments without Arya? “Only this morning, this afternoon I was hoping to take Missandei and join up with Arya and Oberyn.” 

“You can’t go alone.”

“I’ll take some of the Unsullied, if Aemon doesn’t want to come.” 

“I’d love to,” he agreed quickly. 

Rhaegar knew a lost cause when he saw one. He relented. “Just be careful, both of you.” 

“We will,” they said together. 

With a shake of his head Rhaegar chuckled and then the trio became moving again. When they got to their table, Viserys, Tywin and Aerys were already there, along with Cersei, Tyrion and Jaime. 

Daenerys paid careful attention to Viserys, waiting to see if he’d reveal his intention. 

“Good morning Father,” Rhaegar said as Selmy pulled out his chair for him. He sat down carefully, before whispering his thanks to the knight. 

“Good morning,” Aerys said, between bites. “I’m glad you’re here. Your brother wants to leave for Dragonstone right away, to begin preparing it for his rule.” 

Rhaegar looked around the table at the other faces, to see which were as surprised as him. “I thought we were waiting until after the wedding.” 

“The wedding is going to be at Dragonstone,” the King decreed casually as he stared down at his eggs. “Viserys will go and prepare things and then when he’s ready, we will travel for the ceremony.” 

“Are you sure that’s wise Father?” Rhaegar tried. 

“I think it’s a great idea,” Daenerys contributed. “I intended to seek out Eliza today and help her with the planning.” 

“That’s kind of you dear,” Aerys said. “Spare no expense, my son is getting married, it must be grand, it must be worthy of the name Targaryen!” 

Daenerys didn’t know what that name was really worth after everything her family had done, but she agreed with him anyway. Missandei brought her a plate and while she ate, she was careful to keep an eye and an ear on Viserys. He was quiet, keeping to himself, saying very little. He wasn’t talking to Aerys or anybody else, leading Daenerys to think her problem, Arya’s problem might be gone by midday. 

After breakfast she stayed near her father until he began his meetings and then she peeled away to attend her own. She smiled to herself. It was working. Success was exhilarating. 

R-C

It was midmorning and Daenerys had just finished what she hoped would be her lone meeting of the day. Again, the Crown would be paying for the burial of a man whose family couldn’t afford the fee. Daenerys enjoyed how useful she felt in those particular meetings but her heart broke as she spoke with the families and listened to their tales of hardship. 

“Is it always like that?” he asked. More than once as the young mother was speaking, she caught her nephew wiping his eye. She didn’t blame him, if anything it showed his goodness that he was able to empathize. 

“Sometimes it’s worse,” Missandei commented as she returned from showing the guests out. 

“I’m not going to miss this tomorrow,” Aemon muttered under her breath. 

She stopped him from walking away. “You did well, thank you for helping me today and allowing Arya the chance to spend the day with Oberyn.” 

“It’s hard to see them as friends,” he said. Sensing that he’d need to justify that position, he went on. “After that fight they had in the yard, I can’t believe it was all a joke.” 

Without knowing it, Aemon pressed on a fresh wound. Daenerys was still a little bitter about the needless worry she went through when she thought Arya and Oberyn were really trying to kill one another. Luckily Missandei spared her. “Please don’t mention that,” she begged shamelessly. 

Aemon’s carefree laugh died abruptly, and he took a deliberate step toward his aunt. Daenerys followed his eyeline and found Jaime Lannister standing in the doorway. “Sorry to bother you Princess, but the King requests your presence.” 

She tried to speak but no sound came out. She settled for a nod. Since breakfast she allowed herself to believe Viserys loved himself too much to call her bluff. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew her brother would be furious, and he’d want revenge, but she thought she trapped him when she threatened to confess her crimes and name him as her co-conspirator. He’d want to see her burn, but she thought his strong sense of self-preservation would work in her favor. She had miscalculated and now there was nothing left to do but walk bravely to meet her fate. 

On the way to the throne room, she prepared what she’d say in her defense and how she’d ensure Viserys was beside her in her fire. She missed Arya, missed being able to look over and see her, to feel her presence nearby even when they weren’t touching. Whatever she was walking into, she’d feel better if Arya was with her. That said, she didn’t regret sending her away. If this was the end, she didn’t want Arya’s last memory of her to be her screaming in the flames. She’d prefer if Arya remembered the Daenerys from last night, who shared a bath with her lover before they went to bed and made love until the early morning hours. Those are the memories she’d take with her and she hoped they were the ones Arya clung to also. 

She was saddened that she wouldn’t get to see a new King lead Westeros. Rhaegar was a good man, not perfect, but he’d try his best and things would improve. In time, people would forget about Aerys and his madness. 

The whole court was assembled and in their seats. Not a good sign. Aerys was on his throne. His expression gave no hint of his thinking either way. She swept across the chairs around him. The Lannisters were there, save Jaimie who was leading Daenerys, Varys and Rhaegar. No one looked at her. 

“Please take your seat, Daenerys.” 

“Of course, Father.” She went to her chair and passed Viserys’s. It was unoccupied, as it had been when he was in Sunspear. He wasn’t there? Was he waiting somewhere else, preparing an accusation? It wasn’t beyond him to be hiding away waiting for the ideal moment to make a grand pronouncement. 

To prepare for what was coming, Daenerys reminded herself why it was necessary to behave as she had. Viserys was forcing Arya to sleep with him. What she did, right or wrong, she did to protect the woman she loved. If that was what led to her death then at least she knew she was dying for a good reason, the best reason. 

“Daenerys,” the King said, “we called you here because this morning at breakfast you proposed an idea. Did you mean it?” 

She thought back. Most of her breakfast was spent watching Viserys for any sign he was going to expose her. “Which idea?” 

Tywin spoke for Aerys. “Is it not true you said you’d help Eliza plan her wedding?”

Daenerys wanted to cry. That’s why she was here? For the first time she spotted the timid Martell sitting in the front row of the audience. She was dressed in a pale purple dress and had her hair down her back. Daenerys gave her a smile. “Yes, I said that, and yes I would be glad to help my future sister prepare for her special day.” 

“So be it!” Aerys called down, making it official. 

She managed to maintain her composure until her father and his advisors left the room. The instant they were gone though, Daenerys collapsed back into her chair and tried frantically to regather her wits. She really thought she was about die. She forgot where she was briefly, until Rhaegar asked, “Are you alright?” She hadn’t known he was still there, or that he was paying attention

“I’m fine, I just don’t like it here,” she said, pleased she had an easy explanation that wasn’t a lie. “Where’s Viserys?”

“He left for Dragonstone as soon as he finished eating. I don’t know why he’s in such a hurry all the sudden, Dragonstone isn’t going anywhere.” 

“I don’t know. I’ll talk to you later, I need to go and see Eliza.”

She got up and approached the woman Viserys would marry. “Pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, Princess,” she said with a warm smile. “I appreciate you agreeing to help with the wedding, I’ve been a little overwhelmed lately.” 

“We should talk,” Daenerys said, linking their arms, “but this is not the place for it and none of that Princess nonsense either, call me Daenerys.” 

With red cheeks Eliza looked down at her feet. Daenerys expertly weaved them through the crowds of people. “Thank you, Daenerys for everything.” 

“You’re welcome,” she said as they escaped out into the hall. Aemon and Missandei were right behind her. She made use of the first exit and stepped out into the warm sunlight. “Not quite as warm as Sunspear, but still a nice day,” she noted. 

“It is quite nice,” Eliza agreed. “So, where do we start? There is so much to decide, the dress and the cake and food and the music and…”

Daenerys stopped walking and pulled Eliza to a halt too. “You don’t need to worry about any of that right now. Introductions first. Eliza Martell, this is my best friend and handmaiden Missandei of Naath, and this young man is Aemon, Rhaegar’s son.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” she said shyly. 

Once the introductions were made, she was looking to Daenerys for more guidance. It was strange to be the one people turned to, but in this instance, she knew what was best. “Have you been out into the city much since you arrived.” 

She kept her head down when she spoke. Daenerys wondered if it was her family or Viserys who conditioned her to do that. “Not much, no.” 

“A tour then. Prince Oberyn and my guard Arya are due back shortly, let’s go meet them and see if we can convince them to turn around.”

“Shouldn’t we be planning the wedding?”

“We will, but first I need to learn more about you, the kinds of things you like, your favorite colors, your favorite flowers. We can’t plan you the perfect wedding until we know who you are.”

She gave it some thought. “Oh okay,” she allowed, “I suppose that makes sense.” 

“Good, and I bet you even have some stories about Oberyn too, my friend Arya will definitely want to hear those.” 

They made their way toward the stables and Daenerys savored the peace of it. The future would come, and it would undoubtedly bring challenges but for the time being she and everyone who mattered to her was safe. She couldn’t have said that twelve hours ago. Whatever happened, she’d be okay, because she knew what was most important and she knew how far she was willing to go to defend it. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry for the delays and for any mistakes. I hope the long chapter helps. I didn’t want to leave you with another cliff-hanger, so I extended it until we learned what became of the spoiled Prince. 
> 
> I know most of you wanted Viserys dead but no matter how angry she was, I didn’t think Daenerys would let an innocent person die for her, and if Viserys turned up dead, someone would need to be blamed and executed for the crime. She isn’t quite that ruthless (yet), but we still have a way to go. 
> 
> Next up, Arya will learn what Daenerys did for her.


	47. Chapter 47

Arya saw a familiar head of silver waiting when she neared the stables. She looked to her companion. “Did you know about this?”

“I know she brings good news,” Oberyn hedged. 

She thought for a moment, trying to reconcile the sincere worry she felt, but it was impossible with so little information. How had Oberyn come to know more about this when it was Arya the Princess spent the majority of the night with, and in very close proximity? She urged her horse faster, trying to ignore the knot tying itself in the pit of her stomach. Oberyn kept pace easily. “Explain that.” 

“Ask her,” he directed, pointing to Daenerys with a long finger. 

Arya didn’t need to be told twice. She jumped down from the saddle and ran to where Daenerys was. In her haste she rudely abandoned Oberyn and left him her mount to deal with as a concession. The Princess wasn’t alone, Aemon, Missandei, Grey Worm and Eliza Martell were also there. Further back, she almost overlooked the handful of Unsullied stationed at various posts around the permitter. Arya was immediately wary. Daenerys didn’t usually need so many guards unless she was going somewhere. Her desire to finally get answers was quickly becoming an all-consuming need. It was past time Arya knew what was going on. Cautious of the crowd she kept her voice even. “We need to talk.” 

“Yes, we do.” She passed the guard and went to Oberyn. Their eyes met as she stopped in front of his horse. “Thank you, Prince, for everything, I am in your debt.” 

Oberyn bowed his head formally but said nothing. Why would Daenerys reach out to Oberyn for help and not her? Why hadn’t Oberyn told her about it at some point during their morning in the city? 

While Arya was busy trying to make sense of what was happening around her, Daenerys took the reins of Arya’s stallion and led him toward his stall. “Come on, let’s get him a snack, I bet he’s hungry.” 

“What’s going on?” she hissed as she resisted the urge to yell. Making a spectacle wouldn’t help anyone. “Why does everyone else know more about what is happening to you than I do?”

Her question caused Daenerys to flinch. “I’m sorry,” she said intently. “I never wanted to hide this from you, I just didn’t know if it would work the way I devised.” 

“Did it?” That was as good a place as any to begin. 

“Yes,” she said, nodding to remove all doubt. She took a deliberate look around, making sure they had sufficient distance from the stablemaster and his workers. “We are safe, Viserys is gone.” 

She hadn’t thought that a possibility. No matter how persuasive Daenerys could be, Arya resigned herself to co-existing with him until after the wedding when the Prince and his bride would settle at Dragonstone. “What do you mean gone? Why would he just leave?” 

“He’s on his way to Dragonstone.” Daenerys explained. 

She understood the common tongue perfectly well, but those words didn’t seem to fit together in any comprehensible way. “Why?”

She lowered her voice further and leaned in close. “Last night when I left you in the tower, I went to see him.” 

“What happened?” 

Daenerys had told her she could ask anything, and to her credit the Targaryen didn’t deflect or dodge. She took a deep breath and responded, “I tied him to his chair and threatened to kill him if he hurt you.”

One, two, three, four… She counted the seconds while she waited for any of that to make sense. It didn’t get any easier. “You did what?!” she snapped. 

“Keep your voice down!” There were so many things to say and yet she was speechless. “And he just agreed to leave King’s Landing?”

“Not exactly,” she admitted, looking at the horse to avoid Arya’s stare. She fetched him an apple and tried to keep busy, but Arya wasn’t going to move on, not until she knew what Daenerys had done in her name. 

“Just tell me,” she pleaded. “I want to know, I need to.” 

“He kept threatening to kill you or to have Father do it,” Daenerys continued while stroking the horse’s mane.

That was more like it. He’d used a similar tactic when he spoke to her. 

“I cut him a couple of times, but it wasn’t working,” she confessed quietly. “He was too angry, I had to change strategies.” 

Despite dedicated effort, she was having a hard time understanding what took place between the siblings. “You stabbed him?”

“Small cuts only, little scratches,” she clarified dismissively, before continuing. “I told him that there was nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you. He didn’t fear me enough to agree, so I had to think of something else.” 

“What?!” Arya erupted. 

“The only thing Viserys loves is Viserys,” she explained, “I told him that if he accused you of a crime, or if any harm came to you at all, I’d go to our father and confess that Viserys and I were plotting against him.” 

Arya was glad she hadn’t eaten, if she had, she definitely would’ve been sick. “Seven Hells!”

“I knew he wouldn’t do it, Viserys loves himself too much,” she justified. “I told him he could leave and begin his new life as a Lord, or we could die together.” 

Arya scoffed. “I never should have told you anything.” 

Daenerys appeared hurt. “How can you say that? It worked. Viserys is gone. As long as he believes I’m willing to sacrifice myself for you he wouldn’t dare…”

She had heard more than enough. This was unbelievable. If she had known that was what Daenerys was planning, she never would have let her leave the damn tower. Now she was supposed to be grateful because she was willing to get herself killed, for the daughter of a traitor? What kind of life could the Stark hope to have if Daenerys were dead?!

She was still going, still justifying her behavior. Arya couldn’t stand there and pretend it was okay. She just couldn’t. Walking away from Daenerys was hard, but it was easier than staying. 

R-C

Daenerys knew Arya wasn’t going to be happy when she heard what happened with Viserys. She thought she was ready for the questions and the anger, but it never occurred to her that Arya might just walk away. She had every intention of going after her, of fixing it, but outside the stable she was confronted with Aemon, Missandei, Eliza, Grey Worm and Oberyn all of whom had questions about what had prompted Arya to storm off toward the castle. 

She couldn’t chase after Arya, she was supposed to show Eliza around the capital. Shit. Her personal problems would need to wait. “Ready to go?” she asked, hoping the upheaval happening inside her wasn’t visible to her audience. 

“Is Arya joining us?” Oberyn inquired carefully, doing a much better job of controlling his emotions. 

“Not this time,” she said, resisting the instinct to look away. She knew he had questions, but she didn’t have many answers. She didn’t know why Arya had gotten so upset. Viserys was gone to Dragonstone, they were safe. She didn’t have to like Daenerys’s method of solving the problem and she wasn’t looking for thanks or praise, but the results spoke for themselves, didn’t they? 

“Is everything okay?” Missandei asked in High Valyrian, while Oberyn went to get Eliza’s horse. 

“Not even close.” 

R-C

She was no stranger to negative feelings. Loss, grief, pain, rage and hate were some of her oldest friends, but they didn’t provide the tools she needed to exist in this moment. Everything took considerable effort, breathing, thinking, walking. What she was experiencing went way beyond fear, it surpassed the terror she felt during her first time in the throne room and dwarfed the distress that had become her standard. What in the name of the Gods was wrong with her? 

She found herself on the bench outside the barracks with no memory of how she got there. A layer of sweat coated her skin, the hairs on the back of her neck were standing straight and each breath required her to navigate past the lump in her throat. With her elbows on her legs she laid her face in her hands, listening to the soothing sounds of clashing steel. Even without their Commander there, Grey Worm’s men were training vigorously. 

How could Daenerys do this? Why would she put herself at risk for anyone, especially Arya? How could she think that was what Arya would want? Viserys was spiteful enough to wait months to exact his revenge after their brief interaction in Sunspear. He wouldn’t forgive Daenerys tying him up and attacking him with a knife. He’d hurt her someday and it would be Arya’s fault. 

Panic clawed at the back of her throat. She faced down snakes, thieves and bandits without hesitation but by comparison they were easy. Then she ignorantly believed death was the worst possible outcome. Now she knew things could be so much worse. 

What was she to do? She’d protect Daenerys to her dying day, but would it be enough? She needed space and time to think, now that she had it, she worried about Daenerys’s safety. Where had she gone? She trusted in Aemon and Grey Worm’s abilities, but she would have felt better if she’d been there to oversee the Targaryen’s security herself. Since that was impossible, Arya focused on what she’d do when Daenerys got back. She’d have to deal with this new crippling fear of hers. As she had the night before she turned to her memories for guidance. Loving someone in danger was possible, she’d seen it. How many times had she watched her father kiss her mother goodbye and ride away from Winterfell with a sword to fight the North’s enemies? He hadn’t been paralyzed by his concerns for her, nor she by hers. Neither one showed any weakness. Somehow, he put his love for Catelyn in a box until it was safe to let it out again. And Arya’s mother, she was stronger than the lot of them. Her eyes might’ve been glassy, but she didn’t let that first tear fall until her husband was over the hill and out of sight. Oh, how she wished they could teach her to be equally brave. She was useless to Daenerys if she let her emotions rule her. It had been hard enough to manage her worries before Viserys returned, now Arya felt like she was drowning. How did she carry out her duties as a guard without thinking about all the people and things that threatened the life of the Dragon Princess she adored? If she lost her, to Viserys or anyone else, Arya didn’t think she could recover. There were limits to what a person could endure, and Arya knew life without Daenerys would be too much for her. 

R-C

Her body spent the afternoon wandering the city, showing Eliza many of its most famous places, but her mind and definitely her heart were elsewhere. Most of her companions could tell something was wrong. At various times during their travels Oberyn, Missandei and Aemon all pulled her aside to make certain she was alright. Although Grey Worm and Eliza didn’t broach the subject directly Daenerys wasn’t foolish enough to think they didn’t realize something was wrong. Grey Worm wouldn’t broach the subject unless she did, and Eliza was too shy to mention it, but that didn’t make them blind. 

On the ride back to the castle she tried to settle on her next move but was divided. Half of her was inclined to throw herself at Arya’s feet and beg for forgiveness, desperate to mend things between them. The other half felt justified in her brutal but necessary conduct. She didn’t regret doing what it took to protect Arya and she didn’t think she should be made to apologize for it. Unfortunately, that apology was precisely what Arya wanted to hear. 

She was brought out of her thoughts by Oberyn’s voice. She tracked it and found him next to her, atop his warhorse. They’d fallen behind the others by a significant margin. “Don’t mind Arya,” he said, “she’s stubborn but she’ll forgive you.” 

Daenerys didn’t know how he could make such a bold claim when he didn’t know what she’d done or why, but she was hopeful all the same that Oberyn’s insights were accurate. “Maybe,” she permitted. It was a single word, but it started the flood. All at once she couldn’t stop, she didn’t want to. She was eager for wisdom and few knew Arya Stark longer or better than Oberyn. “I only did what I thought was best, he was going to hurt her. She’s already been through too much. I couldn’t let it happen again.” 

“What did you do?”

Although she could see the rest of their party ahead of them on the road, Daenerys took a moment to peek behind her and make sure they were alone. “I had Viserys leave for Dragonstone early.” 

Oberyn clearly knew that her simplistic explanation wasn’t the whole story. “Why would Arya be upset about that?” 

She sighed. “I threatened him, she thinks he’ll hurt me,” she rationalized. 

The Prince looked impressed. “Is she right?”

“He’s at Dragonstone. I’ll be careful, but it was worth the risk. For Arya, I’d do it again,” she declared truthfully, willing him to understand. 

“It is hard for people like us, for anyone to fully comprehend what Arya has had to go through. We may want to understand, to support her, and help, but few can say they’ve lost as much as Arya, and fewer still survive it.” As Oberyn listed the things they wanted for the grey-eyed woman, she nodded along, agreeing with each of them. “She’s strong and she’s resilient but what was done to her family affects every part of her to this day. Her greatest fear is losing more people she loves,” he paused, looking Daenerys directly in the eye, “losing you.” 

Oberyn made a lot of logical points. “What do I do?” He had much more experience with women than Daenerys did, she’d gladly take advantage of that knowledge if she could. 

“Trust her,” he advised, “and when she needs it, remind her she you aren’t going anywhere. She will tell you what she needs, you only have to listen.” 

“I will,” she swore, promising herself she’d do whatever it took. 

R-C

Arya didn’t feel right going into Daenerys’s bedchamber uninvited, not with the way they left things. The couple shared a bed every night after their first together, be it King’s Landing or Highgarden. Back further Arya spent plenty of time in Daenerys’s room, as her guard, and her friend before becoming her lover. All of that notwithstanding Arya never felt completely comfortable there. Comfortable with Daenerys, absolutely, but she never felt like she fit with the surroundings. If she was honest, seeing Daenerys’s life up close, day in and day out cut a little too close to the bone. It reminded her of the life she’d once been destined to live, as a Lord’s daughter. Daenerys’s presence, Daenerys’s love was enough to absorb the brunt of the blow, but without Daenerys inside waiting for her, Arya preferred to remain in the hall. 

She’d done a lot of thinking. Outside the barracks, then in the pitiful collection of trees the residents of the Red Keep called a Godswood, before finally returning to the yard with a sword in her hand. Her process involved taking stock of her feelings and trying to find the root of them one by one. She made short work of a long line of sparring partners, taking her pent-up frustrations, fears and aggression out on them unfairly. She didn’t stop until ever muscle in her body begged for a reprieve. 

She was sitting on the floor with her knees pulled into her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, physically holding herself together. 

Missandei arrived first, without Grey Worm, and without Daenerys. She saw Arya there and went to her. “I see your afternoon was just as miserable as hers.”

Too slow, she looked up and was met by warm, chocolate eyes gazing down at her, into her. “Hi Missandei,” she said calling on her best approximation of a smile, “how was your afternoon?” 

“It was nice,” she stated simply, “it helped Eliza, I think.” 

“That’s good,” Arya said, noticing she purposefully hadn’t mentioned Daenerys. “No Grey Worm?” she checked, peeking around the handmaiden to make sure he wasn’t lurking in the background. 

“He went to see the Unsullied.”

“You didn’t want to go with him?” 

“The Princess would like some tea. I’ll meet him when I’m finished. I was just coming to drop off my bag.” 

Her hands that had been clasped, separated and she freed her legs. With a grunt, she rose off the floor, pushing past the soreness in her muscles until she was standing facing the woman from Naath. “You should go find Grey Worm. I’ll make Daenerys’s tea.”

“She’ll be very happy to see you,” Missandei predicted. 

“What did she tell you?” 

“Very little,” she replied vaguely, “but I know the day did not live up to her expectations.”

Those words added invisible weight to her chest. “Was there trouble while you were gone?”

“We were well protected, but she had been looking forward to spending time with you.” 

A real smile settled on her face without permission. She was happy to hear that, despite all the reasons she had not to be. “You’re a good friend Missandei, better than Daenerys or I deserve.”

Before she left, Missandei left her with one final piece of advice. “You love each other, don’t allow your anger to let you forget that.” 

“I won’t,” Arya promised, but Missandei was already heading back the way she’d come. 

Alone again, she almost sat down until she remembered her new responsibilities. The tea gave her something to do. It saved her the indignity of sitting outside Daenerys’s room like a puppy, until the Princess happened to walk by. 

R-C

Daenerys walked with Eliza to the guest room she was using. It was just down the hall from where Oberyn was staying. Slowly over the course of their afternoon together the Martell had opened up a little, showing flashes of her personality. They made plans to meet up the following day, and Daenerys was genuinely looking forward to it. 

After leaving Eliza to rest, Daenerys was eager to get to her bedchamber and off her feet. She hoped Missandei would have lessons for her that would prove valuable in her quest to earn Arya’s forgiveness. Just steps outside Eliza’s door, her route was abruptly blocked by Daario, and he didn’t look pleased to see her in the slightest. She sighed. What was that old expression, ‘when it rains, it pours?’ Daenerys could certainly relate. Were things not complicated enough already? “We should talk,” he said as she tried to slip past. He didn’t let her. 

Aemon who was still serving as guard was several feet back, but he moved closer when the sell-sword spoke. He looked to his aunt for a hint of how best to proceed. She raised a hand to halt any actions either man was considering. “I’m okay Aemon. Why don’t you go and see your father? Make sure we didn’t miss anything important while we were gone.” 

He came to stand on Daenerys’s left. “Are you certain? I could…”

“I’ll be fine. I’m only going to my chambers anyway.” 

“You should still have a guard.”

Daenerys couldn’t contain her smile. Aemon knew her feelings on guards well. He shared many of them himself. Being male, he was granted more freedom than she was, but she never thought he’d insist she needed to watched on the short walk between Eliza’s bedchamber and her own. There was only one explanation for the change, Arya. Her nephew didn’t want to fail in his role as guard, because doing so would lessen Arya’s opinion of him. “Daario is more than enough security.” She paused while Aemon and the sell-sword eyed one another suspiciously. “Thank you for today Aemon.” He spared her an uneven smile before he gave Daario another thorough review, as if looking at a man was enough to reveal his character. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at dinner. “ 

“Alright,” he agreed before going on without them. 

“Since when does Aemon follow you around?” Daario jested. 

Not in the mood for jokes she crossed her arms over her chest. “He isn’t following me. He was my guard today.” 

“That’s surprising,” he commented. “So, you need a guard, and instead of turning to Jorah or me, you task Aemon with the job?”

She didn’t owe him an explanation, and his obvious hurt at not being selected didn’t cut as deep as it might’ve at another point in her life. “Aemon is a skilled young man, and it’s good practice for when he goes to the Wall.” 

Daario was incredulous. “Aemon will be King one day, why would he give that up and join the Night’s Watch?”

Rather than explain the complicated dynamics at play within the Targaryen family, she tried to redirect them. “Is this what you wanted to discuss with me?”

Immediately, he looked more serious, and sullen. “No, no that wasn’t why I wanted to see you.” 

She moved past him and this time he let her by without complaint. Although she wouldn’t have been sad if he let her carry on alone, she wasn’t surprised when he fell in step beside her. Whatever this was, Daario wasn’t the sort to give up, and that probably meant more hassle for Daenerys. 

“Where is your guard, that Dornish girl?”

Daenerys was on edge and it showed in her tone. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?” she asked sarcastically. 

“Sort of.”. 

“Listen Daario, it’s been a really long day, so if this is about our relationship, how about I save us both some time and…”

He cut her off. “I saw you last night.” Five words that not only stopped what she intended to say, but also froze her heart for a beat or two. “I searched the tower like you asked, and after, I saw you. You were in a hurry, at the bottom of another tower, I thought you were still looking, so I followed you.” 

By the Gods, why did it have to be Daario and why did it have to be today? She lashed out in anger because it was infinitely easier than addressing the larger issues. “You were spying on me?!” she accused hotly. 

“I wasn’t spying, you asked for my help, remember? I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I planned to alert you to my presence when I got to the top of the staircase, but when I did…”

She could only imagine what he’d seen. She and Arya were reckless, failing to take important precautions. It could be forgiven considering all they had to deal with last night, but now Daario had everything he needed to burn her world to ashes, Arya included. Grasping on Daario’s bicep she pulled him into a doorway and then gave him a hard shove into a storage closet. The confined space wouldn’t give her much of a chance to keep her distance, but it would afford them with privacy. “What do you want? Who have you told?”

Two simple questions with an untold number of possible answers. She started considering the possibilities and each one was worse than the one that proceeded it. “I find out you have another lover and that’s what you want to know?” he asked bitterly. He leaned forward and for an instant she wondered if he meant to strike her. He didn’t. “Can’t you muster up an ounce of sympathy for the man you lied to about everything?”

It would have been easy to decide she was too busy or simply unwilling to respond. She could leave Daario and not give him another thought, but would that rejection make him more inclined to hurt her in return? If so, would he use Arya to do it? “I never lied to you. I didn’t want to hurt you I may not have told you everything, but I never lied.” 

He barked out a cold, humorless laugh. “Never lied? You like women and didn’t think that was something I should know?”

Something about his aggrieved attitude and his whining pressed on a raw nerve. She knew he was hurting and tried not to judge him too harshly, but she wasn’t the only one to blame. “When exactly should I have told you?” she inquired. “This wasn’t a choice I made, or an elaborate scheme I cooked up. No one was more surprised than me when I was attracted to a woman, but I was in Dorne and you were gone, so what should I have done?”

“Not fucked her behind my back,” he spat angrily. 

Her sympathy for Daario was fading fast. “Not that it is any of your business, but I didn’t fuck Arya or anyone else while you were away. Can you say the same thing?” 

Whatever her mistakes, if they compared lists of other partners, either during their relationship or after, she was confident it would end in her favor. “You expect me to believe you remained faithful?”

“You can believe whatever you want. I hurt you and I’m sorry for that, but the day you got back, that very night I ended things between us.” 

“You didn’t tell me about her. You never said a word. If I hadn’t seen her last night, half naked and kissing you, you’d still be lying.” 

Daenerys was running out of patience. “It’s not lying!” she roared. “We haven’t been together since my nameday.” The more she spoke, the angrier she became. “I didn’t tell you because it’s none of your business. I don’t ask about the women you see, do I?” 

“That’s…” 

She saved him the indignity of trying to justify his hypocrisy. “We aren’t together anymore. I’ll always care about you, but I don’t love you and it was wrong of me to continue our relationship knowing that you had deeper feelings for me.” 

“I don’t care if you don’t love me, it doesn’t matter to me one fucking bit.” 

They were back in familiar territory, having a fight they’d had before. “Daario why are you doing this? You know the truth now, you understand why we can’t be together, so what else is there?”

Daario took hold of her upper arm, tightening his hold and increasing the pressure with every word. “I want answers, you owe me that much at the very least.” 

“What are the questions?”

“Explain it to me!” he demanded. “How you can care about me one day and then be in love with a woman the next.” 

Was he trying to incite her anger, because he was inching closer to getting his wish? “It didn’t happen like that. It didn’t happen all at once. As soon as you returned, I told you we were over.” 

“Right, you ended things so you could fuck a woman?!” 

Was he upset because they were through or because she chose a woman over him? The fragility of the male ego truly knew no bounds. “I ended things because I wasn’t happy. We never should have…” 

“If you wanted to fuck random bastards why didn’t you just say so?” he barked condescendingly. “I could have found you someone a lot more interesting and far better looking.” 

She had been willing to tolerate his abuse because she earned it, but she wouldn’t allow him to mock Arya. “Don’t talk about her, you don’t know the first thing about her.” 

“I know she’s fucking you, and I know you’ll get tired of her soon enough. When you do, you’ll get rid of her, just like you did me. What did you promise her anyway, gold, a better post, a promotion?” 

He sounded so sure of himself, it was annoying. She was tempted to inform him that nothing she ever felt for him was even remotely comparable to what she had with Arya. She loved Arya more than anything, and she’d never loved Daario. “Stop it!” she insisted. “Be angry at me. I’m the one who hurt you.”

He laughed darkly. “I’m allowed to be angry! How generous of you, Princess.” 

Throwing up her hands she went on the offensive. “What did you want me to do? Should I have kept taking you to bed while I was falling in love with someone else? Did you want me to pretend nothing had changed?”

“What I want,” Daario decided, “is to know why you did this to me!”

Did this to him?! She scoffed. “I know this is hard for you to imagine, but my feelings for Arya have nothing to do with you.”

He glared defiantly at her. “You ending our relationship doesn’t involve me?” he fired back. Before she could respond he chuckled. “You’re right, this is all about your father.”

Her father? Why would he think that? “This has nothing to do with…”

“Of course, it does!” he interrupted. “You want to show the King that you’re not his perfect little Princess, that’s why you were with me, and that’s why you’re with her Congratulations you picked someone even less suitable for the King’s only daughter than the dirty, pit-fighting sell-sword.” 

How dare he? While it may have been a contributing factor once, doing something her father would disapprove of was no longer the thrill it had been. “Sorry to disappoint, but my feelings for Arya are only about Arya.” 

Even as he smirked, the underlying pain remained evident. “If that’s true, you wouldn’t mind me telling the King what I saw, right?”

Fuck! She should have known that was where this was going. He was as opportunistic as the rest of them, using what he knew against her. “What do you want?”

Her question amused him. His smirk widened. “Excuse me?” 

“If you were going to tell my father, you’d have done it already. You’re talking to me, because you want something. What’s the price for your silence?” 

“What if I said, I want you?” 

She hissed, a visceral reaction to the mere suggestion. She leaned in, until they were almost nose to nose. “I’d tell you, that was never going to happen again.”

“And that’d be worth risking her life?” 

Furious, her head filled with flashes of her doing to Daario what she’d done to the last man who threatened Arya. She’d been understanding of Daario when they started, wanting to avoid causing him needless pain. She hoped they could part peacefully, as friends. She couldn’t find any of those sentiments now. She could carve him up without regret. Arya was the woman she loved, not some prop or tool for Daario or anyone else to use to get what they wanted. “Viserys is gone. He left for Dragonstone weeks ahead of schedule.” 

“Why?” he asked, obviously curious about her reasons for including that detail at a time like this. 

“He was going to hurt Arya. He would have done it too, if I hadn’t stopped him.” 

“You stopped him?” he verified with a healthy amount of skepticism.

“We struck a bargain,” she recalled, smiling at the memory. “He gets to continue breathing, as Lord of Dragonstone no less, while I get to ensure absolutely no one ever harms Arya.” She let that sink in and then she brought them back to their impasse. “Ask yourself, if I was willing to incur my brother’s wrath for her, do you think I’d hesitate to welcome yours?” 

He said nothing, choosing to stare into her eyes as he debated what to make of the story. Daenerys stared back, not wilting or squirming or glancing down nervously, she met his challenge fearlessly while she waited to see how he’d react. 

“You’re serious,” he realized. “Who are you? The Daenerys I met…”

“That girl is gone!” 

He thought for a moment and then took another. “I’m taking my men back to Essos. I don’t have a reason to stay anymore.” 

She nodded. “I hope you’re happy there.”

“How quickly things change,” he remarked. “Suddenly you want me happy, but not ten seconds ago you were threatening my life.” 

He wasn’t wrong, but the distinction was clear to her. “I do wish you well,” Daenerys told him, “as long as you don’t endanger Arya, I will continue to want good things for you.” 

“This won’t end well, you know that don’t you?” 

“I appreciate your concern,” she said sharply, “but Arya and I will be fine.” 

He was unimpressed. “If you say so,” he quipped while shaking his head. “Whatever the appeal is, it won’t last forever. When you’re bored with her, I’ll be waiting.”

Rather than respond she let him go without correcting him. She’d given him too much of her time already. She stayed where she was for a full minute, just to minimize the chances that their paths might cross. 

Exiting the closet Daenerys went toward her room. Missandei was probably worried about her. She increased her speed as it occurred to her that Missandei might know where Arya was. 

R-C

A daunting line of servants were ahead of her in the kitchen, delaying Arya longer than she would have liked. Daenerys was probably waiting for her tea, wondering what was taking Missandei so long. She moved as quickly as she could without spilling anything. All her care was nearly thwarted when Daario stepped out of a shadow and situated himself in front of her. “Excuse me,” she said flatly. 

“I need a moment of your time,” he countered. 

She wasn’t interested in anything he had to say. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

He looked suggestively to the teapot. “I see that.” 

“What is this?” she wanted to know. Her day was bad enough without Daario. She didn’t need this shit. 

“I’m leaving, but before I do, I have a message for you.” 

He was leaving? Did that mean he finally accepted that Daenerys didn’t love him or was it only temporary, another assignment from the King? “What’s the message?”

“Get out while you still can. She’s using you. When she’s done, she’ll throw you away and you’ll be exactly where I am now.” 

Arya hid her surprise and outwardly showed indifference. How had Daario discovered their secret? Did that have something to do with his departure? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tried. 

“Yes, you do. Save yourself a lot of heartache. You can’t trust her.”

There was a lot Arya was conflicted about, a lot of uncertainty in her life, but she knew without question that Daenerys was worthy of her trust. “Is that all?”

He paused, deciding if he wanted to make another attempt to sway her. He stepped to his right, clearing Arya’s route. “Think about what I said,” he added, before she got too far away. 

Unwilling to let him have the last word, she stopped in front of the staircase. Looking back over her shoulder and found him in the same spot, watching her closely. “Safe travels,” she said before beginning her climb. 

R-C

When they were finally sitting opposite one another again, neither woman spoke. Daenerys didn’t know what held Arya’s tongue, but the Targaryen didn’t want anything to lessen the moment. They’d only been apart a few hours, but it was sufficient to make abundantly clear that she didn’t want a future without Arya next to her. The guard was exhausted, and her hair was askew, but she remained the most beautiful woman Daenerys had ever laid her eyes on. 

“I’m sorry,” she said to begin, “I shouldn’t have left like I did, I regretted it for most of the afternoon.” 

The tea Arya brought her was on the table, but she wasn’t thirsty anymore. Daenerys had spent a considerable amount of energy on what she wanted to say to her lover and was no closer to having the proper words. She’d run out of time. The seconds passed. She had to say something. Instinctively, she went with the truth, harsh as it was. “I’m not. I tried to be, I swear, but I’m not.” She reached across the table for Arya’s hand. “I love you, and I am not sorry that I did what was necessary to keep you safe. I’ll never be sorry for that.” 

“Viserys will want revenge,” Arya announced. “He won’t forget this.” 

She knew that. She turned her hand over, so Arya’s was on top and then lifted it to her lips. She kissed two of her knuckles. “Then it’s a good thing the most talented, gorgeous guard in the world has agreed to stay in my service,” she joked. 

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” Daenerys assured her, “but I couldn’t do nothing. I couldn’t make you choose between sharing his bed or killing yourself.” At its most basic that was the crux of her logic. “I had to do something.” 

“You risked too much. You shouldn’t…”

“That doesn’t matter now,” Daenerys interrupted, not wanting to hear Arya diminish her value. “Viserys is at Dragonstone and we are here.”

The grey eyes she loved so much seemed to be imploring her to listen. She tried. “And what if Viserys goes to your father and tells him what you’ve done.” 

“He’s too embarrassed, he’d rather die than let everyone know his sister got the best of him.” 

“How did you tie him up?” 

That was the one question Daenerys didn’t want to answer. How could she hope to explain that she played on her brother’s perverse desire to have her as his wife? “I made him think I was going to make him a better offer, by the time he realized I had other intentions, he was bound to the chair.” 

Arya seemed to understand that the topic made Daenerys uncomfortable and mercifully didn’t push for the details. She suspected this wouldn’t be the last time it came up, but she’d gladly leave that particular mess to be cleaned up later. “He could still use the King to punish us.” 

Be it Daario or Viserys, Daenerys’s greatest fear was that someone would go whispering to her father and weaponize his illness against them. She could only hope her brother’s desire to live was strong enough to combat his taste for blood. “I told Viserys that if my father accused either one of us, I’d admit my guilt and claim Viserys aided me in my scheme. He’d be killed too.” 

Arya’s mood took an immediate turn. She’d been amenable since they started, even when she was posing questions or contradicting Daenerys’s arguments, it was calm and measured. Now Arya squeezed her hand so hard it almost hurt. She was anything but calm. “I know, you told me this in the stables.” 

Guessing that they were nearing the root of the problem, she tried to soften the blow. “I knew it wouldn’t happen. At his core Viserys is a coward, one who loves himself too greatly to put his neck on the block.” Arya didn’t look convinced, so she kept going. “Viserys has dreams of being King and ruling Westeros, it’ll never happen but he believes my father will name him his successor any day.” 

“What if he’s right?” she proposed. 

“He’s not. Rhaegar has been groomed to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms since the day he was born. The only person who doesn’t see that is Viserys, because he is too selfish. He can’t see past what he wants. He won’t take the chance that I’d implicate him, he’d rather bide his time and stew in his anger. He’ll make plans for the revenge he’ll take when he’s on the throne, but that day will never come.” 

She knew when Arya understood the wisdom of her strategy, because the grip on her hand loosened. “It was still a huge risk. What would you have done if you were wrong?”

“I would have talked myself out of it,” she insisted, aware that was what Arya needed to hear. 

“And if you couldn’t?”

“I would have done what was needed to keep you safe, just as you’ve done for me every day since we met.” 

“That’s not the same thing!” Arya contended, dropping the hand she’d been holding. 

When Arya rose out of her chair, Daenerys did too. “Why not,” she shouted passionately, “because you’re a guard, because it’s your job? I’m no more important than you.” 

Groaning in frustration, Arya ran her hands through her hair, messing it up worse than before. “I don’t want you putting yourself in danger for me, not with Viserys, your father, or anyone!”

“I didn’t do it for you,” she revealed in a moment of utter honesty. 

Arya hadn’t been anticipating that. She relaxed a bit, searched Daenerys’s eyes to determine her sincerity and then inquired. “What?”

She took a deep breath and tried to summon the appropriate way to explain a very unconventional thought process. “I didn’t do it only for you,” she clarified. Arya’s lips parted to ask a question, so Daenerys purposefully surged ahead, denying her the opportunity to interfere. “I didn’t, I mean I did, I wanted you protected, but it was as much for me as it was for you.”

Not able to follow, Arya raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t lose you,” she blurted out. “I couldn’t let Viserys hurt you, not like that, not after what happened in your training. The thought of you with anyone else, especially my brother, like that, against your will, I had to stop it, for both of our sakes. You didn’t deserve it and I couldn’t live with myself if I did nothing.” 

She expected outrage or more confusion, so it was a shock when Arya took her hand. Not the tight, unyielding hold from before, but gentle and loving. “I understand,” she said, “I would’ve done the same thing in your place.” 

Although she was relieved Arya wasn’t angry, she was uncertain about what caused the sudden shift. Her explanation was barely coherent, and yet Arya’s whole demeanor was different. “Then why were you upset. If you understand why…”

“I was scared,” she finally said, sounding thoroughly drained. “The idea of you risking your life for me, it terrified me more than a thousand men with swords ever could.” 

This was serious business, and yet Daenerys couldn’t deny that a part of her found Arya’s admission sweet and romantic. “You didn’t need to be scared, I knew…” 

She didn’t finish the thought, but she didn’t need to. “You can’t do that to me again, we have a deal, remember?” 

What was she talking about? “We do?”

“Together,” she elaborated, raising their clasped hands, “we said we’d face what came together.” 

She nodded, because she did remember that. “Together,” she pledged. 

“What we do, we do together, that’s why I didn’t go out the window before you got there and why I told you what I was thinking when you asked.”

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed. It was her, she was the reason Arya hadn’t killed herself? She assumed she was gathering up the courage to do it, but if what she was saying was true, it was Daenerys that kept her from acting on her impulse. As thrilled as she was to inspire such devotion, it only worsened her guilt. The contrast of Arya’s thinking against her own was striking and it didn’t paint Daenerys in a favorable light. 

She was working on an apology when Arya spoke. What she said did nothing to cure Daenerys’s ailment. The weight on her chest became unbearable. “How is you dying for me, any better than me jumping out that window? It’s practically the same thing!” 

“Viserys accepted my terms,” she noted feebly, aware she was missing Arya’s point. “He didn’t say anything to Father, I knew he wouldn’t.” As excuses go, it was flawed. If she were Arya, she wouldn’t accept it either, but it was all Daenerys had. 

When Arya smiled at her, it was indulgent and sweet. It didn’t fit the situation at all. “I don’t need to ask if you would have gone through with it. If Viserys told Aerys and put you in a corner, you would have made good on your threat, I know that, because I know you.” 

She wanted to refute that, because saying she wasn’t willing to sacrifice herself would give Arya some peace, but it would be a lie. She may have calculated that Viserys wouldn’t tell their father, either to spare himself embarrassment or to stay alive, but if she’d been wrong, Arya was right, she would have seen it through to the end, ensuring he died with or before she did. Daenerys couldn’t deny it. “I…”

“You didn’t think about me!” Arya accused the Princess fiercely. 

“You’re all I think about!” she yelled, resisting the notion entirely. It wasn’t much of an exaggeration. Arya was constantly on her mind. it would be infuriating if she didn’t secretly enjoy it. 

“Then think about me,” Arya instructed. “If you and Viserys died in the throne room what would happen to me?”

It wasn’t hard to imagine a trial in the throne room ending in green flames. That part came easy, what was harder was picturing Arya standing behind her empty chair, watching. “My father would send you back to Sunspear,” she guessed. 

With a humorless chuckle she shook her head. “Not my job, me!” Arya pressed. “What do you think my life becomes if I watch you the person I love most in this world die, in that place, with him!” The way Arya emphasized the final word turned her stomach. 

“Arya, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“Together,” she said again. “Good, bad or in between, I need us together.” 

She squeezed the Stark’s hand. “We will,” she promised. “I love you Arya, and you’re right.” 

“So, the next time you plan to do something reckless,” she said as she moved toward Daenerys, “I expect to be invited.” 

She leaned in for a kiss. “There is no one I’d rather do something wild and potentially life-threatening with.”

Daenerys felt Arya smile against her lips. “So romantic,” she mumbled before they were too busy to talk. 

R-C

Slowly Arya’s heavy eyes closed, and her breathing evened out. Lying in Daenerys’s bed, behind a locked door, she had the Princess in her arms, and they were both on the brink of sleep. Arya was just about to drift off when Daenerys’s voice pulled her back. “Daario is leaving,” she said, more awake than Arya was. 

“I know,” she confirmed. “He told me.” 

“He did?” The bed moved under her and Daenerys put a palm flat against Arya’s stomach and used it to raise up off her lover’s chest slightly. She turned her head to look into Arya’s eyes. “When? What else did he say?” The intensity with which she asked the last of her three questions made it perfectly clear which one Daenerys wanted addressed first. 

“He found me when I was bringing your tea,” Arya recalled, looking pointedly at the cold beverage sitting untouched on the table. 

“What did he say? I should have known he wouldn’t be able to leave without looking for you.”

“He knows about us,” Arya acknowledged. She didn’t want Daenerys to worry, but they’d just promised honesty and unity and that meant this nonsense with Daario too. “I don’t know how he found out, but he warned me.” 

Daenerys applied more pressure to Arya as she lifted higher and sought a better angle. “Warned you about what?” It was subtle, but there was an unmistakable authority in Daenerys’s voice. She wanted answers and she wasn’t going to stop until she had them. 

Knowing Daenerys wouldn’t be distracted, she still tried. “It doesn’t matter. Everything he said was horseshit and he’s leaving.” 

She kissed Daenerys in hopes she’d get lost in the sensation and forget about Daario, but it didn’t work. She kissed back but when they separated, she was back at it again. “Warned you about what?”

“You,” Arya replied gently. “I told you it was crap. I didn’t believe him and…”

“Every word, Arya, tell me every word he said,” the Dragon demanded. 

She obliged. She recounted her conversation with Daario to the best of her ability and when she was finished, Daenerys looked enraged. Her instincts were proven accurate moments later when the Targaryen threw back the blanket. “Where are you going?” Arya asked, although she knew. 

“I don’t think they’re leaving until the morning,” she said once her feet were on the floor, “there is still time to cut his lying tongue out. It’ll only take a minute!” 

A more perfect declaration of love for Arya Stark didn’t exist. Seeing the woman she loved murderous didn’t frighten her or create doubts, it only made Arya want her more. She snaked her arms around Daenerys’s waist and pressed her chest into the Targaryen’s back. “Arya let me go!” she commanded. 

“You want to leave me and go to your former lover?” she verified playfully. 

She sputtered, as she struggled to reply. “I… it’s not… I can’t… he…”

“He is not important. I told you it was shit. It doesn’t matter to me if you loved him first, I get to love you last. We are going to stay right here.” 

She leaned back into Arya’s embrace, an overt indication the guard was going to get her way. “I never loved him, it was a mistake from the first, but I was lonely. It’s different with us, how I feel about you is different, you know that, right?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, pressing her lips into the crease of Daenerys’s neck. “I know you love me, and I’m going to show you how much I love you.” 

They’d already spent hours forgetting the stresses of the day and apologizing the best way they knew how. They were tired, but all the sudden Arya needed more. Something about seeing Daenerys so eager to defend her honor reignited her hunger. Never did Arya think she’d find someone who not only loved her exactly as she was, but was also willing to wage war or commit murder because someone had the audacity to say something impolite about the foster “We are exactly where we belong. Don’t give Daario the satisfaction of chasing after him.” 

Daenerys already had one leg back on the bed when she posed a challenge. “Convince me to stay then.”

Arya’s smirk felt like it might be permanent. She waited until Daenerys was lying flat, then Arya began crawling down her body, kissing as she went. Looking up from between the Princess’s breasts she asked, “Shall we get started?”

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Another chapter. I know this one is a little boring compared to the last couple, but I hope no one is too disappointed. 
> 
> I considered getting rid of Daario a lot sooner, but it felt too easy. I wanted Daenerys to have to work for it a little. 
> 
> Lastly, I want to thank all the people who are still reading and commenting. I was nervous about how the last few chapters would turn out and I’m relieved people seemed to like Daenerys’s growth.
> 
> See you next time
> 
> RC


	48. Chapter 48

Selmy was outside the door when they arrived. His presence was almost enough to cause her to turn back, but she knew she’d postponed this too long already. She had been avoiding her brother since she returned from Highgarden, engaging in only the briefest of trivial conversations with the future King, before making an excuse to leave. At her core, Daenerys was hurt. Rhaegar knew the real reason for her trip to the Reach and he provided no warning, apart from vague, weak attempts to dissuade her from going and mumbled comments about would-be regret. She expected more of Rhaegar which is likely why it bothered her so much. She wouldn’t be able to move on until she looked him in the eye and heard how he’d justify his behavior. She had words with Tyrion, Margaery and Olenna when she learned the truth too. They each managed to convince the Princess that they meant no harm and genuinely cared for her. Given that pattern, why was she dreading discussing the subject with Rhaegar? She blamed it on the fact that she was closer to Rhaegar than she was the others. He had protected her all her life and until recently she truly believed he had her best interest at heart. Were her doubts reasonable or was the truth about Lyanna and his past lies tainting everything she thought and felt? 

The hardest part of Daenerys’s internal conflict was tracing her various emotions to their source. Things with Loras had gone well, so why couldn’t she forgive and move on? Did her anger have anything to do with his silence about her potential marriage or did it stem from other, darker places? On one hand Rhaegar was the brother she loved, and on the other, he was the man whose selfishness led to the ruin of Arya’s life. She just couldn’t separate what he set in motion years ago with Lyanna from who he was today. She tried, the Gods know she tried, but every time Arya whimpered in her sleep, in the throes of a nightmare, every time she tensed in the King’s presence, Daenerys was reminded of how unforgiveable some things were. 

Her level of contempt for her father’s heir and his actions varied with the day. Secretly she worried their relationship would never recover. Her love for Arya was deep enough that it situated anyone who harmed her as Daenerys’s enemy, be it Jorah, Viserys, or even Rhaegar. That aside, they did have business. Rhaegar needed to know what Olenna said. 

Daenerys had always liked Ser Barristan. He was kind, sincere and didn’t speak just to hear himself talk, three qualities she admired. His loyalty to Rhaegar was also endearing. As a girl she dreamed of having a guard as faithful one day. She thought Jorah was as close as she would get to experiencing the bond for herself but now that Arya was in her life, she could openly admit her childish fantasies of the connection failed to come close to the reality. “How are you Ser?” she asked with a smile. 

“Princess, you’re looking radiant this evening.” Although visibly tired, Barristan was pleased to see her. 

“You are too kind,” she said, before getting to the reason she was there. “Can I go in?” 

He hid it well, but her request caught him by surprise. “Of course, I think he’d like that.” As he agreed his eyes moved from Daenerys to Arya. “Will you both be going?”

There was no question in her mind. Under no circumstances would she ask Arya to remain outside, just to appease Rhaegar. Before she could say so, Arya countered everything Daenerys felt. “I’ll stay out here.” 

She pinned her lover with a serious stare. All too aware that they couldn’t converse openly with an audience, she chose her words carefully. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.” 

“It’s alright, me being there will only complicate things.” 

Whether that was true or not, Daenerys didn’t care. She did however notice that Barristan did nothing to correct Arya’s assessment. “You can come in,” she offered, “if my brother wants to see me, he will have to accept your presence.” 

She was prepared to fight for this, but Arya seemed to think it wasn’t worth the effort. “I know, but then who would keep Ser Barristan company?”

“I could use someone to talk to,” Selmy added. 

“Fine,” Daenerys relented, “I won’t be long.” 

Arya shrugged. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” 

It was foolish, but Daenerys hoped she was talking about more than just guarding the door. “Please try to keep her out of trouble,” she joked as the knight stepped aside to allow her entry. 

“I’ll do my best.” 

Once inside, she stayed where she was, stealing a final glimpse of Arya before Barristan closed the door between them. Squaring her shoulders, she turned her focus to her brother. “Rhaegar, are you here?” she called. 

“Dany is that you?” he yelled. She found him lying in his bed. The bedside candles were still lit, and it didn’t appear that she’d woken him. He closed a thick book and set it off to the side. 

“It’s me,” she confirmed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were already in bed, I can come back another time.”

“Nonsense. I wasn’t sleeping, I was reading. I thought I’d be more comfortable lying down,” he explained. 

“Were you?” 

“Not really,” he confessed as he worked to sit up. 

“Don’t get up!” she insisted. “As I said, I can come back tomorrow.”

He stopped moving and propped himself up on one arm, so he could extend the other in her direction. His fingers grazed her hand, but she was too far away for him to grab on. “Don’t go, please.” 

She weighed her options. “I’ll stay for a few minutes,” she decided, “but don’t get up. I’ll bring a chair over here and we can speak while you rest.” 

“That’s not necessary, it’ll just take a minute.” 

She’d seen him get out of bed more than once and knew it took substantially longer than that. She also knew if the pain was bad enough for him to be in bed so early, the bed was probably exactly where he needed to remain. “Those are my terms. Either we talk as you are, or I’ll come back tomorrow?” 

Whether it was random, luck or destiny, Rhaegar didn’t inherit the worst of the Targaryen traits. Aerys, Viserys, even Daenerys were all incredibly stubborn. Usually Rhaegar could be counted on to assess a problem dispassionately, and make a logical choice not motivated by his baser desires. On almost any subject, Daenerys was inclined to believe Rhaegar knew what was best, but the one topic that didn’t fill her with confidence, the one thing that time and again turned Rhaegar into a true Targaryen, was his injury. He hated being viewed as weak, so even if logically he knew lying down was best, he’d still oppose her idea. 

He was again working to sit himself up. “Don’t be absurd Dany. I’m fine.”

She held her ground. “Last chance,” she threatened. “Lie back down or I’ll talk to you in the morning.” 

“Since when do you drive such a hard bargain?” 

She chuckled, already looking forward to telling Arya about this later. She’d gotten the next King of the Seven Kingdoms to heed her advice. She ignored his question. “Can I help?”

“I just need,” he paused and grit his teeth in obvious pain, exhaling and closing his eyes for a moment before continuing. “I just need to get the pillows set up behind me.” 

She went to the bed. “How should I arrange them?”

“Two pillows under each arm,” he instructed. 

Her grievances with her brother could wait. Common decency demanded she help him. “That’s it?”

“No, the other three will support my back. I’ll get myself sitting forward as best I can, you’ll just need to insert them behind me, so I have something to lean against for additional support.” 

She did as he requested, following his direction to the letter. When she was finished, Rhaegar was sitting up, albeit at an awkward angle. She offered to keep making adjustments until they got it right, but he claimed he was comfortable. 

“Thank you,” he said as he settled in. 

Daenerys went to the table and dragged a single chair across the floor to a spot near the bed. 

“After everything, I am a little surprised you were willing to help me,” he said to get them started. 

In only a few words he summarized how rotten and insidious politics in the capital could be. “Helping someone who needs it shouldn’t be about agreement or consensus. It was the right thing to do, so I helped you. How I feel about you didn’t factor in.”

Disappointed, he nodded. “You’re right.” He had wanted to use Daenerys helping him as a bridge to peace, but it wouldn’t be that easy. “I know you’re upset with me Dany, you have every right to be, but I want us to move past it.” 

The way he spoke, sounding so sincere and accommodating, it ate away at her. He was acting like he was the considerate and gracious one for allowing her to be upset. 

When she didn’t respond, he repeated himself. “It’s okay if you’re angry, but we’re family and we do need to get past this. I’ll do whatever it takes. You’ve been avoiding me since…”

There was no need for him to finish. “I needed time to think.” 

“Now that you’re here, should I assume you’re done thinking?”

“What I am,” Daenerys told him, “is prepared to focus on the future and not the past.”

He smiled warmly. “That’s great Dany. I want that too.” He leaned back into the pillows she arranged for him. “Our future is limitless.”

“Apparently,” she quipped sarcastically, “my future is in Highgarden with Loras Tyrell.” She waited just long enough for Rhaegar to begin preparing his defense and then she cut him off. “Why wouldn’t you tell me why I was really going? Why let me think I was visiting friends?” 

“It was Father,” Rhaegar began, placing the blame elsewhere. 

She didn’t let him hide behind their Father. “Father wasn’t the one I met with before I left, who said nothing about Loras or marriage. You could have told me. Instead I find out hours before I’m supposed to negotiate with the Tyrells, finally learning that I’m the commodity being bartered over.” 

“That wasn’t how it was supposed…”

She didn’t feel obligated to permit him a reply. “Why didn’t you tell me!?” she asked bluntly. 

“I didn’t want to upset you,” he said, seeming to think that made it better. 

“If that was your intent, you failed miserably.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like that, you were never supposed to be involved, a negotiator was going to meet with the Tyrells while you visited with Olenna and Margaery,”

“That didn’t happen,” she pointed out. 

Rhaegar sighed and Daenerys was nearing her wits end. “Just tell me everything, no more half-truths, no more lies.” 

He studied his sister closely, likely assessing if she could handle it. When he was satisfied, he nodded. “Mace Tyrell has wanted to marry one of his children to one of Father’s for years. Involving you is only his most recent scheme, not his first.” 

That matched with what Margaery said. She urged him to proceed. “Go on.”

“We didn’t think anything would come of it, but Mace was insistent, so we agreed.” 

Daenerys erupted rising out of her chair. “I thought I was visiting friends, finally being allowed to travel, getting to see the Reach and all the while you were whoring me out!”

Rhaegar couldn’t get up, but he disagreed vehemently with her characterization from where he sat. “No, of course not. We wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Really, because Viserys didn’t get a say in his wedding, is it really so hard to imagine I’d get the same?” 

“You were going to Highgarden anyway, so Tywin concocted a plan to send along a negotiator to deal with the offer of marriage.” 

“That’s really interesting and all, but it didn’t happen, so why don’t you tell me what went wrong?” she spat bitterly. 

“Right before you left, Father heard Tyrion speak of the meetings you were holding for him, and he saw a way to include you.”

“By negotiating my own marriage.”

“Tywin and I both tried to change his mind, but he wouldn’t budge. I don’t think he remembered that the negotiations were about you, he just decided you were the best person for the job and wouldn’t hear otherwise.” 

Although curious about how it all came to be, she was much less interested in that then she was inquiring about why Rhaegar hadn’t warned her in advance. “Why didn’t you tell me?! You could have told me all this before I left, but you let me go there looking like a fool!”

“That wasn’t my intent,” he protested weakly. “Tyrion was to negotiate if you couldn’t. I thought once you learned what it was about, you’d step back and let him take over.” 

“And?” she pushed, when it became clear he wasn’t going to tell her anything else. 

“And Tyrion had orders to listen to the Tyrell’s offer, negotiate and then end it without an agreement. He leaned toward her a little bit, reaching for her hand. “I’m sorry it happened, but you don’t have to marry Loras, no one here ever wanted you to. We only agreed to the negotiations to please Mace. If the negotiator had taken the lead, you never would’ve had to know marriage between you and the Tyrells was a possibility.” 

Overlooking how incredibly fucked up that was, it did nothing to improve Daenerys’s feelings. “So, if you never wanted me to marry Loras, why negotiate at all?” She knew the answer, she just wanted her brother to have to say it out loud. 

“It’s to our benefit if Mace believes we tried to unite our families,” he said, making it seem much less disgusting than it actually was. 

It was a game, a way to get the upper hand on House Tyrell, and Daenerys, well she was little more than a prop. She seethed under the surface but showed none of it. “Sorry to disappoint but Loras and I actually like one another.” 

Rhaegar was visibly uncomfortable, and this time it had nothing to do with his posture or the position of some pillows. “Daenerys, it was never our intention for you to marry Loras.” 

She shrugged, as if pledging your heart to someone was a minor detail. “If you cared enough to tell me that before I left, maybe I wouldn’t have fucked up everything!” 

“You didn’t fuck up anything,” Rhaegar said as he tried to salvage this. “We’ll just inform the Tyrells you changed your mind.” 

Did he realize how disrespectful he was being, over and over again? He seemed oblivious to how he was hurting her. Instead of asking her what she wanted to do, or swaying her with persuasive arguments, he simply told her how it was going to be. “I don’t think so,” she said as she watched the vein in his neck pulse. 

“Dany, this is…”

“I was told to negotiate, and I did. Loras and made an agreement in good faith. We decided we’d meet in a few weeks and spend more time together. I plan to keep my word.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” 

“You want to marry Loras Tyrell?” he verified skeptically. 

“I don’t know, but he’s a nice man and I am looking forward to seeing him again.” 

Sensing that she wouldn’t be changing her mind, he took the first available chance to change the subject. “So, you enjoyed your time in the Reach then?”

She did, Margaery, Sansa, Arya, Olenna. It had been memorable. “It was productive, and not just with Loras.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spoke to Lady Olenna. She invited me for tea before we left.” 

“How was that?” Rhaegar asked, “I know you like her.”

“I do, and it was great. We talked about many things, including King’s Landing and Father.”

“What about him?”

She observed her brother closely. Was he being cautious or was this willful blindness? “We spoke about our hopes for the Realm after Father is no longer on the throne.” 

“You did what?!” Rhaegar roared. “I explicitly told you to wait! This is dangerous Daenerys, we have to be careful.” 

“I was careful, what was I supposed to do, say nothing when Olenna brings up father and the toll his reign is taking?” That was a slight exaggeration, but her brother was worrying about the wrong thing. The method didn’t matter, not when her results were so positive. 

“Damn it, Dany! I had a plan!” 

Unrepentant she stared her brother down. “You did, and now you have an ally.”

His mouth hung open for three full seconds before he gathered himself. “She said yes?”

“She said she’s been waiting years for the chance to put Westeros on a different path. She’s behind us, with all of her vassals.” 

“That’s….” He stopped, unsure of the appropriate phrase. 

“Olenna has started it, we need to see it through. Have you made any progress, rallying the other houses?”

“Dany, I have it under control.” 

“Then you can surely explain it to me. Who agreed to help us? Who will you approach next? I have some ideas about that too.”

“It’s all under control,” Rhaegar assured her. “This time next year, Westeros will have a new King, and all of this will be but a memory. 

A lot could happen in a year, but it was better than nothing. They could see the light at the end of the tunnel now. They’d gotten started, there was no turning back anymore. 

R-C

Fifteen minutes into her lesson and already she’d had more than enough. She’d had to endure daily lessons since returning from Highgarden and displeased was a polite way to describe Daenerys’s feelings about them. There was too much to think about, where to put her feet, the angle of her hips, what to do with her empty hand and that was all before the sword itself. “Try again!” Arya encouraged. Daenerys did, but even to her untrained eye, she knew the results were poor. She struck the target with little force, the blade shook the entire way in, and the spot Daenerys was aiming for was a good measure higher than where she actually hit. 

“I can’t do this,” she complained as she fought the urge to throw her sword down in protest. Why did she have to do this? 

“You can,” Arya countered jumping down from the fence she’d been sitting on. “You’re thinking too much, try following your instincts instead. Listen to that voice in the back of your mind, it’ll tell you what to do.” 

“That voice is telling me to stop!” she announced boldly. 

With a smirk on her face, Arya shook her head ever so slightly. “You can do this, just focus on the sword, hit the target and follow through like I taught you.” 

Grumbling under her breath about how unfair this was, she did as she was told. On her approach she purposefully stomped her feet. When she swung the wooden sword at the target, Daenerys released some of the anger that had built up inside her. Although she hated to admit it, the blow landed with more force than any of her prior attempts. 

Arya noticed too. “That’s it!” she praised. “Great work. Do that again, only this time, I want you to turn your hips toward the target. Use your whole body and the strike will become much more powerful.” 

She still didn’t want to be there, doing this, but Arya’s approval helped ease her annoyance at least temporarily. She tried to apply the guidance she received, she truly did, but she was at a loss. Arya had taught her the importance of keeping her feet firmly planted underneath you, so how could she do that and turn her body? Wouldn’t she need to choose one or the other? Her attempt went about as well as she expected. It was more reminiscent of her first swing and not her last. She tried to turn toward the target, following the sword the way Arya showed her, but she was so worried about her feet she stumbled, making an already pitiful display even more disgraceful. 

“Your feet!” Arya groaned. “Remember what I said about your feet.”

“I did,” she retorted childishly, “but then you wanted me to rotate my hips or some such nonsense. It’s not my fault that I can’t pivot my whole body without moving my feet.” 

“Yes, you can,” she contended, sounding almost as tired as Daenerys was. Sweat was forming on her brow and she was glad Arya suggested they train away from the Unsullied, away from everyone, so no one would witness her failures. 

Arya arrived behind her and immediately took the Princess in her arms. It wasn’t quite the way Daenerys wanted Arya to hold her, but the effect was no less instantaneous. With one hand she grasped Daenerys’s sword-arm at the wrist, the other rested on her hip. With one of her boots she nudged Daenerys’s feet further apart, adjusting her stance. “That’s better,” she said, assessing her work, “now you can turn right or left easily without sacrificing power.” To prove her point she guided Daenerys’s sword to the left first, then the right, as if opposing invisible enemies. “How does that feel?”

She knew what Arya was asking but she couldn’t help herself. She put her empty hand onto of Arya’s as it rested on her hip. “Not bad at all,” she purred playfully. 

Daenerys looked over her shoulder just in time to see a gorgeous pair of grey eyes roll. Despite her huff of indignation, Daenerys detected a flicker of indulgence mixed in. “Watch,” she said, determined to get them back on the right path. With Arya holding her wrist she guided her arm through a smooth stroke toward the target. As the wooden sword moved closer to its destination Arya used her other hand to steer Daenerys’s hips as well. She hit the target hard, hard enough that Daenerys felt it reverberating in her arm afterward. It would’ve been exhilarating if she wasn’t much more interested in the way Arya was touching her. If it was exercise they were after, she could think of plenty of more enjoyable pursuits. “Like that?” she asked, hoping to sound seductive. 

“That was a lot better,” Arya acknowledged, stepping back and filling Daenerys with disappointment. “You’re getting better, I know you can do this.”

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed. “What if I have to go the other way?” she pondered. Her inquiry had more to do with getting Arya’s hands on her again. than it did slaying some non-existent threat. 

To Daenerys’s delight both of Arya’s strong hands grasped her hips at the same time, reminding her of other more intimate moments they shared in the same pose. “When you’re done, your hips should be in line with your sword. Think you can do that?” 

Daenerys was lost in thought and only realized it when she noticed Arya watching her expectantly, obviously waiting for a response. How was she supposed to think about warfare and combat when she had her amazing lover and her talented hands so close? Should she admit she hadn’t heard a word Arya said? She nodded dumbly and Arya stepped away again, waiting to see her put the guard’s teachings into practice. She had no idea where to start. She remembered her insincere question but little else. Arya likely gave her guidance about hitting a target off to the side, so she’d follow her instincts and pretend she knew what to do. 

It was a disaster, and she knew it from the first mumbled curse she heard her instructor utter. Daenerys stopped before actually swinging the sword, not wanting to embarrass herself further. 

“What’s wrong, didn’t I explain it well enough?” Arya was in front of her then, between her and the target. 

Daenerys couldn’t let her take the blame. “I’m sure you explained it perfectly,” she said sweetly, before stealing a quick kiss. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t really listening and…”

Arya sighed. “Daenerys this is important and not just for your father. You should know how to defend yourself. You’re a Targaryen.” 

She may hate swords and hate being forced to learn this, but she didn’t hate Arya or her obvious concern. “I am a Targaryen, but I’m third-born and a woman,” she amended, “I have no duties beyond those I make for myself and even then, I require no weapons.” 

“You wear the knife Grey Worm gave you,” Arya pointed out. 

She couldn’t deny that, not with the small blade currently strapped to the outside of her leg. “That’s not the same thing, having a knife for emergencies and being trained for war are wildly different.” 

“They are,” she agreed, “but you should still know both.”

Arya was only trying to help, but Daenerys was tired, hot and sore. She wanted to be done with this. “Doesn’t it matter to anyone what I want?” she whined unfairly. 

Arya grabbed the sword Daenerys was holding and tossed it off to the side. “It matters to me,” she swore, and the Princess believed her. “It does matter, and I’m sorry we have to do this, but your father expects results.” 

Instead of feeling relief to see the sword hit the ground, Daenerys was overcome with guilt. The truth was, if Daenerys had had the courage to tell her father the sword wasn’t hers or if she’d been brave enough to say ‘no’ when he started making demands, they wouldn’t be in this mess. She had no right to be angry at Arya. She was trying to make the best of a bad situation. Also, taking her frustration out on an innocent woman just because she was there when her father wasn’t was beneath Daenerys. That was not the kind of person she wanted to be. It couldn’t be easy for Arya either. She had to side with a man she hated, against the woman she loved, in an effort to keep the peace. 

She went to her lover and hugged her, forgetting all the reasons they shouldn’t be overt in their affections. They were in a secluded, rarely used corner of the grounds, she was confident they could have a moment without revealing their relationship to the world. “Thank you for doing this.”

“I’d do anything for you,” Arya replied sincerely, and Daenerys’s heart melted. “I know you hate it, but your father said it was mandatory.”

“That was before we left for Highgarden, that was weeks ago.”

“I doubt that’ll matter to the King.” Arya remarked. 

“If he remembers,” Daenerys resisted. “It’s far more likely that he forgot all of it, me, you, the sword. In the days since he’s had an endless supply of things to distract him. I’d wager if you asked him right now, he wouldn’t even know that he has a daughter.” Although a tad extreme, at least she hoped it was, the main argument held true. Her father issued orders constantly and most were never carried out because he found something else to hold his attention. It would be the same with this. The battle he insisted she prepare for, it existed only in his head, it would never come to pass and therefore no logical reason Daenerys needed to master the sword. 

“Are you sure? It won’t take long to teach you the basics and I promise I’ll make it as painless as possible,” she proposed. 

“I’m sure.” She looked deep into her lover’s eyes and then brought their mouths together. “Everything is going to be okay. Soon Rhaegar will be King and we won’t have to worry about things like this.” 

“It’s just…”

Daenerys cut off her objection with another kiss. “All this training has me in need of a bath. Care to join me?” 

With a smirk, Arya challenged her, “Incapable of bathing by yourself Princess?”

“I’m perfectly capable,” she retorted seriously, “but having shared a bath with you serval times, I can confidently say I find the experience much more enjoyable when you’re there.” Fearing that Arya was going to remain defiant, she pulled out what she thought was her most compelling weapon. “Besides, how will you keep me safe, if you aren’t with me?” 

“I could guard the door,” Arya offered while she worked to conceal her grin. 

“I can think of few more vulnerable positions for a young Princess than alone in the bath. I fear you standing in the hall wouldn’t make me feel safe enough.” 

“What would make you feel safe?” Arya asked as she bent over to pick up the discarded sword Daenerys no longer needed. 

“You, very close.” Every inch of her body felt warm and she wanted Arya more right then than she’d ever wanted anything. It would be a trial just to make it upstairs before she began ripping the young woman’s clothes off. 

Arya spun around and Daenerys was there waiting. Their eyes met and volumes were spoken between them without words. She leaned forward as if she meant to kiss Daenerys then slipped past her cheek, stopping near her ear. “I’m at your service,” she whispered.

With a devious chuckle Arya backed away. She didn’t look back as she walked toward the castle. She tossed the wooden sword effortlessly into the air with her left hand and caught it with her right, looking the picture of calm. Daenerys was anything but. She was shaking, her knees rattling so violently they were practically knocking together. She’d need a moment to compose herself before she chased after Arya, luckily, she knew exactly where the Stark was going. 

R-C

It was late, and she was the last person making use of the yard. Taking swing after swing, she struck hard at any target within her reach. She wasn’t thinking, it was a mindless exercise in brute force with the sole goal of tiring her out so thoroughly that she might go upstairs and fall into a dreamless sleep next to her Dragon. 

She was focused so completely on the targets and the task she appointed herself, that she didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. She delivered three decisive blows to the same target in rapid succession, each one cutting deeper into what would be the right side of a man’s neck. “I think he’s dead,” Missandei noted lightly. 

She turned too quickly and without due care. She still had her sword raised, so when she spun, it was suddenly pointed at the startled handmaiden. She backed up but didn’t otherwise comment. Arya dropped the Valyrian steel to the dirt. “I’m sorry, I thought I was the only one out this late.” That didn’t excuse her raising a blade against her friend, but she hoped it was a sufficient start. 

“I shouldn’t have snuck up on you,” Missandei said. 

Unsure of what else there was to say, she tried to adjust their course. “Going to see Grey Worm?” she guessed. 

“I came to see you.” 

Arya immediately imagined the worst. In her mind only something horrible could make someone seek her out so late at night. “Is everything okay, is Daenerys….”

“She’s fine, she was reading when I left, and she probably still is, she was trying to stay awake until you arrived.” 

Regardless of their intent, Missandei’s words made Arya feel bad. Daenerys shouldn’t have to wait on her, but how could she explain she wasn’t ready to go in and face another nightmare just yet? 

“Is everything okay, Arya?”

“What do you mean?” She had a pretty good idea what Missandei was asking, but she hoped the extra seconds might allow her to settle on an acceptable response. 

“I’ve noticed you’ve been quiet lately.” Arya opened her mouth but Missandei knew what she was doing and stopped her. “Quieter,” she corrected, “you’ve been quieter, you’re tense, and angrier.”

It was all true, she should have anticipated Missandei would not only notice, but ask about her poor behavior. “I know and I’m sorry, I’m trying, it’s just harder than I thought.” 

“Is it Daenerys?”

What? Daenerys was the one thing she was sure about. “Gods no, things with Daenerys and I are great.” As she spoke it occurred to her that maybe Missandei heard a different opinion from someone else. “Did she say something to you?” It was wrong to trap Missandei like that, to ask her to betray Daenerys’s trust, but Arya didn’t see any other way. If Daenerys was having doubts about their relationship, the only person she’d confide in was Missandei. If Arya was going to fix things before it was too late, she’d need the advanced warning only the handmaiden could provide. 

“She hasn’t said anything, she’s as happy as you are,” Missandei clarified. “She doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“Why are you?” she inquired, more harshly than she meant to. 

“To make sure you’re okay. I was there when you and Daenerys argued about her plans for the throne and then there was Viserys and Daario and now she tells me her lessons aren’t going well and that you’re frustrated. I’m concerned for you.” Missandei paused and then summarized her points. “You’re my friend too and if I can help, I will.”

Arya was appreciative of the sentiment, but in this case, she wasn’t sure there was anything to be done. “It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she confessed quietly, squatting down next to her sword. She ran her sweaty hands through her hair. 

“What is?” Missandei pushed. 

“Being here. Lately the memories, the nightmares, they’re all I can think about.” 

Astutely, Missandei’s next question hit the nail right on the head. “It’s different than it was before?”

“I didn’t think it would be, I thought I could be here without seeing their faces or hearing their screams all the time.”

“Is this because you saw your sister again?”

Arya took time to consider that. Seeing Sansa undoubtedly intensified the nightmares while she was at Highgarden, but the torment persisted. “That’s part of it,” she assumed, “but I think the rest is me.” 

“What did you do?”

“I decided to stay,” she answered without elaborating.

“And you think this is why you are having more memories and dreams?”

“I thought I was passed it,” she said again, as if repeating it would somehow make it true. “I want to stay with Daenerys, be where she is, even if it’s here. I didn’t realize just how hard it would be though.” 

Unbothered by her repetitive statements, Missandei kept trying to provide assistance. “What’s changed?”

She took a deep breath before replying. “When I first got here, no matter how bad it was, i knew it wasn’t forever. Eventually Viserys would return and I could go back to Dorne.” 

Missandei understood. “And now you can’t.” She quickly caught herself and amended her point, “You could go back to Sunspear Daenerys would…”

“I don’t want to,” Arya insisted honestly. “I want to be with Daenerys, I just haven’t been sleeping and it makes me short-tempered.” 

“That’s understandable,” she said, lowering herself to match Arya’s height. “You could tell Daenerys, she would understand. She loves you and only wants you to be happy.” 

More than once she tried to confide in the woman she loved, but she always lost her nerve. “She carries so much already, she blames herself for what her father’s done, I don’t want to add to her burden.”

“You aren’t a burden,” Missandei disagreed, “not to her. You’re no more a burden to her than she is to you.” 

As usual, Missandei was able to take a complicated problem and make it simple. She straightened up. “Thank you Missandei.”

“You’re welcome,” she said kindly, before adding “next time you want to talk, don’t make me track you in the middle of the night.”

Whether she was cold, or just shivering to make her argument more compelling, Arya had to laugh. “Agreed, now let’s get you inside.” 

She saw the satisfied smile on Missandei’s lips as Arya escorted her back to the castle, but she didn’t mind. It helped to talk about what was bothering her, even if no solution presented itself. 

“Goodnight,” Missandei said as they separated in front of the door to her room. 

“Rest well and thank you again.” She felt eyes on her as she continued on to Daenerys’s bedchamber. They remained until she crossed the threshold and slipped inside. 

R-C

While searching for Aemon, they heard them before they saw them. Daenerys stopped walking and looked to her guard with concern. “What is that?”

Arya had a pretty good idea what was happening and if she was right, they needed to move quickly. She put a hand on Daenerys’s lower back to guide her. “Stay close,” she instructed before she increased speed and changed direction. They could visit with Aemon later. 

As she feared they came across Rhaegar and Oberyn near the throne room. It was obvious their disagreement had been ongoing and heated. Arya guessed they had been coming from opposite directions only to meet at the intersection of the halls. Whatever personal space existed when they began had vanished in the time since. They were nearly nose to nose, spitting angry accusations and crude comments back and forth. 

“We have to do something,” Daenerys implored. 

Arya wasn’t sure she agreed with that. What was happening between Oberyn and Rhaegar was a long time in the making. Perhaps it was better for them to finally say what needed to be said. Ser Barristan seemed to have the same idea, because although he was nearby, he was doing nothing to rein in the Crown Prince or disperse the Viper. 

“I’ve been here for days,” Oberyn shouted, “and not once have you asked about your wife and children.” 

When Rhaegar replied, it was lacking the hate Arya was expecting. “I lost my right to know them a long time ago,” he said, sounding contrite. 

“We agree on that. Do you even remember their names?” Next to her Daenerys gasped at the question, and her brother’s face contorted in pain. True to form, Oberyn kept up the assault, relentlessly attacking his enemy. “When people ask you how many children you have, what do you tell them?” 

Rhaegar said nothing in his own defense, likely because he knew no words would satisfy Oberyn.

“They’re great,” he told the absent father, “not that you asked nor care. They are smart and kind, they have much of their mother in them. Aegon loves to learn new things, no matter how busy he is during the day, each night finds him next to a fire, with a book in his lap. Rhaenys got her mother’s heart. She’s quick-witted, beautiful and stronger than she realizes. She dreams of sailing away one day and seeing the world. She’ll do it too, it’s only a question of when.” 

Watching Rhaegar absorb the information about his children was odd. At times he looked pleased, wearing a slight, proud smile, but other times Oberyn’s words cut him deeply and he’d wince. 

“Do you ever think of your children, of your wife?” Arya could feel the nervous energy pouring off Daenerys. She had her hands twisted up in front of her and chewed her bottom lip as they waited to see how bad this was going to get. “Elia is well,” Oberyn lamented, “she’s raised those children, your children alone for years, with nothing from you, not help, not gold, not even a kind word. She should be angry and bitter but that is not my sister’s way. She remains loving and generous in spite of everything you did to her!”

“I…” Rhaegar started feebly. 

“You what?” he pressed. “You’re sorry? Does an apology make up for years spent without a father?” He didn’t let him answer, taking another guess at what Rhaegar would have said. “You regret it? You wish you had it all to do again? He scoffed and glared defiantly at Westeros’s next King. “I don’t think you do. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. The spoiled little Prince…”

“That’s enough,” Barristan said, stepping forward, finally deciding this exchange wasn’t helping anyone. “The Prince has an appointment.” 

“Such a brave man, running away from the truth,” Oberyn taunted. With a devious smirk he looked at the cane Rhaegar was leaning on. “Well, maybe not running.” 

“Stop this, please!” Daenerys begged of her. 

Personally, Arya felt Rhaegar was getting only a fraction of what he deserved and she would’ve been content to stand there all day, enjoying the show, but Daenerys was asking for help. Daenerys was asking her for help. “Stay here,” she advised, before she approached the warring Princes. 

She got to them just as Oberyn was twisting the knife one more time. “I don’t know how you can live with yourself.” 

Without sparing a glance for Rhaegar she put her palm flat on Oberyn’s chest and gave him a firm push, creating some space between them. Oberyn managed to keep his eyes off Rhaegar long enough to look at Arya for an explanation. She spoke quietly, so the others wouldn’t hear. “You’ve made your point, my friend. He’s not worth it.” 

She could feel the heat of two intense gazes, both belonging to Targaryens, but she focused on Oberyn. Smiling, she bumped his shoulder with hers. “Rough day?” she asked rhetorically. “You look like you could use a drink.” 

“Are you offering?”

“Sure, I’ll find a bottle and meet you in your chambers in a minute.”

Slowly the anger receded and the man in front of her reverted back to the generous, playful, wickedly funny mentor she was used to. “Take two,” he encouraged seriously, looking past Arya to something or someone behind her back, “your girl looks upset.”

She turned and immediately saw what Oberyn had. Daenerys looked like she was filled to the brim with nervous energy. Her toes were tapping against the floor, her arms were crossed, and she wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she staring openly at her guard. “Two minutes,” she agreed, leaving Oberyn to go and settle Daenerys. 

R-C

“It was that bad?” Missandei verified. “Many of the servants are talking about it.” 

“I bet they are,” she remarkedly coldly. “It’s not everyday the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms gets berated in public.” 

“I’m sorry,” Missandei said. “I know that couldn’t have been easy for you to hear. 

It definitely wasn’t easy, it was immensely difficult. She knew Rhaegar well and could read the subtle changes in his expressions that most would miss. She saw how mentioning Elia and the children hurt him and a part of her wanted to comfort him, but that was only a part, the rest of her, a vast majority held a differing opinion. “I felt for him, but…” she trailed off before completing the thought. 

“But?” Missandei pushed. 

“I also agree with most of what Oberyn said. How long since we got back from Sunspear? He hasn’t asked about Elia or his children once. I kept waiting for him to bring it up, but he never did.” 

“They returned to Dorne a long time ago, yes?” 

“Yes, before Aemon was born, he hasn’t seen or spoken to his children since,” Daenerys confirmed, getting frustrated just speaking about it. “I always assumed it was Elia’s choice to return home, her choice to cut off contact, but it was his doing. He has no one to blame but himself.” 

“Does that mean your brother sent them away?” Missandei checked as diplomatically as she could. She didn’t know everything Daenerys did about Rhaegar’s past or the reasons behind it and somehow, she still managed to reach the right conclusion. It was beyond impressive. 

“Yes,” she admitted, “he fell in love with someone else. He only married Elia to please our father, so perhaps it wasn’t hard to send her away, but the children? He has a son and a daughter who have grown up without him and he doesn’t seem to care.” 

“Perhaps you should ask him about it.” 

She considered and then dismissed the notion. “No, he’s had plenty of chances to ask about them, or mention them in conversation, but he doesn’t. Oberyn was right about one thing, if he had it to do again, he wouldn’t change what he did to Elia and their children. He wanted it this way, Aemon here, Aegon and Rhaenys there. There is no justification for that. Even if he never loved Elia, they are his children and he just pretends they don’t exist so he can dote on the son he covets, birthed by the woman he did love.” She hadn’t meant to say all that, but it poured out once she got started. She hadn’t realized she had so many bottled up feelings on the subject. Finishing her rant, she boiled it down to a single statement. “I would never abandon my children as he did, I’d die first.” 

“What did Arya say about the fight?” Missandei wondered, clearly trying to relax Daenerys by mentioning her lover. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”

Despite her frustrations, she smiled when she thought of the dark haired, grey eyed Stark she loved. “I think she was thrilled,” she acknowledged. “Had I not asked her to stop it, I think she would have stayed there to watch Oberyn yell at Rhaegar for the rest of the day.” 

“I thought she’d be here.”

“She was, but I told her to spend some time with Oberyn since I don’t plan on doing much this afternoon.” 

“Shall I pour the wine then?” Missandei proposed. 

Should she? Arya was busy and Daenerys didn’t have anything else pending. A lone meeting for Tyrion hadn’t filled her schedule, which is why she and Arya were seeking out Aemon when they happened upon his father by mistake. She wasn’t opposed to dividing her afternoon between Missandei and a bottle of fine wine. “That sounds perfect.” 

R-C

“I just couldn’t help myself,” Oberyn justified as he finished his second drink. “I saw him there and he was laughing, talking to the knight and I just wanted to wipe that stupid smile off his face.” 

“I know the feeling,” she promised honestly. “I feel that way every time I see him.” 

He held out his cup for her to refill. She didn’t hesitate. “You restrain yourself better than I do.” 

“I have a reason to bite my tongue that you don’t.”

She didn’t need to elaborate, he understood. “I hope I didn’t make things difficult for you and the Princess.” 

“We’ll be fine,” Arya predicted confidently. “She didn’t say so, but I’d wager that Daenerys agrees with you.” 

“He’s her brother,” Oberyn reminded her. 

She was undeterred by the logic. “Doran is your brother, do you agree with everything he does?”

She watched a grin spread across his face before his drink blocked her view. “Fair point,” he noted as he lowered his cup to the table. 

It was quiet for a time. Not the awkward or tense kind, just a peaceful coexistence, between two friends who didn’t need meaningless noise. 

When he restarted their conversation Oberyn was no longer interested in discussing his dispute with Rhaegar. “You should come with me when I leave,” he said casually. “This place poisons everything it touches.” 

Not expecting that, she choked on her wine. Arya coughed and sputtered while Oberyn grinned proudly. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine he timed that ‘innocent’ comment to reach her just as she was trying to swallow. 

She took a moment to clear her airway and then another to glare across the table at her friend. “I feel no differently about King’s Landing than I did the day I left Sunspear, but this is where Daenerys is, for now anyway, so it’s where I need to be.” 

Rather than being disappointed by her refusal, he seemed pleased, too pleased in fact. “It’s strange to see you like this.”

Although she knew, she asked, “Like what?”

“In love,” he answered, “happy. It is a good look for you.” 

She did her best to ignore the burning of her cheeks and neck. “No one is more surprised than me.”

Wisely Oberyn nodded. “That is usually how these things happen.” 

Getting them back on the right path, she said, “I can’t leave her. I need to stay here.”

Unbothered he moved on. “She could join you. It’s plain to see she is unhappy here. You could settle in Dorne or cross the Narrow Sea to Essos.” 

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t tempted by the future Oberyn was suggesting. She pictured it, her and Daenerys on the deck of a ship, crossing the water. The Princess would have her freedom and they would have each other. 

“Aerys would hunt us,” Arya said, giving voice to the largest flaw in that plan. It wasn’t the only potential problem, but it was the most difficult to navigate. 

“From what you say, he may not be in a position to interfere much longer.” 

That was true, but could she ask Daenerys to do that? She was forced to walk away from her old life once, to break ties with everything and everyone she knew, and that was one of the hardest things Arya had ever done. Was it fair to ask Daenerys to endure that just because she had a few negative memories of the capital? In the end, she was undecided. “Maybe,” she allowed. “Tell me news from home.” 

Mercifully, Oberyn didn’t force the issue. “Let’s see,” he said, thinking about her request. She knew when he’d settled on the story he wanted to tell, because he looked downright eager. “A nobleman from the mountains wanted his daughter to marry into an influential Pentoshi family.” 

“That’s not news,” Arya quipped, “I’d be more surprised if a nobleman didn’t want his daughter to marry into a suitable family.” Due to its location and strong relations with many Eastern cities, it was just as common for a Dornish to bond his family to someone in Essos as it was to choose a suitor from within the Realm. 

“True, but unfortunately for this particular noble, the family he wanted to join had only one son and he already had a wife.” 

“Rotten luck,” she jested, “he’ll have to find someone else to buy his daughter.” 

Oberyn’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “You’d think so, but the nobleman wasn’t willing to accept defeat. He sent assassins to kill the man’s wife and children, making him available to marry the daughter.” 

She studied his face to decide if he could be believed. Oberyn loved to tell extravagant stories and he didn’t usually let minor details like the truth stop him. “Really?” 

He nodded, wearing a grim expression. “Unfortunately, he chose well, and the man’s family was dead within weeks.” 

“Did the daughter marry the widowed man?” Arya wondered. 

“No, when she learned what her father had done she sent a raven to Sunspear telling Doran of his crimes.” 

Wow, that took no small amount of courage and fortitude. “She accused her own father?”

“Doran summoned him to the Water Gardens to answer the charges. He denied he was guilty.” 

“They always do,” Arya muttered as she waited to hear the results. 

“He requested a trial by combat.” 

This immediately caught Arya’s attention. Trials by combat were rare and although Arya would be content if that was the only way disputes were settled, she knew not everyone shared her enthusiasm. “Did he fight for himself?”

Oberyn chuckled. “Of course not. A man with enough gold to hire competent assassins certainly has enough to retain a champion as well.” 

“How did it end?”

He chuckled again. “With my spear in his chest.” 

“Doran chose you to fight for Dorne?”

“I had nothing else to do,” he explained casually, “Ellaria and the girls were shopping.” It was as if inviting a man to try and kill him was an everyday occurrence. 

“Naturally. How did they take it, when they found out?”

He smiled knowingly, pausing for dramatic effect. “Ellaria wasn’t happy,” he said, underselling his woman’s reaction no doubt. “The girls were only upset I didn’t wait until they got back.” 

Arya laughed. That sounded about right. She would miss Oberyn when he returned to them, but she was determined to enjoy the time they had together, before it was gone. 

R-C

Arya was climbing into bed next to Daenerys when she was finally brave enough to broach the subject. It had been on her mind all evening, so much so that the Princess asked twice if she was okay. She said she was. 

“Oberyn thinks we should leave,” she started, putting her nervous energy into adjusting the blanket around her legs. Would Daenerys want to stay? Would Arya come to want those words back someday? Had she just done irrevocable damage to their relationship? The questions came hard and fast without easy answers. Daenerys’s life was far from perfect, but it could definitely be worse. Unlike Arya she still had a family, perhaps she wouldn’t want to be separated from them. Would Daenerys come to hate her as she hated Aerys for dividing her family?

Daenerys’s reply interrupted her growing panic. “And go where?” Arya could hear the smile in her voice without looking. She didn’t yet understand the seriousness of the conversation they were having. 

“Dorne, Essos, anywhere really, anywhere but here.” 

A sharp intake of breath announced when Daenerys understood. “What do you think?” she asked carefully. 

Arya led with the things she was most certain of. “I love you and if you want to spend the rest of your life in the Red Keep and King’s Landing then so be it, I’ll stand at your side and protect you, but Oberyn wasn’t wrong, we could leave.” 

It was quiet and Arya’s anxiety became unbearable. One more time she was struck by her limitations. She could face a man in combat, she could kill and she could defend, but when it came to talking about her feelings to the woman she loved, she felt woefully ill-prepared. 

“My father would never…”

“It would be a lot to give up,” Arya agreed, even without knowing precisely how she was going to finish that sentence. “I’m not saying I want to go,” she clarified, “I’m not asking you to leave with me, I just wanted to make you aware of the option.”

A pair of soft fingers pressed into her jaw, turning her head. Their eyes met and all Arya saw was love there. “Thank you,” she said passionately. “I will keep that in mind.” She leaned over into Arya’s space and stole a kiss. When she was back on her side of the bed she asked, “Was this what you were worrying about all night?”

Arya didn’t need a mirror to know she was blushing. “I was afraid to tell you,” she confessed. 

“Why?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was asking you to choose, I’d never do such a thing. I don’t want to be the reason you lose your family.” 

Daenerys took her face in both hands, cupping her cheeks with care. “You didn’t force me to choose, and I haven’t lost anything. It’s as you said, I have one more option now than I did before. That’s hardly bad.” 

“I love you,” Arya said, meaning it with every ounce of her. “I’ll be wherever you are, wherever you want me to be.” 

Purring softly, she went in for another kiss. This one was longer and deeper. Without breaking their connection, the Princess climbed on top of her lover. When air became necessary the kiss ended and Daenerys gifted her with a dazzling smile, the kind bards write about. “I want you right here,” she decreed, “with me.” 

Arya wouldn’t complain about that order anytime soon. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There you have it, a relatively peaceful chapter for the girls. I’ve had that fight between Oberyn and Rhaegar playing in my head since I decided this was going to be a full-length story. I’m glad I finally got to it. 
> 
> I apologize to the people who are tired of Daenerys and Rhaegar having repetitive conversations that don’t go anywhere, I’m tired of writing them, trust me, but I really felt they were necessary. In this world, Rhaegar is the brother she loves, the brother who protects her, Daenerys would give him the benefit of every doubt before assuming the worst, and that means we have to wait until she reaches her breaking point. Next time, I don’t think Daenerys will be quite so amenable, so there is something to look forward to. 
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
Happy Thanksgiving to the readers from the States


	49. Chapter 49

It began late morning. Having completed two meetings for Tyrion, including one with the Septa who ran the orphanage, Daenerys was in a good mood and feeling useful. Prepared to capitalize on her high spirits, she intended to take her guard up to her chambers for a more intimate appointment. Naturally she should have assumed it wouldn’t be that easy. A servant found her before she reached the stairs and informed her the King was requesting her presence. 

She considered lying, declaring that she had some urgent business that couldn’t be postponed, but she held her tongue. If her father was asking for her, nothing real or imagined would be sufficient enough to deny him. She bit back a sigh and nodded in agreement as her opinion of the day’s potential dropped like a stone. 

In her head she went back several days to when Arya spoke of leaving the capital. Maybe she had the right idea. Things in the keep would never change, perhaps the best thing she could do would be to remove herself from it. She glanced over her shoulder and Arya was watching her. If she stayed or if they disappeared in the dark, she took comfort from the knowledge that Arya would be right there with her. 

She hated herself for it, but her steps faltered as she neared the throne room. As was custom, Arya was there to provide support. “Deep breaths,” she instructed. Coming to stand in front of the Princess, she blocked Daenerys’s eyeline to their destination. They stayed like that, grey eyes staring into violet, with nothing but the sound of Daenerys’s breathing, until her fear was manageable. It remained in the pit of her stomach, but she didn’t have the desire to flee anymore. “Good, that’s good,” Arya praised when the Dragon was under control. “It’ll be okay, no matter what, I’ll be right behind you the whole time. Let’s get this over with, then we’ll do something fun for the rest of the day.” 

Daenerys’s mind quickly filled with suggestions of ‘fun’ activities she could enjoy with Arya. Reluctantly she pushed those thoughts aside. She needed to focus. In the throne room she’d be under intense scrutiny from all sides; the court, her family, the advisors and any number of other assembled guests. Unless she was calm, unless she had her mask firmly in place those vultures would feast on any weakness she showed them. “Thank you,” she said to Arya, before the soldier moved off to the side. “What would I do without you?”

Rather than respond, Arya simply smiled, ducked her head, and led Daenerys the rest of the way in silence. 

R-C

Arya stood in her designated spot, next to Missandei. Like her, the handmaiden had been located and ordered to attend. In addition to the usual attendees, there was a large group of spectators, including Oberyn. The Red Viper was seated near the back, literally as far away from the King and his son as he could get. Arya suspected that wasn’t accidental. 

Few knew more about the happenings within the castle than Missandei. The woman from Naath heard secrets from the servants and the nobles alike, giving her access to wide ranging information. It was for this reason that Arya wanted to talk to her, to inquire about what brought them there, but she couldn’t. The room, despite its size and occupancy was deathly quiet and still. If she spoke now, even in a whisper, it would draw unwanted attention. 

Her final thought before the proceedings began was that she hoped she hadn’t been called to witness an execution. When the King began speaking moments later, what she heard led her to believe that was exactly what was in her future. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Aerys said loudly from his seat on the Iron Throne. “I’m pleased so many could be here today. We must plan for the future my friends. This very moment enemies plot and scheme against us, they think they can kill me, but they don’t know, don’t know I will be reborn as a mighty dragon.” 

Arya closed her eyes and leaned her head back into the unforgiving wall. Fuck. In her experience, when Aerys started raving about his enemies, someone usually ended up dead. When she opened her eyes again, she swept them over the crowd. It was obvious by facial expressions and postures alone that many of the spectators had reached the same conclusion. Friends traded heavy, nervous looks, and a few leaned forward in anticipation of the bloodshed. 

The King, oblivious to the tension he was creating, continued his speech. “But what becomes of the Realm when I take to the skies to reshape the world?” he asked. “I must leave us in strong, capable hands, in the hands of my children.” 

Arya felt sympathy for her lover as everyone sought her out, her and Rhaegar. To her credit, Daenerys didn’t squirm under their gazes, she remained calm and unresponsive, at least outwardly. If you didn’t know the Princess well, you could be forgiven for thinking Daenerys hadn’t heard her father mention her. 

“We all must prepare,” Aerys shouted, building up to the point he was trying to make. “No one is safe, and everyone must do their part.” 

With every word the focus on Daenerys decreased. Arya thought the storm had passed, but then Aerys had to go and make everything worse. “We all must prepare,” he repeated, “for no one will be spared when the Dragons enemies are at the gate. My daughter knows this, that is why she is learning the sword.” 

Arya gagged from where she stood, impressed she was still upright. She didn’t like where this was heading one bit. 

“Isn’t that right Daenerys?” Aerys asked directly. 

Being singled out, Daenerys showed discomfort for the first time. Sitting up straight, she turned her head toward her father and replied, “Yes.” 

Arya held her breath, hoping he’d move on, but it wasn’t to be. “Show us,” he commanded. 

Daenerys’s voice broke as she clarified. “S…show you?”

“Yes, show us what you’ve learned.” 

Daenerys was immediately reluctant, trying to avoid the scrutiny. Arya didn’t blame her. “Oh Father, I don’t think that’s a good idea, I still have much more to learn. I’ve only just begun my lessons and there are certainly more important things…”

He didn’t hear it. He’d made up his mind long before they arrived. Daenerys was going to put her progress on display for the whole court to see. He snapped his fingers and pointed to Arya. “You there, you’ve been training her, give her a lesson now.” 

It was for Daenerys’s sake more than her own that she tried to placate the King. “Your Grace, perhaps now is not…”

He interrupted her as naturally as he did his daughter. “And bring Daenerys’s sword.” 

She knew what sword he was referring to and she knew she didn’t have much of a choice. She took the span of two heartbeats to think, to try and find an escape for her and Daenerys, but none existed. The King had given an order and they were obliged to carry it out. 

Pushing off the wall her hands went to her waist, unfastening the belt that held her sword. Holding the scabbard in her left hand she stepped forward. As she did, she saw Missandei from the corner of her eye observing in silent horror. 

Grey eyes swept the room, skipping over the throngs of people who didn’t matter and focusing on the few who did. Oberyn was there. With a severe expression he nodded, the message was clear. ‘You can do this,’ he told her without words. 

Adjusting her gaze from the rear of the room to the front, she passed over Tyrion, Varys and a whole host of others who looked uncomfortable with what they were seeing but remained silent, nonetheless. The whole scene was entirely too familiar. The King’s demands, the silence of his advisors, the thick tension in the air. She pushed away the memories of her childhood, knowing they wouldn’t help her. She needed to focus. She wasn’t that girl anymore. She was strong and she was capable. She could do this. 

Stepping up to Daenerys’s chair, she held out the Valyrian steel sword. “Your sword, Princess,” she said formally, aware many were listening. 

The hand that reached for the offered weapon shook. Beneath the cracking exterior Arya could tell she was terrified. She took the weapon without moving her lips, but her eyes said plenty, she apologized for everything, for taking the sword, for complaining about the lessons, for insisting they weren’t needed. Arya didn’t doubt that she regretted, but it was too late. That conversation would have to wait. First, they had to get through this. “It’ll be just like we practiced,” she reassured Daenerys. “You can do this Princess, forget about them, just watch me.” 

The rest of it might’ve been noise, but those last words got through. Daenerys turned slightly, angling herself until Arya was centered in her field of vision. “Okay,” she decided. 

A small area that was usually lined with members of the Kingsguard was cleared out for the spectacle. On their walk over Arya kept her strides short, buying her the necessary seconds to formulate a plan with Daenerys. “Remember what I taught you, keep your feet firmly planted, follow through on your strikes and don’t tense up when I swing,” she advised. 

“Arya, I’m so sorry. I should have listened when you…”

They didn’t have time for this. “We’ll talk later.” Arya’s rebuff caused Daenerys’s shoulders to sag. Damn. She’d apologize after. “I need you to listen. I’ll make sure I hit the sword every time, you just hold it up the way I showed you, when I taught you how to block, remember that?” Daenerys responded with a nod. “Don’t move around, stay in one spot, and plant your feet.” 

“That’s it?” Daenerys verified, hopeful it would be that easy. 

“When it’s your turn, aim for the middle of my chest, forget about everything else and just swing as hard as you can.” She gave her a moment to retain that and then summarized, “Block first, then aim for the sigil on my breastplate.” 

They were out of time. She backed away from Daenerys slowly and came to a stop six feet away. Only when she was ready to get this over with, did she realize a problem. “Your Grace, I’m afraid I don’t have a sword.” 

Her admission got snickers and outright laughs from many of the smug Highborn, but Arya barely heard them. She kept her eyes on Daenerys, who needed to know it would be okay. 

“A guard without a sword is no guard at all,” Aerys commented, before he snapped his fingers and gestured for the man on his right to relinquish his blade. 

Jaime Lannister walked to her holding an impressive long sword. “I want this back Sand,” he joked as he passed it off to her. 

She nodded to him in thanks, then took a few practice cuts at the air, getting a feel for the weapon. It was heavier and longer than she was used to, but she was confident she could control it well enough to ensure Daenerys remained unscathed. 

“Show us what you’ve learned Daenerys,” her father instructed. 

After a deep breath and what Arya could only assume was a very thorough mental talking to, Daenerys drew the steel from its scabbard, dropped the casing to the floor and came toward her guard. She stopped about halfway between where she’d started and where Arya was. She’d chosen her spot. Arya would go to her. 

As she got closer, Arya could feel the nervousness radiating off of her opponent. She’d been trained to capitalize on such things and use them to ensure victory. It went against almost all her instincts to see the woman opposite her, holding her sword as anything other than an enemy. Over and over she kept reminding herself this was Daenerys. Daenerys wasn’t now and never would be, her enemy. 

Facing Daenerys with a sword in her hand was a moment Arya would never forget, though she was sure she’d try. All at once it turned her stomach. Without warning, all the voices that had been dissecting her stance and assessing the best way to defeat Daenerys were screaming other things. They pointed out the crease in her brow, the fear in her eyes, and her ragged, uneven breaths. She had plenty of reasons to hate Aerys, but she never hated the Targaryen King more than in that moment. He was to blame, he took the strong, happy woman Arya spent the morning with and he turned her into this. Making matters worse, Arya couldn’t comfort her, although she desperately wanted to. No, she’d have to make it worse by attacking Daenerys when she was already afraid. 

It was unimportant to Arya that she had tried to teach Daenerys multiple times with limited success. It didn’t matter that Daenerys had claimed this day would never come, insisting that her father would forget. She’d been wrong, but blame wouldn’t help either of them. The woman she loved was scared, so she tried to help. 

“That’s good there,” Arya whispered, when the Princess began shuffling her feet nervously, moving off the spot she’d picked. “Plant your feet,” she whispered, “and get ready to block.” 

“What are you saying? We can’t hear you!” Aerys yelled. 

“Apologies your Grace. Daenerys has been learning how to block and deflect incoming attacks, to ensure she is always well-protected.”

“That’s good,” the King remarked. “Show us.” 

Swinging a sword at Daenerys was an unforgivable sin in Arya’s opinion regardless of how necessary it was. Ready?” she asked the Targaryen, looking suggestively to her feet to remind her what she needed to do. Daenerys nodded, but only after adjusting her stance slightly. When there was nothing left to do, she drew back Jaime’s sword and took a slow, lazy swing toward Daenerys’s middle. Although she tensed, Daenerys knocked it away. 

Arya was relieved but the King less so. “She’s a Dragon, she can do better than that. Give her a challenge!” he demanded. 

Muttering a curse, Arya thought about how she could show Daenerys’s talent without pushing her past her ability. She came up with a strategy. “That was good,” she said privately. “This time we’ll try two strikes, the first one will be the same, then you lean right, and raise the sword, I’ll hit the steel.” 

Visibly unsure, Daenerys hesitated. “I don’t know…”

She was cut off by her father. “What’s the delay?”

Arya backed up to make room, and then attacked again. This time she brought the sword down harder and faster, pulling back at the last second to ensure Daenerys remained safe. Daenerys got her sword in place and deflected the blow, improving on her last attempt. Since Aerys wanted a show, and Arya wanted to give Daenerys extra time to prepare, she performed a graceful spin while she transitioned into the second half of the attack. Coming around to face Daenerys again she used her momentum to load up a heavy swing of Jaime’s longsword. As promised, she brought the bigger blade down against her own. The clang echoed in her ears. If that was all there was, she might’ve thought they’d passed the King’s test, but unfortunately immediately after their swords connected, there was a startled yelp and the clattering of a weapon hitting the ground. Damn it! She misjudged how much Daenerys’s inexperienced sword arm could take. 

Aerys wasn’t pleased. “Seems to me that keeping hold of her weapon should be the first lesson,” he raged, his eyes alight with fury. 

She tried to calm him by agreeing. “You’re right, your Grace, we will continue to work on blocking going forward.” 

Dismissive of everything she said, Aerys raised a wrinkled hand. “Offense now. Try and kill the girl Daenerys.”

Having retrieved her sword, Daenerys was ready for the next attempt, but her father’s words unsettled her. Shock gave way to anger quickly and Arya knew she was going to say something impulsive. She hurried to stop it. “You heard the King,” she said. “Three strikes, as fast and as hard as you can.” She tapped the sun on her chest to remind her of the target. 

Daenerys nodded to confirm she understood, but Arya already knew their chances weren’t good. Fresh of what she would consider a failure, Daenerys would want to do something to prove herself, and she’d go beyond the plan they agreed upon. Like the last time, Arya approached her, but this time instead of waiting, Daenerys stepped forward to meet her. The first swing wasn’t bad, a little wild, but it was strong and true. The problem came when Arya blocked it away. With all her body weight leaning into the strike, Daenerys wasn’t prepared for the way the block could knock her off balance. She didn’t fall, but she did stumble, and it put an end to any thought of additional blows. Aware that was bad, she had hoped to engage Daenerys again quickly, before the King could voice his disapproval, but it just wasn’t their day. 

“Girl do you hate me?!” Aerys asked her. 

She choked on the truth as she searched for a suitable response. “Your Grace?”

“Do you hate me?” he asked again. “Do you hate my daughter? Do you want our only Princess to die a painful death when our enemies come?!”

She tried to counter Aerys’s rage with an easy calm. She chose to address only the questions she could without inciting death. “I do not hate the Princess and there is nothing more important to me than her safety.” 

Daenerys’s guilt likely motivated her to speak up. “Father, Arya is the finest guard I’ve ever had and as I said, our lessons have only just begun.”

He didn’t glance in his daughter’s direction as she made her impassioned plea. He just barked an order. “Daenerys return to your seat. I’ll arrange for you to receive a proper instructor.” 

“Father, please…”

With no desire to see Daenerys punished she extended her empty hand and touched the Princess’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said, pointing with her chin to the chair.

Daenerys’s expression made it known how strenuously she disagreed, but she went anyway. “I asked you to prepare my daughter for the dangers that are on the horizon, and you failed me. Do you have anything to say in your defense?” 

Reminiscent of all the times before, she faced the Mad King with all the honor and bravery she could muster. She had plenty to say, but not to him and nothing that would change the outcome. “No,” she said, as she waited to learn her fate. She’d been right when she guessed the meeting would end in violence, she just didn’t expect to be the victim. 

R-C

Walking away from Arya, leaving her to face the King’s wrath when she was the guilty one made her feel disgusting. Arya had tried to teach her. It was Daenerys who wouldn’t learn. She told Arya that her father would forget, that warfare wasn’t important. She’d been wrong and now Arya was paying for her mistake. Why couldn’t he punish her? Frightened as she was, she’d gladly take Arya’s place. 

She threw Arya’s sword on Viserys’s empty chair before she sat down. The sound it made was enough to turn heads, specifically Rhaegar’s. It hadn’t been intentional, but she knew better than to let the advantage pass. She couldn’t stop this, but Rhaegar could. “Help her!” she pleaded, as the King ordered Arya disarmed. 

“I can’t,” he whispered back. 

It was as if she was living in a memory. He’d said something similar when Arya was accused of desertion. He’d been wrong then and he was equally wrong now. He was the Crown Prince, of course he could do something. She always regretted not speaking in Arya’s defense that day, regretted not doing more but she wouldn’t make that mistake again. “It was my fault,” she confessed to her brother, “Arya tried to teach me. She wanted to, but I refused.” 

Rhaegar purposefully avoided looking at her. “Be quiet,” he cautioned. “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

That was crap, and also entirely unacceptable. They were fucking royalty. Many of the most powerful people in the Realm were gathered in the room. She refused to believe that nothing could be done. The words she said to him after learning the truth about the war repeated in her head. She called him a coward and he was being cowardly again, hiding while their father raged against an innocent woman. 

She was still looking at Rhaegar, willing him to help when Aerys’s next command chilled her bones. “Remove her armor.” Arya stood directly in front of the throne and didn’t resist when Jaime Lannister and Arthur Dayne began removing her armor. She didn’t stop them from fulfilling their task, but she didn’t help either. Her arms hung loosely at her sides and she didn’t move them, requiring the men to manipulate her limbs as necessary to separate her from the various pieces. When they dropped the last of the Martell armor to the floor and left Arya more naked than clothed Daenerys’s fear and panic blossomed into anger. Why wasn’t anyone stopping this? The whole court was staring at the woman she loved in very little clothing. Making matters worse was the knowledge that if Aerys didn’t plan to punish Arya, he wouldn’t have needed her out of her armor. She thought about speaking but doubted her father would listen. She needed an ally, a man, of some importance if she was going to end this. Rhaegar was the logical choice. Contrary to her brother’s claims, Aerys did listen to his heir and if Rhaegar persuaded him to give Arya a warning, there was a likelihood that he would. Forgoing manners she reached across the empty chair to poke his arm. He moved his forearm out from under her finger, but otherwise refused to acknowledge her. Their father continued to berate Arya for her inadequate abilities as a trainer. Daenerys would have been a mess in her place. Stripped nearly naked, on display and ridiculed, she would have melted into a puddle on the floor, but Arya was too strong for that. She was unaffected by the eyes on her, or the King’s harsh opinions. She simply stood there and waited to hear how it would end. 

Daenerys had no intention of being ignored. Since subtlety wasn’t working, she’d move on to something that did. “Rhaegar,” she said at her normal volume, making no effort to conceal her rudeness. “Rhaegar!” she called again, louder. 

Daenerys was determined to get her brother’s help. She didn’t care how many nobles she offended or how many rules of decency she broke in the process. Nothing mattered more than Arya. Her mind repeated the exchange that took place in Daenerys’s bed days earlier. Arya had raised the possibility of them leaving together. Daenerys wished she’d seized on the idea when she had the chance. If they were on their way to Dorne or Essos, Arya wouldn’t be at the mercy of a man utterly devoid of it. 

Seconds away from going to stand in front of Rhaegar’s chair. She was nearly out of patience when her father finished his rant. What he said next pulled the Princess’s eyes off her brother and onto her father. “Ser Payne, fetch the whip.” 

Some of the pigs in the audience actually cheered as the mute knight went to get the weapon. Daenerys’s blurred vision and tightly coiled emotions finally shattered. A sob slipped out barely parted lips and tears streaked down her face with haste. She didn’t wipe them, needing the energy for other things. She wasn’t going to let this happen. “Damn it Rhaegar, look at me or I swear to the Gods I’ll tell Aemon everything.” 

Rhaegar did turn to look at her and he was almost as furious as she was. She felt no regret, no sympathy, no guilt for threatening to expose his secrets with Aemon close by. The young Prince was watching the siblings with rapt attention. He’d obviously heard her, and he’d undoubtedly have questions, but that would have to wait. She’d speak with him in private, later. Arya’s needs were undeniably more immediate than Aemon’s. “What do you want?” He was speaking in whispers, probably as a precaution in the event Daenerys brought up Aemon’s mother. 

“Stop this!” she implored, lowering her voice slightly as a show of good faith. “It was my fault. Arya tried to teach me, but I didn’t want to learn, I didn’t think I’d ever need to know. I’m the one who should be up there.” 

“It’s too late. Father has made up his mind.”

Had his excuses always been so hollow, so petty? She didn’t know but they certainly seemed weak recently. She wasn’t too proud to beg. “Please, I’ll give you anything you want, just help her!” 

Rhaegar used Ilyn Payne’s return as an excuse to end their negotiation and turn away from his sister to face the King once more. Behind him Aemon was looking at his aunt with thousands of questions sparkling in his familiar eyes. Daenerys nodded to him, to try and convey that they would speak later, and then she turned to Arya. 

As Ser Payne laid the whip before the throne, He placed it between where Aerys was sitting and Arya was standing. While that was happening, someone did speak to try and save Arya, but it wasn’t Rhaegar. “Your Grace,” Oberyn began, standing up and moving toward the King, “as you know Arya Sand is a soldier of Dorne. On the authority of Prince Doran, I ask that you allow House Martell to train her further. I promise any shortcomings will be rectified and we would gladly return at a time of your choosing to show all those concerned of the progress she’s made.” 

Daenerys had always liked Oberyn but now she thought she might love him. He spoke so eloquently, so confidently, Daenerys found herself envious and optimistic, despite her tearstained cheeks. She folded her hands together in front of her father’s court and prayed that he’d agree. She’d miss Arya terribly, but if it spared her this, she’d survive it.

“I was told she was the best,” Aerys said when Oberyn was finished. “I was promised the best!” 

Her heart sunk. That did not sound like a man inclined to show leniency. “You’ve seen her fight, your Grace,” Oberyn continued, desperately trying to save the young woman he loved like a nineth daughter. “She was first among her peers in training and she won a match before your very eyes in the Water Gardens to earn her place in the Princess’s service. I trained her myself.” 

Daenerys was vaguely aware of movement behind her, but she gave it little thought. At least until she heard someone standing up to echo Oberyn’s arguments. “Your Grace,” Aemon said formally, “may I speak in this matter?”

Shock was the primary emotion, and not just for Daenerys, but almost anyone who had even a basic understanding of the innerworkings of a Targaryen family. Aerys despised Aemon and did nothing to hide it. Aemon knew how his grandfather felt and did his best to stay out of the King’s way. Being Aemon’s son he was involved occasionally, much like Daenerys was, but he always attended in silence, speaking only when spoken to. Those occasions were rare, and the inquiries never came from Aerys himself. In fact, Daenerys couldn’t recall a single time Aemon asked to speak in such a public setting. 

With a groan Aerys addressed Rhaegar’s son. “What information could you have relevant to this?” The question was a reasonable one in Daenerys’s mind, though she could have done without the demeaning tone. 

“Since coming here, Arya has been assisting me in my training. I can personally attest to her skill as an instructor. I am a far better warrior now than I was before Arya Sand came to King’s Landing. During one of our sessions she mentioned that influenced by the trip to Highgarden, wedding planning, and Daenerys’s other appointments, they were still in the early states of Daenerys’s education. I have no doubt your Grace that if given the chance, Arya would be able to rapidly and dramatically increase Daenerys’s skill with all manner of weapons just as she’d done for me.” 

Her gaze bounced from face to face, around the various members of her family. They were still waiting to hear how, or if Aerys would respond to the statements given in Arya’s defense. Daenerys was in awe of her nephew. That was a brave thing he did. Aemon appeared nervous, and he had good cause to be. Still, he cared enough about Arya to want to help her, even if it went against his usual strategy of being seen and not heard. For his part Rhaegar seemed initial proud of Aemon for sharing his opinion, but it didn’t last. By the time Aemon finished his comments, Rhaegar looked furious. When Aerys looked down from the Iron Throne and set his focus on his grandson – something he rarely did - his expression was one of unbridled contempt. 

Instead of waving him away or ordering him back into his chair, Aerys looked to the floor directly in front of his throne. “Go stand next to your mentor then.”

Normally she’d feel sympathy for Rhaegar. Being trapped between his son and his father, with the Realm hanging over them had to be difficult, but this time he had no one to blame but himself. If he’d heeded her requests earlier, Aemon wouldn’t have needed to speak at all. She was close enough to see his pain as Aemon went to join Arya. He claimed he was powerless, was he really prepared to see Aemon whipped just so he wouldn’t have to admit he’d been lying?” 

“What say you girl? Are these boys claims true?” Aerys asked Arya. 

She looked sideways at her cousin and smiled briefly before replying. “It is true, I aid the Prince when I can.” 

“She trains with me for hours, Your Grace,” Aemon pointed out, “after long days serving as Daenerys’s guard.”

She waited, hanging on every word for the first clue that her father was changing his mind, but it didn’t come. Now that Aemon was up there with her, Daenerys could only hope Rhaegar would intervene to protect his son and secure Arya’s release in the process. 

Rather than addressing anything Aemon said, Aerys sought out Oberyn. “And you trained her, you say?”

“I did, and proudly I might add. It was my pleasure.” 

Daenerys heard those words and thought of the bond between Oberyn and Arya. Aerys heard the same thing and found a much darker meaning. “Come stand with her then.”

Oberyn didn’t try and alter the King’s mind, he just nodded his head and walked forward. He took the space on Arya’s right, since Aemon was already on her left. 

“The girl failed the task she’d been given. My daughter is not prepared for the coming fight. That is wholly unacceptable. The question before us now is this – is the fault hers alone? “This man,” he said giving a dismissive wave of his hand toward Oberyn, “he trained her, but obviously not well enough. Should he be punished for that along side his pupil?”

He let the question hang in the air for a time, then moved on. “This man claims he spent hours training with the Princess’s guard. Isn’t he also at fault since he admits he kept Daenerys’s instructor from her? The hours she wasted training him would’ve been better spent on Daenerys.” 

Daenerys gasped. He couldn’t mean that. Taking such aggressive action against minor crimes was uncalled for. She glared at the side of Rhaegar’s head. Was he really going to let this happen? How he could he sit there and let his father talk about his son like that? Saying the training was wasted on Aemon, that was beyond cruel. Rhaegar hated Oberyn but did that hate run so deep he’d subject his son to a similar fate? 

How many times had she begged Rhaegar to speak, how many silent prayers or secret wishes? When he finally decided to intervene, what he said was weak, pitiful and self-serving. “Father, surely you can’t hold Aemon responsible for this woman’s poor choices. She made the choice to train Aemon and not Daenerys. Aemon had no knowledge of the order Daenerys had been given. He didn’t know that time he spent with the guard would be time she couldn’t train Daenerys.”

She was seething. What a snake! What a snivelling, despicable, petty little man. He rushes to Aemon’s defense, but did nothing to benefit the other two innocent people being accused. Assessing her emotions in a thoughtful and intelligent way was beneath her right then, but she didn’t think it was a stretch to say she hated Rhaegar, and if it wasn’t quite hate, then it was certainly closer to it than she’d ever been. 

“Is that true boy?” 

Even if she hadn’t known Aemon as well as she did, she would be able to tell he was conflicted. He didn’t want to abandon Arya, but if he kept defending her, he’d be opening himself up to a whipping. “I… uh…”

While Aemon struggled over what to say, Arya had no such limitation. “It is true, The Prince had no idea I was supposed to be training Daenerys. Aemon is innocent.” 

No one was more surprised by this than the Targaryen males. It gave Aerys pause, a chair away from her, Rhaegar stared at Arya as if she was a riddle to be solved. Lastly there was Aemon, he turned to Arya. “Arya,” he began, speaking loudly. 

While she watched, Daenerys noticed Rhaegar tensing as Aemon seemed ready, willing and able to upset the escape they made for him. 

The weird dynamics, only reinforced Daenerys’s pre-existing feelings. Arya was a good person. She was trying to save Aemon, even after Rhaegar refused to help her. She could’ve held a grudge, it would be forgivable, but that wasn’t who Arya Stark was. She was protecting Rhaegar’s son, knowing full well he wouldn’t do anything to save her.

“Aemon,” Arya said, just as it seemed the Prince had made up his mind about the course he planned to take, “it’s okay. You don’t need to do this, not for me.” Aemon wasn’t convinced, so Arya kept going. “I appreciate what you tried to do, I’ll be forever grateful, truly, but please go sit down. I don’t want this for you.” 

Aemon confirmed he’d heed Arya’s advice by nodding to his favorite sparring partner. Arya seized the moment, turning to Aerys. “I alone am responsible. Neither Aemon nor Oberyn had a hand in any of it. My failings are my own.” 

That statement cut deep into Daenerys’s stomach, but even as she feared what it would mean for Arya, she could acknowledge that the selfless act was what she’d come to expect from the woman she loved. She protected the people she cared about and took the blame on herself. 

Oberyn noticed too. “Arya no,” he said, trying to talk her out of it. “I…”

She smiled at her mentor and interrupted right before he said something that likely would’ve changed things irrevocably. “Oberyn don’t!” She took a deep breath before turning to look the Viper in the eye. “You’ve done enough for me, don’t do this too. Go home, Ellaria and the girls are waiting.” 

Daenerys’s tears began anew as Arya tried to save Oberyn too. Why wasn’t anyone stopping this?!!”

While Daenerys was realizing the lack of character in most of the people around her, Arya’s exchange with Oberyn was ongoing. “I can’t leave you here like this, I won’t.” 

“Our bond isn’t in our blood, it isn’t secured through a highborn marriage or a political alliance, you are the brother I chose. You gave me a family and showed me love when I felt deserving of neither. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you. I could never repay you for all you’ve done, but allow me to try, allow me to start. Go, please, go home, regale the girls with tales of our adventures together and remember me as I was before this.” 

Daenerys felt uncomfortable listening in. That should have been a private moment between Arya and Oberyn and it had to take place in front of the court, and the gossips and the Small Council. Although she felt awkward it seemed she was in the minority. Many in the audience were eagerly drinking it all in, like it was a play for their amusement. Daenerys was appalled. 

Having settled her business with Oberyn, Arya turned back to the throne. “I’m the one at fault. I accept full responsibility. Aemon, Oberyn, they have nothing to do with this. 

The words were typical Arya, fearless and brave but the tone unsettled the Princess. Arya was a fighter. That’s who she was, so why wasn’t she fighting anymore? If she wasn’t willing to save herself, Daenerys would just need to do it for her. This was her fault anyway. She was the one who refused to be taught. Why couldn’t her father ask her to demonstrate the bow? That she liked doing, that she had some aptitude for. That was a test she would have passed, so naturally Aerys had to choose another. She stood up, drawing the eyes of half the room, including the King, his heir, the Spider, the Hand and his children. The one person Daenerys wanted to look at her didn’t. Arya was back to looking at only the King. “Father, if I may speak.”

Rhaegar for one, wasn’t interested in hearing what she had to say. “Daenerys, sit down,” he growled. 

She imitated him and pretended as though she didn’t hear. “I’m to blame for my poor showing. Arya has been trying to schedule lessons for weeks, but with the trip to Highgarden and all the meetings I had upon my return, I haven’t had many chances to train with a sword. I have had more success with a bow, and would you permit me, I am confident I could strike a target with my first arrow.” 

Rarely having the courage to address her father directly and oppose him, Daenerys was proud of herself for getting the words out without sounding like a blubbering fool. She was sure she looked hideous with puffy eyes, wet cheeks and red skin, but she didn’t care about any of that. She’d live the rest of her life in the keep, listening to everyone mock her, if he’d only agree. 

“Daenerys sit down!” her father barked. “I did not ask you to learn, I asked her to teach you.” Although there wasn’t any doubt who he meant, he pointed to Arya all the same. “It was her responsibility to prepare you for the dangers lurking all around us. She failed and that’s why she must be punished.” 

She should have known he’d be incapable of placing the blame on a Targaryen. If the truth wasn’t enough to change his mind, maybe a counter proposal would get his attention. “Father,” she started, “give me another chance. Grant us one week and I promise I’ll wield the sword to your satisfaction.” She’d train as many hours as it took, even if she hated it. All he had to do was accept. When she was done, she wished she had more to say, if for no other reason than because no one would hurt Arya until all parties had been heard. 

Rhaegar had the nerve to try and make her sit again. She defied him on principle. The hypocrite. He was allowed to defend Aemon, but she was supposed to stay silent while Arya was attacked? The next voice she heard, was in agreement with her brother and it was the last one Daenerys was expecting. “It’s okay Princess,” Arya said. Daenerys had to cover her mouth to keep the sobs in. “I should have trained you better, it’s my fault and I’m sorry.”

Why was she saying that? The rest of them might believe the guard was to blame but Daenerys and Arya knew the truth. They knew it was Daenerys who resisted all attempts and here she was taking responsibility. 

No, none of this was right. Why was Arya behaving like that? Why was she resigned and accepting? Daenerys wanted her to fight. Even if she had to cut down every man wearing a three-headed dragon to do it, Daenerys still thought she should. 

“The girl admits her guilt!” Tywin said from the other side of the throne. “Proceed to the punishment.” 

Although it would have happened eventually, she hated Tywin for speeding things along. She vowed in that moment that she’d find some way to hurt him, him and everyone else who was letting this occur. 

“Ser Payne, if you please.” The sadistic torturer was only too happy to oblige. He grinned wickedly at Arya as he stood before her to retrieve his weapon. 

“Wait,” Arya said, filling Daenerys with hope. Was she finally ready to defy the King, had she decided that her sins, whatever they were didn’t merit a whipping? “Allow me a moment to apologize to the Princess,” Arya requested. “It’s important to me that she knows how sorry I am.” 

Arya was waiting for a ruling, but Daenerys had heard enough. She popped out of her chair and hurried over to where Arya was standing. Without a care for the people watching and what they might think she threw her arms around her lover. When Arya hugged her back, a new round of sobs began. “I’m so sorry,” she said right into Arya’s ear. 

Daenerys dragged Arya off to the side, in between her seat facing out, and the front row of chairs facing in. It wasn’t much, every eye was on them, but if they were careful they could speak without Aerys, Rhaegar or the Hand hearing. 

Strong hands gripped her shoulders and pried her off Arya. Arya was holding her at a literal arm’s length. “This isn’t your fault, you know that, right?”

Chuckling humorlessly, Daenerys shook her head. “It is all my fault. We both know that.”

“I’m telling you, it’s not. I don’t blame you and whatever happens, I don’t want you to blame yourself either.”

Why did it sound like Arya was saying goodbye? “Don’t do that,” she resisted as her anger made another appearance. “I’m not going to let this happen. I won’t. I don’t care what it…”

“Hurry up,” Tywin complained as what was mean to be a brief apology dragged on. 

Motivated by the Hand’s words, Arya pulled her in for another hug. Daenerys was savoring the feel of Arya in her arms so intently that she wasn’t prepared for the whispered words, spoken directly into her ear. “I have so many regrets, but none about you. Even if this is how it ends, I’d do it all over again if I got to spend these last few months with you.” 

Aerys too had reached his limit. “Enough. Daenerys return to your seat.”

She heard him just fine but made no effort to do as he instructed. “Fight!” Daenerys said as passionately as she could. “This isn’t right, you don’t have to let them do this.” 

“Go take your seat, Daenerys, “you’ve done all you can, there is nothing more you can do for me.”

No, she refused to accept that. “Arya…”

“Do you remember the last thing I said to you last night?”

It was hard to think about anything other than the injustice taking place, but with a little effort she did find the appropriate memory. They’d made love and Daenerys had fallen asleep in Arya’s arms. She was drifting off when she heard Arya’s sleep-addled voice say, ‘I love you.’ A violent sob shook her whole body as she admitted, “I remember.” 

“Never forget Princess, it’s important and it’ll never change.” 

“I tire of this!” Aerys erupted. “Daenerys take your seat. Guards restrain the prisoner.” 

By the Gods why couldn’t she have a different father, a normal one. Instead of going to her seat as she was told, she closed the space between her and Arya, arriving just before Jaime Lannister and Arthur Dayne. The men each restrained an arm, but Daenerys didn’t stop or slow. She threw herself into Arya with force, hugging her fiercely. “I’m so sorry,” she said, again and again. “I won’t forget, as long as you promise to remember what I said to you right after.” 

The sad smile her request invoked nearly broke her. She was asking Arya to remember that Daenerys loved her too. “I will,” she pledged. 

“You need to return to your seat Princess,” Dayne said gently. 

His attempt to separate them only made her cling to Arya tighter. “Time to go,” Arya whispered to her.

“No!” she countered. 

“If this is the end, it’s okay. I’ll get to see my family again.” Daenerys was suddenly all too aware of the Lannister and the Dayne close enough to hear most of what was being said. “I’ll be waiting when you get there. No matter how long it takes. We’ll sail the world together, just you and me, it’ll be perfect.”

Without permission her legs gave out from under her. She sank to the floor, relinquishing her hold on Arya when she fell. Through tear-filled eyes, Daenerys watched two knights lead Arya to stand in front of the throne again.

She returned to her seat, only because she didn’t trust her ability to remain standing given what was coming. Her mind raced for a solution, while Arya was forced to her knees in front of everyone. As Payne moved into position behind Arya, the woman who was seconds away from horrible pain smiled again, not at the King who sentenced her but his daughter. Daenerys tried to smile back, it was likely the only aid she could provide, but before she was confident Arya had seen her attempt, the quiet room was filled with a distinctive crack as Ilyn Payne lashed the whip against Arya’s back. Instinctively she raised half-way out of the chair, only to find her legs too weak to actually hold her. She lowered herself back down. The details were clouded, everything was clouded, everything except the sound of the whip lashing out to hit its target. Her target. Her Arya. 

This was all her fault. She’d promised to protect Arya, promised Oberyn, promised Arya and promised herself and she failed. Every time that whip cracked, every time Arya clamped her mouth closed to keep from screaming, her failures multiplied. She cried like a baby into her hands while she waited for this nightmare to end. She wasn’t counting the lashes, but it felt like it was going on forever. The torture wouldn’t stop until Aerys deemed she’d suffered enough. No matter how tired Payne’s arm became or how bloodied Arya’s back, neither one had any say in the situation any longer. 

After what sounded to her to be a particularly brutal blow, Arya’s composure cracked, and she released an agonizing scream that tore at Daenerys’s heart. How had she let this happen? It needed to stop, no matter the cost. 

With renewed purpose she stood again and took a long step toward the throne, toward Arya. Rough strokes by both hands tried to brush away enough tears to make it easier to see. A murmur crossed the room as people began to notice the unruly Princess. When she passed his chair Rhaegar lifted himself up on his weak legs and tried to prevent her from going further. “Don’t. Sit down.” With one hand on the arm of his chair, propping him up, the other grabbed Daenerys’s forearm. Out of patience, she snatched her arm back as harshly as she could, sending Rhaegar falling back into his chair. Aemon, Barristan and Missandei all moved to aid him, but Daenerys just glared. “Don’t touch me!” she spat as she towered over the older, bigger Targaryen. He was lying more than sitting in his chair, unable to use his legs to right himself. The thud of another blow landing reminded her of the need for haste. Satisfied Rhaegar wouldn’t be able to interfere again she left him where he was and continued on to Arya. 

The King may have been oblivious to the dispute between his children, but many advisors and onlookers were not. Daenerys heard them whispering as she neared the throne. A few more feet and they’d have their answers. They’d know what she was doing when she placed herself between Arya and anyone who intended to hurt her, including Payne and his whip. The whip hit again, and Arya cried out as she writhed in agony. Lying prone on the floor gave Daenerys a grisly view of her battered back. The fragment of a shirt she wore had always been tattered, but it was gone now. Shredded by the lashes, it had fallen away. As she got closer, she could see that the wounds were thick, layered one over top of the next, as if Payne aimed for the same spot with intent. 

“Daenerys what are you doing?” her father asked as she prepared to cross in front of him. Though largely motionless, Arya did move slightly when the King said Daenerys’s name. Was Arya trying to look at her or was it coincidence?

A strong arm snared her around the waist and lifted her off her feet. Her initial thought was that Rhaegar had come after her, but there was no way he could have caught up to her so quickly. Did he send Aemon or Barristan to do what he couldn’t? Whoever it was, she fought against him, struggling to get free, to get to Arya. She was crying openly, begging to be set free while the torturer kept up his assault on the beaten woman.

“Stop,” Oberyn said quietly. “Arya has no desire to see you lying next to her.” 

“I have to do something!” she argued. “We said ‘together, always together. I should be with her.”

She fought with everything she had, but she was no match for the strength the Gods had given Oberyn. When the whip hit the next time, it happened that Daenerys was looking back at her jailor. She saw the anger on his face, and the hurt in his eyes. She stopped struggling, remembering that Oberyn wasn’t her enemy. He loved Arya too and they both wanted the same thing. He returned her to her feet and then addressed the King. “Your Grace, she’s surely learned her lesson.” 

With utter disinterest, Aerys assessed the extent of the damage before him. She was a bloody mess. “Very well,” he agreed, sounding annoyed he was being made to stop. Daenerys was relieved, until she heard the whip land one last time. Any question she had about whether it was intentional vanished when she looked at the mute knight and saw him grinning. “Enough then.”

Oberyn’s hand fell away, allowing the Princess free passage to where she needed to be. She rushed over and dropped to her knees next to Arya’s body. She wanted to touch her, to use physical contact to tell Arya she was there, but her back was one large, open wound. There was so much blood, and no untainted place for her to lay her hand. “Arya,” she tried, as tears obstructed her view of the carnage, “Arya can you hear me?”

Grand Maester Pycelle wandered over lazily from where he’d been sitting and seemed surprised when he nearly tripped on Arya. Daenerys waited for him to do something Maesterly, something helpful but he just watched. 

Tired of relying on anyone else, she stroked Arya’s hair as gently as she could, mindful of the potential for injury since some of the dark strands were wet with blood. Daenerys hoped it had splattered and that Arya hadn’t actually been struck in the head with the whip, but given Payne’s taste for violence, it was possible. “Please,” she begged, “just let me know you’re okay.” 

“Don’t worry Princess,” the elderly Maester announced, “she’s likely unconscious.” 

Was he under the impression that reassured her? While she kept trying to coax a sound out of her lover, Pycelle summoned three of his acolytes. Before Daenerys was ready, they lifted Arya off the floor. “Where are you taking her?” she asked no one in particular. 

“We’ll take her upstairs and tend to her wounds,” one of the young men said. 

“I’m coming too,” she decided quickly. 

“Princess,” Missandei said from the background, “perhaps we should let the Maester work.” 

When had Missandei gotten there? She knew the handmaiden was right, Arya needed special care, from trained men and women. It was the sort of aid Daenerys couldn’t provide. “We’ll take good care of her Princess,” the man holding Arya’s legs pledged. 

She walked with Arya step for step. “I’ll see you soon,” she whispered before the Maester’s people took her out the door. Daenerys turned around and was immediately met by an embrace. She and Missandei held one another tightly as they cried. “It’s all my fault,” she admitted when she could get the words out. 

“Let’s get you upstairs,” the handmaiden suggested. “A hot bath will do wonders and when you’re done, we can check on Arya.” 

She had little interest in anything that delayed her getting to Arya’s side and planned to tell Missandei so, but the handmaiden had a counter argument ready. “You’ll want to look your best when you’re allowed to see Arya, won’t you?”

Damn her and her clever use of logic. “I don’t need a bath for that,” she resisted. “I’ll just splash some water on my face and be good as new,” she lied. Moments later she told the truth. “I just want to see Arya.” 

“I know,” Missandei replied sympathetically. 

“The only thing you’ll be permitted to see for the next hour or so is the closed door to the Maester’s quarters,” Oberyn predicted, coming to stand next to the women. “It’ll take some time for them to mend her back, you’ll have more than enough time for a bath.” Although he smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes. He was as torn up as Daenerys and Missandei, the Prince was merely better at acting as those around him expected. 

“I think I’ll just go wait. I don’t care how long it takes, I want to be there when Arya is allowed visitors.” 

“Taking care of yourself will help Arya,” Missandei tried. 

“She’s right,” Oberyn agreed. “I’ll go and wait for news. I’ll come and find you when they’re done.” 

That sounded more than fair, and better than she deserved. “Thank you Oberyn. I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep my promise, sorrier than you will ever know.” 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry for this one, I just felt Daenerys’s growth needed one last hard lesson to get her over the edge, and this was what I came up with. There is no going back now, for any of them. A lot is going to change. 
> 
> I hope it wasn’t too boring or difficult to read, having to spend so much of the chapter in Daenerys’s head. 
> 
> As always, I appreciate the comments and everyone who is reading. I didn’t think when I started this a year ago, I’d still be writing, but as long as there is interest, I’ll see it through to the end. 
> 
> Thank you all,  
Russell Craig


	50. Chapter 50

Her world was shrinking. With every labored beat of her heart she felt the walls closing in around her. Her only companion was the pain, and not the sort she had come to expect. This wasn’t an aching body after a round or two of vigorous sparring, it wasn’t the sharp bite of a shallow cut caused by a sword gone awry. it wasn’t the dull throb of grief that had been her shadow since the day the Mad King made her an orphan, and it definitely wasn’t the satisfied, and all too welcome stings she felt after a night in Daenerys’s arms. 

Satisfied that she knew what her pain wasn’t, she set her focus on solving the riddle of what it was. It burned, she realized all at once. It burned badly. This wasn’t the type of burn she was familiar with. She didn’t get this from brushing against a brazier or holding her fingers too close to the flames in an attempt to warm them, no this felt like she was being roasted over an intense flame. She wanted to scream, to release the agony but no sound would come. 

Why was she burning? What happened? She tried to think back, to remember, but it was hard. Everything was mixed together. The past, the present, her plans for the future, all interwoven. There was no discernible pattern to it. It was random and chaotic. A recollection from Winterfell, beside one of Daenerys, followed by Oberyn and Nymeria. 

How long had she been sleeping? She tried to move, but couldn’t, her arms, her legs, her head, none obeyed commands. Making matters worse was the understanding that her futile efforts only intensified the scorching she was receiving. 

Time lost meaning. Seconds or centuries. It was just her and her suffering, waiting to see which of them would die first. 

R-C

Daenerys paced the room. It was taking too long. Why hadn’t Oberyn come for her yet? Would he be true to his word or did he blame Daenerys for what was done? If he held her as responsible as the rest of her kin, he would probably spear her in the eye before allowing her to occupy the same room as Arya. 

“That’s one way to dry,” Missandei jested. Daenerys had taken the prescribed bath, but beyond getting wet, she’d yet to see any benefits. Since climbing out she tried to sit, once on the bed, another time in front of the mirror and each time she was back on her feet almost immediately, needing to be in motion, to work off the abundance of nervous energy surging through her. 

“This is all my fault,” she admitted freely. “Arya tried to warn me. She told me this would happen, but I was so sure it wouldn’t.” 

She didn’t need to elaborate, Missandei knew all the relevant details now, even the ones she wasn’t present for. Yes, Aerys told Arya to train her, but he says a lot of things and most of them are nonsense. “You made a mistake,” the handmaiden said coming out of the closet carrying a white dress, one of the ones she bought from Sansa. “What the King did is not for you to carry, you tried to stop him.” 

Daenerys didn’t appreciate being reassured. Not only because she disagreed vehemently with the premise but more so because she failed. Was finding her voice in the throne room really noteworthy when it hadn’t altered the outcome? It was true, she’d finally spoken in opposition to her father, in the way she wished she’d done when Arya was accused of desertion, but was fighting to the very end admirable given how tragic the results were? For all her efforts, for all the words said and pleas made, it hadn’t helped a bit. 

“Put this on,” Missandei instructed, as she passed. She snatched it off an outstretched finger and stopped pacing just long enough to fulfill the task she’d been assigned. 

“She must be in so much pain,” Daenerys lamented as she straightened the silk on her frame. “That bastard Payne enjoyed it.” She covered her mouth with a hand and tried to stuff the sob back in. In her mind she was there again, watching Payne delight in torturing the woman she loved. It was impossible to overstate how bad this was, she’d seen Arya’s injuries up close when she knelt next to her. By the time she got there, any individual wounds were indistinguishable, because her entire back had been shredded. 

“Arya is strong,” Missandei said with supreme confidence. She put a comforting arm around her friend. “After all she has been through, she will make it through this as well.” 

“She shouldn’t have to,” Daenerys whined as she turned her head and buried her face into Missandei’s shoulder. “Haven’t the Gods punished her enough?” Once they started the thoughts arrived hard and fast, without permission, as did her tears. “Why did it have to be there, in that place? When they made her kneel before the throne all I could see was the scared girl she must’ve been the first time.” Missandei soothed her with gently strokes down her hair, but didn’t interrupt, rightly guessing that the Princess’s needed to get it out. 

“Facing my father in that room, where most of her family died, that’s her worst nightmare and she had to do it today, again, because of me. I was too stubborn, I whined and complained and made Arya feel bad until she gave up trying to make me learn.” 

“I can relate to your lack of interest,” Missandei contributed in High Valyrian. “I don’t wish to learn swordplay either.” 

She chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, but no one is going to whip Grey Worm for not teaching you.” She wanted the words back instantly. She transitioned right into an apology. “I’m sorry Missandei, that was rude,”

“It’s fine, you’ve had a long day.” 

Accurate or not, it didn’t excuse taking her frustrations out on her dearest friend. “We both have, and I don’t know what I would do without you. If you weren’t here to talk to, to wait with me, I’d probably lose my mind.” 

“It’s a good thing I am here, then.”

Yes, it truly was. Standing so close it was easy to embrace her again. As they did, Daenerys whispered another apology. She was angry and, scared and hurt but none of that was Missandei’s doing. She had a long list of those she held accountable in some form or fashion, but the handmaiden wasn’t among them. 

“You’ll feel better when you can see Arya. Once you know she’ll recover, everything will be easier.” 

Daenerys wasn’t so sure about that. Yes, it would be a huge weight off her shoulders when she could see with her own eyes that Arya was alive and healing. Talking to her and getting to apologize would hopefully mend one of the holes in her heart, but it wouldn’t fix everything. Her father did this. Her brother let it happen. She threatened Rhaegar with her knowledge about Lyanna and then pushed the Crown Prince when he tried to interfere in her plan to rescue Arya. She cried and begged openly, willfully disobeying the King’s commands multiple times. Worse yet, she did it in a room full of witnesses. Her father might’ve been too distracted by the violence to see anything else, but many of the others were far more observant. Daenerys’s obvious devastation, her tireless defense of Arya, the tears and the pleading, it all made it quite clear that the relationship between the Princess and her guard wasn’t typical. Whether they knew the extent of the affection was debatable, what wasn’t was that Daenerys cared about the alleged bastard enough to defy her father. Consequences would follow. In hours or days, a long line of people would track her down and demand explanations. She’d need them ready. 

The knock at the door had Daenerys all but running to answer it. She turned the knob, yanked it open and expected to see Oberyn Martell, but he wasn’t the one who’d come calling. Jorah was. Instinctively she knew why, he was there to try and capitalize on the horrors of the day. How pathetic and predictably selfish. He greeted her with a smile. In his right hand he raised a bottle of wine. “I thought you might like…” That was as far as he got. She slammed the door in his face and huffed in annoyance. What was wrong with him? Did he really think now was the best time for whatever he wanted? Jorah wasn’t alone either. The keep was full of men and women equal to Jorah in their sense of entitlement. Some were even worse. The castle was every bit as horrible as Arya said it was. The people were overwhelmingly violent, arrogant or indifferent. They lied, cheated and manipulated anyone and anything to get what they wanted, and they were rewarded for it, more gold, more lands, more titles. It was disgusting. 

Jorah knocked again, and again. When Missandei raised an eyebrow in question, the Targaryen merely shook her head, saying, “Not now.” 

It was about ten minutes after the knight had given up on being permitted entry that another knock sounded. The room had been quiet. Daenerys was too lost in her thoughts to maintain a conversation and Missandei was content to let her worry in peace. It was a kindness. Her initial thought was that Jorah returned for another round in their back and forth, but the knock sounded wrong, it was too forceful and insistent for a man like Jorah. The knight favored a gentler approach when dealing with Daenerys. 

She bounced up out of her seat but hesitated on the way to the door. Missandei noticed. “It’s going to be okay. Arya needs you to be strong now.” 

When Daenerys didn’t move, Missandei slipped past to greet the visitor she was neglecting. Even if she hadn’t been too busy to hear the Princess’s reply, Daenerys didn’t think she was brave enough to admit her fears aloud. They had been haunting her since the throne room, what if Arya didn’t need her, what if she didn’t want her anymore, after everything? 

Oberyn presence put a halt on the decidedly negative direction her thoughts were taking. She tried to speak several times before she finally settled on three small words. “How is she?”

“They’re nearly done.” 

That’s all she needed. In the hall, she restarted their exchange. “Have you been allowed in yet?”

“No, I was only told they were done tending to the wounds, now they’re wrapping them. By the time we get there, they should be leaving her to rest.” 

She wanted to apologize. It was on the tip of her tongue before she swallowed it, apologies were meaningless. If she wanted forgiveness, from Oberyn and from Arya, she was going to need to do more than talk, she was going to have to show them she was deserving. 

They got to the nondescript door just as it was opening. Daenerys bolted by Oberyn, going straight to Pycelle. “How is she?” 

“Princess Daenerys,” he said slowly. “lovely night, isn’t it.”

Was he seriously discussing the weather? He was a Maester for fuck sakes. “How is my guard?”

“She’ll recover.” 

She waited for more but that was all there was. Fully prepared to ask him questions until she knew enough about Arya’s condition, she was struck by uncertainty. She didn’t even know what to ask. At her wit’s end, she considered knocking over the Grand Maester to get to the woman he was treating. 

Oberyn’s voice gave her pause. “How deep did the lacerations go?” he wondered. He came to stand next to Daenerys but didn’t move in front of her. 

“Fifteen lashes by my count,” Pycelle informed them. “The first few were relatively shallow and would have been easy to mend with thread, but later lashes widened and deepened the wounds from earlier. It’s cumulative you see. No one strike does the damage, but the totality of them is devastating.” 

She wanted to scream. Arya was a person. She was beautiful and smart, funny and charming. She was great and Daenerys loved her. She was wonderful, she was more than what the King had done to her, more than some experiment for Pycelle to satisfy his curiosities. 

“Was there any damage to her spine?” Oberyn inquired next. Daenerys hadn’t thought of that. She couldn’t imagine a whip getting all the way to the bone, but what did she know? 

“We’ll know more when she wakes up.” 

It didn’t escape her that he hadn’t answered the question. She let it go, in favor of focusing on something else. “She’s not awake?” 

“By the Gods no, we gave her milk of the poppy. We had to.” 

Thankfully, Oberyn was there to provide additional information. “It’s for the best. It’ll dull her pain and make it easier for her to sleep. She’ll heal faster if she sleeps.” 

That made sense but Daenerys was still disappointed she wouldn’t be able to speak to her lover. “Can we see her?” 

“She’s asleep,” Pycelle noted as though she was an invalid. 

“I’m aware,” Daenerys assured him, managing to keep too much sarcasm from coloring her tone. “I just wish to sit with her for a few minutes.” 

“Oh yes, of course, of course. Go ahead Princess.” 

She took a step but immediately noticed Oberyn wasn’t next to her any longer. She looked back. “Aren’t you coming?”

He managed a smile for her, but it wasn’t as bright, or as dashing as the ones she’d seen in the Water Gardens. “I’m not the one she’s going to wait to see.” 

She’d been so determined to get to Arya, that she failed to prepare for what she’d do once she was allowed. She remembered doing this after the gate guards attacked her, but that day she knew there would be no lasting effects. This time she wasn’t nearly as confident. With no one else to share her pain with, she relied on Oberyn, unfair as it might’ve been. “I can’t. My father… he did this, she isn’t going to want me there. This is all my fault.” 

“You’re the only one she’ll want there,” he disagreed. “Trust me. Go.” He pointed in the event she wasn’t sure which way would lead to Arya. “Sit next to her bed, hold her hand, tell her you are there. The medicine will keep her from waking, but many believe she can hear, so talk to her.” 

“Do you believe that?” 

She shrugged and then winked. “I left Oldtown before I had to decide for myself.” 

He walked away, leaving Daenerys alone for several long moments before she was ready. Exhaling loudly, she went inside. 

The walk to Arya’s bed was incredibly lonely. What she saw when she got there, didn’t ease any of her concerns. Arya was face down on a narrow bed, with her arms above her head. Although she appeared to be sleeping, there was nothing peaceful or restful about her pose. Daenerys kept her eyes away from the bandages and gave her attention to a strap of leather wrapped around Arya’s neck instead. What purpose did that serve? 

When she couldn’t delay any further, she assessed the damage. Arya’s entire back, from neck to waist and shoulder to shoulder was concealed in layers of clean, white bandages. Daenerys sought out skin, looking for any hint of the familiar flesh she knew so well. There wasn’t much. To quell her growing panic, she reminded herself that no injury, no scars, no bandages could change who Arya was, or how Daenerys felt about her. Her Arya was still in there. 

It was a vast improvement over the last time she’d seen Arya, but only because the bandages were hiding the worst of it. She’d need weeks if not months to recover and then what? Would she be able to serve as guard, or return to the life of a soldier or had her father’s petty grievances cost Arya her dreams too? 

Afraid that if she started crying, she wouldn’t be able to stop, she tried to focus on something else. She spotted a chair and went to sit, but her route took her past a large pile – a mountain really – of used cloth and bloodstained rags. She gagged. That was Arya’s blood. The sheer volume was alarming. They’d needed all of this to repair what was done? 

The door opened and Daenerys was relieved to have an excuse to look away from the grim monument. It was one of the Maester’s aides, coming with a mop and bucket. She recognized him as one of the men who carried Arya away from the throne room. “Princess, are you certain it’s safe for you to be here?” 

She was sure her confusion was visible. Was she safe? Until he walked in, she was alone with a severely injured, unconscious woman, that was hardly dangerous. “We’re fine. I was just going to sit with her and hold her hand.” 

“You can’t,” he said, looking up from the mop he was using to clean away Arya’s blood from the floor. 

“And why not?!” she asked with authority. “I am a Princess, and this woman is my guard. If I wish to sit with her, then I will.” 

The young man avoided her eye expertly. “Of… of course Princess. I meant no, no disrespect, I just well… we had to restrain her.” 

Restrain her?! She went to Arya and leaned over, taking care not to make contact with any of her injuries. Her arms, which Daenerys noticed were above her head earlier, were upon closer inspection, bound to the bed. Likewise, that odd band of leather around her neck was in actuality another tether, connecting to a hook built into the bed’s frame. She was horrified. How barbaric. “Tell me, is it not enough that this woman was whipped for the amusement of the court? Then she comes to you for aid and you treat her like a wild animal! Who told you to restrain her?” He looked at his feet again, but Daenerys was in no mood for delays. “Who gave the order!?” she shouted. 

“Grand Maester Pycelle,” he confessed. 

That didn’t make sense. Arya didn’t know Pycelle and he didn’t know her, apart from a few brief interactions. She needed to understand. “Tell me everything that happened,” she commanded. 

“We were sewing up her wounds, she was unconscious, so we were working fast, all four of us to try and get as much done as quickly as we could.” Daenerys knew that wasn’t all, so she waited. “She came to on the bed, she started thrashing about and mumbling incoherently. We tried talking to her, tried calming her but she refused to settle, and attempted to strike us when we tried tending her wounds.” 

Her heart broke for Arya. She was probably scared. She fell unconscious in the throne room and woke up somewhere else. Of course, she would be wary, especially given the number of men crowding around her. Add to that the immense pain she had to be in, and any acts Arya committed against the Maesters were not only justified but understandable. “She likely thought you were hurting hurt.”

He nodded solemnly. “Aye, it happens sometimes Princess, so we restrained her and fed her milk of the poppy, so she’d sleep.” 

“Once she was asleep why did you leave them on?”

“Only Grand Maester Pycelle can order them removed,” he explained. “He didn’t, so they stayed.” 

“Take them off,” Daenerys instructed. “She’s no threat to me.” 

“Apologies Princess, but as I said, I don’t have the authority to…”

She didn’t want to hear this crap. “Do you have the authority to deny me a simple request?” she challenged.

He cleared his throat. “N…no I suppose not.” 

“Release her. If anyone has issue with it, you can direct them to me.” 

As he got to work, Daenerys leaned over the bed and put her mouth near Arya’s left ear. “Just one more minute. I’m going to fix everything, I promise.” 

Once Arya was released, Daenerys settled into the chair while the young man got back to his cleaning. Remembering what Oberyn said, she held Arya’s hand in hers. Shocked by how cold and pale it was, she turned to the expert. “She’s really pale, and colder than usual. Is there something wrong?”

This time he answered without stopping his work. “No, your guard lost a lot of blood, that will remedy itself once her body replaces the missing fluid.” 

Mentioning the blood brought forward memories of how Arya lost it. The whip against her skin. Daenerys hadn’t known until she was in the bath and the water was tinged with red, but the main reason Missandei encouraged her to bathe was because her knees were stained with blood. She pushed those thoughts away. Thinking about that wouldn’t help Arya, and Arya needed her. 

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for everything. You were right. I was wrong and I’m so very, very sorry.” 

She chuckled humorlessly. “This is the part where you tell me not to apologize for things I didn’t do. Gods what I wouldn’t give to hear you say that to me right now, to say anything to me.” 

A quick peek made sure the Maester in training was busy. Daenerys whispered just to be safe. “I love you and you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, so I know you can get through this. You can get through anything. I’m going to help, even if you don’t want it, I’ll help. We’re in this together, so you just rest, and I’ll take care of everything else.” She lifted Arya’s limp hand to her mouth and kissed the knuckles. 

The ‘everything else’ Daenerys planned to take care of in that moment consisted of most of the Red Keep. If only she lived in the time of her ancestors. Then her problem would have an easy solution – climb atop a dragon and take her revenge in Fire and Blood. But that was mere fantasy, Daenerys knew that wasn’t possible for her. Exacting revenge without dragons would take patience, gold, friends, unwavering commitment and plenty of hate. Looking at the woman she loved and seeing her so broken Daenerys knew that although justice would take longer than was preferable, she was confident she had enough hate to sustain her until the last body dropped. 

R-C

She was standing before the Iron Throne. “Do you have anything to say in your defense?” 

“No” she tells him. He seems pleased with her response. She knows why. 

The whip is brought out. A loyal man is chosen to act on the King’s behalf. Seconds pass slow while she waits for the pain. She closes her eyes and thinks of Daenerys. Not of the words Daenerys is saying now in a desperate attempt to save her, but the ones whispered in the dark, when they were alone. “I love you Arya Stark,” she said. “I’ve never been happier than I am with you.” 

She hopes the memories will give her the strength she needs. She hears a grunt of effort as Ilyn Payne pulls the whip back. She balls her hands into fists and presses them against her thighs hard. She takes a deep breath and holds it, and then… nothing. 

The whip cracking has her eyes popping open. She expects agony but there isn’t any. She wasn’t hit, but how is that possible. The answer comes from right beside her. She hears someone cry out on her left. She’s afraid to look, terrified actually, but it’s useless. Whether she looks or not, she knows that voice, better than her own. It was Daenerys, he was whipping Daenerys in her place. She tried to scream, to move, but she couldn’t. She watched the whip split the flawless skin she’d touched so many times. She listened while Daenerys begged her father for death. She felt it, a rush of air like a putrid kiss against her cheek each time the whip made contact. 

Close enough to be splattered with blood and tears but utterly powerless to stop it. She’d always known she’d fail Daenerys some day, she knew the Princess deserved someone far better but never, never had she imagined she’d leave so much wreckage in her wake. 

It ended with the pyromancer wheeling in wildfire and a bloodied and barely alive Daenerys looking to Arya for help. “Help me,” she wheezed. She tried, oh by the Gods did she try, but her body betrayed her at every turn. She stayed there, mute, imprisoned, next to her dying lover while the green flames took them both. 

Hearing Daenerys scream should have been the final agonizing moment. She should have woken up, covered in sweat, gasping for air, clawing at the blankets or the bed sheets. It wasn’t. Everything went black, before it began anew. 

The King and his question. Afraid the same response would produce the same result, Arya tried to say something else. “Yes!” she wanted to scream. She had lots to say, things that would ensure Aerys forgot he had a daughter and focused all of his attention on her instead. That would’ve been preferable to watching helplessly as Daenerys died again. 

Despite her efforts she still told the King she had no defense and he again called for Ser Ilyn Payne and the whip. She wasn’t surprised when the whip landed, and she didn’t feel any pain. What was unexpected was the distinctly masculine grunt she heard from next to her. Tears welled up in her eyes, but even blurred, she’d recognize her father. 

As it had been with Daenerys, she couldn’t speak or move, and just like Daenerys it ended in fire. She tried to scream as the flames consumed them, not in pain or fear, but in grief. She was losing him again. 

The living and the dead visited her one after the next, again and again. Anyone she loved died in the throne room in her place; Daenerys, more than once, her mother and father, Robb, Bran, Sansa, a young boy she somehow knew was Rickon, Oberyn, Missandei, Aemon, even Grey Worm got a turn. 

She prayed to the Gods then cursed them, and it never made a difference. She lost them all, and each time one of them left, they took a piece of her mind with them. She feared who she’d be when it was over. Would there be anything left? 

R-C

After spending hours next to a motionless and unconscious Arya, Grand Maester Pycelle asked her to leave so he could assess her injuries. She wanted to stay, but as she stood on unsteady legs, her stomach grumbled, and she realized she’d been neglecting her own needs. “How long will it take?” 

“No more than an hour Princess,” he told her. 

That seemed excessive, but who was she to dispute the Grand Maester’s claim? “I’ll be back then,” she promised, talking to Arya more than Pycelle. 

She was surprised when Oberyn wasn’t waiting outside the Maester’s room. That surprise turned to disbelief when she neared her bedchamber without bumping into Missandei. She wasn’t saddened by the lack of interruptions, it was freeing to not have to pretend she was okay. 

Rounding the last corner, she found a small cluster of people standing directly in front of her door. She found Missandei and Oberyn, but they weren’t alone, they were joined by Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, and Rhaegar. 

“I told you she’s not in there,” Rhaegar stated emphatically. 

“And I told you,” Oberyn fired back, “that I wouldn’t believe you if you told me shit stinks.” 

“What do you want with Daenerys anyway?” She tensed at that. Oberyn was looking for her? Why hadn’t he come to see Arya? He had to know that’s where she’d be. 

“Is that any of your business?”

“She’s my sister,” Rhaegar declared boldly, as if that justified everything. 

“As Elia is mine,” he reminded the Prince. “Ask me about your wife and I’ll tell you why I seek your sister.” 

Always the loyal friend, Barristan Selmy stepped forward. “Enough now,” he said to Oberyn. “Princess Daenerys is not in her chambers and this is not the time nor the place for the rest of it.” 

She hoped his tactic would work but there was too much anger there. It had been left to fester for too many years. Oberyn couldn’t back down. “Still getting others to fight your battles for you, huh Prince?” 

Rhaegar growled like an animal as he tightened his hold on his cane. “Careful,” he hissed, “or you might just get your wish.” 

From where Daenerys stood, she could only shake her head. Yes, because a comment like that was sure to settle things. She half anticipated a brawl to break out in the hall outside her bedchamber, but Oberyn raised his hands in a show of surrender. “Haven’t we had enough violence today? An innocent woman whipped because a Targaryen doesn’t want to learn the sword. I may not be from the capital, but I just don’t see the crime in that.” 

“If you’re looking for someone to blame, look in the mirror,” her brother countered. “I hear you’re to blame for her poor performance.” 

Whatever restraint Oberyn had vanished by the time Rhaegar finished speaking. Both men looked eager for blood and if Jorah and Barristan reaching for their swords was any indication, they were going to have it. 

Daenerys had had enough of this shit. Their grudge was ancient. They didn’t like each other, fine. They could stay away from one another, or stew in silence but she just didn’t have the patience for this cock-measuring. She approached quickly and announced herself before the next round of insults could start. She cleared her throat loudly. “I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable, non-ridiculous explanation for why you are all huddled together in front of my bedroom door.” 

She looked from face to face, determining what she could about their intentions and feelings. Barristan looked relieved. Jorah thrilled, and Missandei worried. She couldn’t tell much about Oberyn or Rhaegar’s motives since they were busy staring at one another to give her any attention. 

“Whatever your reasons, you will all need to come back later. Missandei and I have business.” None of the men looked pleased by her announcement. Missandei joined her without knowing what business awaited them. That was why she loved her handmaiden. 

Jorah was the last obstacle between her and the door, the final obstruction preventing her from getting distance from this nonsense. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, like her welfare was a secret. 

“Not yet, you’re still blocking the door.” 

He moved, but someone else was ready to fill the void. “Dany, I need to speak with you.” 

“Do you,” she clarified, “or are you just trying to ensure I can’t speak with Oberyn?” 

Her brother blushed but was quick to recover. “What? No. It doesn’t involve him, I need to speak with you, it’s urgent.” 

She didn’t think being alone with Rhaegar would be good for either one of them right now. She was liable to ask some very direct, very pointed questions and if he gave unsatisfactory answers Aemon was going to get bumped up in the line of succession. “Are you going to tell me that it was Oberyn’s fault Arya got whipped like an animal? If so, there is no need, I heard it already.” 

He came toward her, forcing Jorah to move to make space. “Dany, I didn’t…”

“Go ahead,” she encouraged, using her hand to wave him forward, “tell me you didn’t say what I heard with my own ears. That you didn’t mock the man who just watched a woman he loves getting beaten. A woman who saved Aemon from sharing her fate, don’t forget.” 

“I’m sorry about your friend,” he tried as he was rapidly losing his hold on the situation. “I am, but I do need to talk to you about something and it can’t wait.” 

Barristan tried to persuade her by supporting Rhaegar’s position. “It will only take a few minutes Princess.” 

She gave the knight a smile for his trouble, then refused him. “As I’ve said, I have business with Missandei. Once I’m done, I intend to hear what brought a Dornish Prince to my bedroom at this late hour, and then I will be returning to Arya’s bedside.” 

“How is she?” Oberyn asked, before anyone else could get a word in. 

“No change. They say that’s a good thing, but I just don’t see it.” 

He put a hand on her shoulder. “She’s strong. Long before we travelled the world together, before she came to me and asked to be a soldier, she was strong. She can survive this, but she’ll need your help.” 

She smiled at him as fresh tears threatened. She could feel Rhaegar’s stare, but she paid him no mind. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what Arya meant to her, but Oberyn did. Oberyn knew the pain she felt, and why it hurt as badly as it did. That was a connection she couldn’t have with her brother. “I know. I didn’t want to leave but the Maester needed room to work.” 

Missandei snatched her hand. “Let’s make the most of it then.” She pulled Daenerys through a door she didn’t remember opening and then quickly closed it. A strained laugh passed her lips when she imagined the faces of the men in the hall. 

The handmaiden hugged her. “He’s right you know, about Arya.” 

“I know,” she confirmed, and she meant it. If anyone could endure, it was Arya. Daenerys didn’t doubt her ability to persevere, but that didn’t stop the Princess from wishing she didn’t have to. It was precisely because she’d already suffered so much that Daenerys didn’t want her to go through this as well. “I just need her to wake up, because I am no help to her right now, and she’s just lying there, I feel like I should be doing something.” 

“You are doing something,” Missandei observed wisely as she finally ended their embrace. 

“I am?” She was pretty sure talking to a woman who couldn’t hear didn’t count. 

“You love her,” Missandei clarified, “and if I know Arya, she’s fighting to get back to you, because she loves you too.” 

With a very unladylike sniffle, Daenerys launched into Missandei’s arms again. It really was a mystery how she always knew exactly what to say. “Thank you.” 

They separated again and Daenerys had a look around. “Did everything go well since I went to be with Arya?” 

“They didn’t go poorly,” she specified. “A lot of people were asking about you, about Arya, about what happened in the throne room.” 

She held her frustrations close. Missandei was just the unfortunate messenger for the bad news. She wasn’t the cause. “They’ll need to wait.” 

“Shall I get you something to eat before you return to Arya?” Missandei offered. 

Daenerys was hungry and she did want to hurry back to Arya, but she stayed in the moment and tried to reward her friend’s generosity and loyalty. “Not yet,” she said before taking Missandei’s hand. “I’ll be spending my time with Arya, there is no reason you need to sit and wait for me to return. Why don’t you and Grey Worm go into the city tomorrow. If anyone asks, tell them you are there on my orders, getting things I require.” 

“What do you require?”

“I only want Arya to wake up,” she admitted, “and for you to have a good time.” 

R-C

It was hard to enjoy anything about nightmares or delusions or whatever they were that forced her to watch those she loved whipped and eventually killed. An exception existed for Rickon, however. A child, still needing to be carried when he died at the hands of Aerys’s pyromancer. When he knelt next to her, he had shaggy hair, and wild eyes but a kind smile, at least until the whipping started. That was who her brother could have been, were it not for Aerys. The others she tried not to see, to think about, but Rickon made her feel robbed. The Rickon she was seeing was stolen from her and Sansa, from their whole family really. Who he could have become, what he would do with his life, who he’d love? If a lifetime was a book, then Rickon got only the first few pages. It was a fucking tragedy. 

She slowly started to notice things, but she couldn’t tell if they were important, or if her frazzled mind was at its end and this was how it expressed that. First, Daenerys was the only one who ever spoke to her. Arya tried to reply, or speak to the others, but she was mute, no matter who was next to her. As the torture continued, Daenerys’s appearance became more and more frequent. She was the first, the original, then it was her father, her mother, Robb, Bran, Rickon and Sansa, before it was Daenerys a second time. Then Oberyn, Grey Worm and Missandei, before Daenerys made a third visit. A brief reunion with her parents, was divided by Aemon dying and then Daenerys was back for more. With each new repetition Daenerys said more to her, using details and moments from their private life to try and convince Arya to aid her. She was no more successful breaking out of the pattern she was stuck in, but it did intensify her anguish a great deal, similar to twisting a knife. 

R-C

Leaving Missandei behind to get some rest. She stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her. 

Oberyn was meant to be there. She told him she’d meet with him after Missandei, so that at least made sense. What possessed Jorah to linger outside her room and why Barristan keep him company was a whole other matter entirely. 

Jorah was the quickest and the loudest. She didn’t give him much consideration, but it was evident that he wanted to talk about something that couldn’t wait. She shook her head. What Jorah thought of as urgent and what she did rarely came together. “Princess I must insist.,” he said loudly when Daenerys stepped away from him and toward Oberyn. 

“You could’ve saved yourself some time, if you listened to what I said earlier. You were here, so I know you heard, I told you then I was going to meet with Missandei, speak to Oberyn and then return to Arya. Nothing has changed. Whatever desperate matter worries you, you can relay it to Missandei in the morning and she can tell me about it when we have our scheduled appointment.” 

“Daenerys, please, be reasonable, it’ll only take a minute.” 

Every time he opened his mouth it was harder to remember why she ever considered him a friend. Having given Jorah all the information he needed to resolve his problem, real or imaginary, she left him behind and went to Oberyn. “That,” he said, using his chin to motion to Jorah, “was not the Princess I met in Dorne.”

“Definitely not,” she agreed. “She never would have spoken to anyone like that, no matter how badly she wanted to. She would have accepted Rhaegar’s pathetic excuses for not trying to save Arya. That Princess was polite, and everyone liked her, everyone but me. She spoke only when expressly told to, and even then, she measured every word. Who I am now doesn’t care if it’s proper, polite, rude or scandalous, if I have something to say, I’m going to say it.” Aware she was ranting she stopped and took a breath. 

“Well, I for one think that’s great Princess,” Oberyn told her. She watched his smile closely and it seemed genuine. “There is no reason you shouldn’t be allowed to speak freely, you’re a Princess, this is your home too. Why should you cower and bite your tongue just because some pompous nobleman might get his feelings hurt?”

It was nice to have support, especially from Oberyn. Not only was he important to Arya, he was a worldly man who had lived an incredible life. If he was behind her, maybe this could be a turning point for her. Maybe she’d look back and see this was the day everything changed, when Princess Daenerys stopped worrying and just followed her heart, when she committed to doing what was right, regardless of who got offended in the process. 

All her brave talk aside, she wasn’t sure she could do it. She wanted to, that much wasn’t in dispute, but being courageous would be a major transformation. In truth, she was ashamed of the woman she’d been. Although she was often horrified by her father’s actions she never once lifted a finger or spoke up to try and save someone, until Arya. Since she and Arya returned to the capital, Daenerys felt more comfortable in her own skin. She learned a lot about herself and not all of it was good. At any other point in her life, undertaking such massive changes would have been daunting and overwhelming. Without Arya’s constant reassurance she didn’t think she’d be ready to face the future while asking, ‘what kind of person do I want to be, tomorrow, ten years from now or twenty?’ She didn’t have it all figured out, but she did know that gone were the days where everyone was happy except her. Thinking back, there was a distinct clarity. All of her excuses for why she didn’t interfere, for why she didn’t say anything, why she just let things happen, they were weak, as weak as Rhaegar’s assertions that he couldn’t help Arya. The difference was, he seemed all too willing to continue making excuses for their father and for himself. Daenerys wasn’t. 

“I owe you an apology for earlier,” Oberyn said pulling her from her thoughts. 

Why was he apologizing? She was the one who promised Arya safety and couldn’t hold up her end of the bargain. “I’ll admit, I’m not thinking clearly at the moment, but I don’t think you did anything you need to apologize for.” 

“In the throne room you apologized for not keeping your promise.”

She swallowed thickly. “I am sorry,” she started but he held up his hand to stop her. 

“I let you leave without correcting you and that’s what I came to remedy.” 

What?! “I don’t understand.” 

“That day in the Water Gardens do you remember what you promised to do?”

“Keep Arya safe,” she said looking down at her feet. Her face burned, evidence of her failure.

“Actually, we agreed you’d do what you could to keep her safe. I didn’t expect you to fight armed guard’s single-handed or confront your father alone. I just wanted you to help make sure Arya stayed safe.” 

“I tried,” Daenerys said into her hands as another wave of crying began. “I would’ve taken her place, and I know you probably don’t believe me, that it’s easy to say that now, but I mean it.” 

Without warning a pair of arms wrapped around her. “I believe you,” he said as he held her. He lowered his voice so Jorah and Barristan wouldn’t hear. “I know you would’ve done it, because I had to hold you back before you threw yourself between Arya and the whip. That was what you were going to do, wasn’t it?” 

She wasn’t the least bit embarrassed, but she continued blushing anyway. “I’ve done nothing for too long. I’m a Princess, it’s time I start acting like one. 

Oberyn let her go and then gave her time to gather her composure. Only when she was ready did they pick up where they left off. “I knew Arya would be in danger here, the reason I went to you and obtained that promise is because I wanted someone here,” he raised a hand and waved it at the Targaryen banner on one wall and the portrait of a dragon in flight on the other, “in all of this, to put her first. To look out for her best interests when I couldn’t. You don’t need to apologize Daenerys the Stormborn because you did look out for Arya, just as you pledged you would.” 

While fighting against most of the people she shared blood with, she somehow managed to create odd connections that were stronger than the bonds of family. It was Missandei and not any of her kin who comforted her when she needed it, who got her away from the throne room. Now, Oberyn was saying the things she wished Rhaegar would. That Arya was strong, and it was going to be okay, that even though she couldn’t prevent it, she tried, and that counted for something. Oddly, it gave her hope, that if she needed to begin a life away from the Red Keep, away from Targaryens, she could. 

“I’m going to see Arya now,” Daenerys announced. “The Grand Maester should have an update for us. Care to join me?”

“Only if you are certain you don’t mind, contrary to what Arya’s told you, I am capable of thinking of other people’s feelings and I don’t want to intrude.” 

She appreciated the concern, but she would welcome the company. “There are only so many hours I can talk to myself. I’m running out of things to say. Please join me, she’ll want to see you too.” 

He flashed her that same charming grin that won her over in Sunspear. “Don’t worry if you don’t know what to say, I can talk about myself for as long as it takes.” 

They laughed together, a brief respite before they went back the horror of their reality. “You go on ahead, I’ll join you in a moment.” 

“I wouldn’t mind staying.” 

She knew what was behind that invitation, he didn’t want her to be alone with anyone. She also knew that whatever caused Jorah and Barristan to remain in the hall, it wouldn’t be enough to delay her going back to Arya. She didn’t care how grave the problem. Daenerys would see to it after she’d visited Arya. 

Oberyn’s heart was in the right place. Arya would definitely approve when she heard. It was for that reason she decided to strike a bargain. “You go, but in two minutes look behind you, if you don’t see me coming, return here and check on us.” 

Oberyn stepped away and disappeared around the corner. “Whatever this is gentlemen, you have less than two minutes.” She already dealt with Jorah’s urgent issue. She told him it would be resolved tomorrow. Rather than repeat herself, she looked to her brother’s guard. “Barristan, is this necessary?” 

He looked uncomfortable and since he was there on Rhaegar’s behalf, he must disagree with some or all of the Prince’s recent actions. “He would’ve stayed himself, but he couldn’t stand that long.”

“I didn’t think any of you would stay,” she said bluntly. 

“He feels badly for the things you heard, and he regrets them.” 

“He’s so remorseful he sends you to make his apologies for him? I wonder, does he regret saying those vile things, or just that I was within earshot when he did?” 

Barristan sighed. “Princess your brother isn’t a perfect man, and he knows you’re upset, but he does have an urgent matter he needs to discuss with you.” 

“Time’s up,” Daenerys announced. “I have somewhere to be.”

Both men walked with her when she did. “I’ve heard what you have to say, and my answer isn’t changing. I’m going to see Arya, Jorah you can speak with Missandei, and Ser Barristan, I’ll meet with my brother after breakfast. We can talk to his heart’s content then.” 

He ducked his head and stopped keeping pace with her. “Thank you, Princess, I’ll tell your brother what you’ve said. I don’t think he’ll be happy, but I do hope your friend wakes soon.” 

“I suspect there won’t be much happiness for any of us tonight Ser.” She waited until he was moving away and then added, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

That left only Jorah, who wasn’t saying anything, just walking a few steps behind her. She didn’t care. If he wanted to follow her around like a puppy, he could, as long as he didn’t try to prevent Daenerys from seeing Arya.

The door was shut when she arrived. Oberyn smiled kindly when he saw her but gave a strange look when he noticed Jorah in tow. “Don’t ask,” she pleaded under her breath. “No word?”

Oberyn took his gaze off Mormont and gave it back to the door they were waiting to open. “Not yet.” 

The heavy sigh she released upon hearing that would have been enough to scare most people off, but Jorah was either too entitled or foolish to see the warning for what it was. “Perhaps you should rest Princess,” he suggested with a false concern. “Who knows how long Grand Maester Pycelle will be?” 

“Whether he opens that door in ten seconds, ten minutes or another hour from now, I’ll be here waiting.” 

Undeterred he kept pushing. Seeming to believe if he kept trying, she’d eventually bend to his will. Loathed as she was to admit it, she couldn’t fault him for thinking it. How many years had he manipulated her unknowingly? How many times had they disagreed, only for her to later comply to resolve the tension? Jorah was following the map that had gotten him where he wanted to go countless times before, unaware that she’d grown wise to his methods. “Princess, it’s late. It’s been a long day and…”

“It has been a long day, so I’d benefit greatly from not having to finish this conversation.” 

“I just…”

She knew precisely what he was doing. Swooping in yet again to try and replace Arya. “I don’t know why you insisted on following me here, but I know you have no concern for Arya’s welfare.” His lips opened to offer some feeble excuse, but she wasn’t done. “I won’t ask you to leave, and in return I expect the same courtesy. Do we understand each other Ser?” 

The blush was still fading from his cheeks when he replied, “Yes, Princess.” 

Nearby making absolutely no effort to seem like he wasn’t listening and enjoying the entertainment Oberyn caught her eye. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but he smiled and then ducked his head looking impressed. 

Not long after she and Jorah came to their understanding, the door opened and one of the acolytes stuck his head out. “Princess, you can come in if you wish.”

She nodded and mumbled a thank you as she readied herself to see Arya again. Could she do this? It would be difficult to see her, but she knew deep down she’d hate herself more if she stayed away. 

Oberyn appeared at her side, his arm slipping across her shoulders as if it had always been there. “You can do this,” he told her, reading her doubts perfectly. She chose to believe him, swiping at her eyes, making sure no errant tears slipped through. 

“Come with me,” she said, hoping it sound more like an offer and less like the plea it was. 

Nodding, he used his arm to push her ahead by half a step, allowing her to enter the room first. The bandages were fresh. It was the first thing she noticed. When she was asked to leave, there were several small spots of red across Arya’s shoulders and back. Now it was bright, unstained white. 

She was just about to step back and allow Oberyn to see her when she spotted something that set her blood boiling. That leather strap was around her neck and her wrists were once again tied to the bed. Hadn’t she made her wishes about the restraints clear? Obviously not clear enough! Her furious eyes swept the room until they landed on the man she’d dealt with the last time. She pointed one finger at him and roared like the Dragon she was. “You, I told you I don’t want her restrained. I was gone for an hour and you defy my orders?!”

“Apologies Princess,” he said becoming very interested in the papers he was holding all the sudden. “It wasn’t my decision.” Her next question must have been predictable because he was only too happy to give her someone else to aim her rage at. “Grand Maester Pycelle ordered it done Princess.” 

“You,” she said pointing to another of the men at random, go and get the Grand Maester for me, please. Tell him Princess Daenerys, requires his assistance.” 

There was an awkwardness in the air after he was gone. There was nothing else to do but wait. The healers feared invoking her wrath and she seethed as she waited for the old man’s arrival. The only person who didn’t seem uncomfortable with the strife was Oberyn who was leaning back against a wall with his arms folded, grinning as though it were his nameday. 

She walked to Arya and stroked her hair. “Rest now,” she whispered to her lover. “I’ll take care of this.” 

Daenerys naively thought no one would be foolish enough to interrupt her. She thought she could be with Arya for a few minutes until Pycelle arrived without having to justify it, but she was wrong. 

“Princess,” Jorah said, touching the back of her shoulder. “You need to calm down.”

She bucked wildly and knocked his hand off. When had he come in? Admittedly he wasn’t her focus, but he didn’t belong there, with them, with Arya. “What are you doing?” she asked as anger at her father, and Payne, at Rhaegar and Pycelle all came out at Jorah. “Why are you here?!”

He wasn’t prepared for the question. “I just want to see if you’re alright. I know you’re upset but…”

The instant she heard ‘but’, she decided he didn’t deserve to finish whatever was coming. “We had an agreement,” she emphasised. 

“I’m not asking you to leave, only that you take care of yourself.” 

The distinction didn’t make Daenerys feel better. “Go, just go. I am not doing this right now.” 

He stood frozen, unsure of what to do. “Daenerys, I meant no disrespect.” 

She didn’t have time for this. She should be holding Arya’s hand not arguing with Jorah again while waiting for her to be freed from the bonds Daenerys explicitly said she didn’t want used “You want to follow me, or protect me, or guard me or whatever it is you think you’re doing, fine, do it from outside the door.” 

Watching closely, she could see how conflicted he was, as he tried to decide the best course. He relented and retreated. By Daenerys’s estimation Oberyn looked a little too happy when he closed the door separating the overbearing knight from the rest of them. 

Daenerys had barely picked up Arya’s hand when the door opened. Daenerys rotated, expecting to threaten Jorah Mormont with physical harm, but it wasn’t the traitorous knight, it was Grand Maester Pycelle. Her fury didn’t dull even a little. She just directed it at a new target. 

“Princess Daenerys, lovely to see you again. I understand you have a question about your guard?”

“Her name is Arya,” she snapped rudely, “and I don’t have a question, I have an order. From this moment forward I, Daenerys the Stormborn of House Targaryen forbid you from using restraints to bind Arya to the bed.”

The old man gave her an indulgent smile and then began speaking to her as though she were touched. “It was necessary,” he said leaving extended pauses between each word to give her time to comprehend them. 

“It’s abhorrent,” she countered, “and it’s done.” 

“Princess I am the Grand Maester…”

“And I am merely the King’s daughter, but I swear to you all, that should I come in and find Arya bound again, each and every one of you will know how she feels, because I’ll have you taken to the dungeons myself.” She knew she should feel bad, for threatening people, for making promises she likely couldn’t deliver, but all there was in that moment was hot burning anger. 

The authority seemed to affect all of them except the Grand Maester himself. “Princess, the girl was thrashing and mumbling in her sleep. We couldn’t remove the bandages and we feared she’d injure herself or someone else.” 

With his slowed down delivery, she had more than enough time to choose which response she was going to use, but she didn’t get the chance. 

“Surely Grand Maester, you know of a tonic or a herb that can calm the restless without binding her like an animal. I am certainly not a Maester of your renown Ser, but I can think of three off the top of my head that would sooth Arya and also speed her recovery.” 

Daenerys wasn’t the only one awed by what she’d just witnessed. Pycelle took two short, shuffling steps forward and squinted. “Is that… Oberyn Martell,” he realized after a moment, “I heard you were in the castle.” 

The Martell smiled at Daenerys, who was taking Arya’s hand again. “I came to visit some friends.” 

“It’s a shame you gave up your chain, you could’ve been great,” Pycelle lamented. 

“We all live the life we’re meant to. I have a wonderful family and use the things I was taught often.” 

The discussion of ancient history grinded against her nerves, but Daenerys bit her lip to keep from erupting. She’d trust Oberyn. Pycelle was responding better to his approach than he did hers. 

“Do you have children then?”

“The girl you’re tending is one of them,” he said seriously. 

Pycelle shuffled closer and squinted again, looking from Arya’s prone body to the Prince. Was he searching for a resemblance? “She’s your daughter?”

“In every way that matters,” he declared proudly and without hesitation. “I agree with the Princess, it’s cruel to keep her confused and restrained.” 

He thought for a time before agreeing. “You’ve given me much to think about. I’m sure we can find some other way to keep her relaxed. In the meantime, release her.” 

Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief. She met Oberyn’s eye and he winked at her. She mouthed the words ‘thank you’ before she placed all her energy where it belonged, on Arya. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I had wanted to post this chapter sooner, but life didn’t cooperate, so it’s a little later than I planned. I apologize for that. 
> 
> For those of you (and there seems to be a lot) who are happy Daenerys is finding herself and growing bold, this is just the beginning. Pycelle is foreplay for what’s coming, I promise. 
> 
> I’ll do my best to post the next chapter quickly, but it largely depends on my health. 
> 
> Take Care,  
RC


	51. Chapter 51

Daenerys remained in the chair next to Arya’s bed, holding her hand for most of the night. Occasionally she’d stretch her legs, usually by walking the length of the room. Oberyn came and went at will. When he was there, sometimes they spoke, trading stories of Arya, other times it was quiet, save the labored sounds of the unconscious woman breathing. 

“Thank you,” she said when it looked like he intended to go for another walk around the castle. “If you hadn’t been here to speak to the Maester, she’d probably still be tied to the bed.” 

“That’s funny,” Oberyn replied as he stopped moving. “I was about to thank you.” 

Daenerys was dumbfounded. She was the reason Arya was hurt. Oberyn was worried about her, even though he concealed it well, and still he was thanking her?! “For what exactly?”

He smiled and something she saw told her she was due to be teased. Her instinct held true. “I had thought my Ellaria was the only woman in the Seven Kingdoms talented enough to terrify grown men so thoroughly. When you threatened to throw them in the dungeon the short one pissed himself. 

She laughed at the absurdity of it. “For all the good it did. He wasn’t going to release her no matter how angry I got.” 

His eyes shined with mischief. “You’re young, keep practicing.” Daenerys didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. Oberyn on the other hand wasn’t equally afflicted. “She’s right about you, every word.” 

What was that supposed to mean? “Who?” she asked instinctively without thinking about the limited number of friends they had in common. 

Oberyn nodded to the bed, where Arya lay. “I thought she’d race me to the ship,” he remembered casually. “I should have known she’d never be so predicable.” With a lump in her throat, she had no choice but to listen quietly. “When she told me that she wanted to stay here, in King’s Landing, in the Red Keep I thought she’d hit her head. When she told me why,” he paused and looked up to catch Daenerys’s eyeline, “I was concerned.” 

“Oberyn, I…”

He shook his head, so she shut her mouth without finishing the thought. She was chewing on her bottom lip when he finally said, “I meant what I told that fuck Pycelle. She is my family.” 

“I know,” Daenerys assured him because it was undeniable. 

“I asked her questions, I asked her a lot of questions, about you, about her, about why, and do you know what I felt when I had nothing more to say?”

It was probable that her heart was going to shatter her ribs before he concluded his story. Incapable of speech, she shook her head. 

He smiled. “I was happy for her, and for you.” 

“Really?” She felt obligated to verify. 

“I have loved many women in my life, some for a night, others for longer, but I regret not a single one. I have known our friend a long time. She was a scared, angry girl the first time I laid eyes on her. She got bigger, less scared, and more angry, but she found her way. I thought the army would give her the family she needed, but all she really needed was you.”

Daenerys simply stared. Tears welled up in her eyes as she imagined the Arya Stark Oberyn described. Before she knew it, she was in the Prince’s arms. Regardless of all else, he was one of Arya’s dearest friends, it was nice to know she had his approval. “Thank you,” she repeated again and again, but it would never be enough. 

They were standing like that when a groan of anguish from the bed stunned them both. “I’ll find a Maester,” Oberyn said. Daenerys reclaimed Arya’s hand and leaned over her, watching for any sign those she was returning. 

R-C

The pain was getting worse. That fire she was being cooked over was growing hotter. It wasn’t just the physical either, Daenerys made sure the emotional turmoil kept pace. Gone was her asking for Arya to help, now she begged, screamed and blamed, placing the fault for everything on Arya. The last time she saw Daenerys, after another encounter with Rickon, she was spiteful as she cursed, bloodied and weak, but still furious. “Daario was right.” 

When the fuse lit, and another death was imminent she suddenly felt like she was falling. Uncontrollably, alone, and from great height, she twisted and turned with her heart in her throat. Her arms moved when she tried, but the freedom was no benefit, there was nothing to grab onto. She was falling and the only way it was going to stop was when she reached the bottom. 

She did, the blow hard and unforgiving. Wherever she landed was stone and uncomfortable. She was broken, certain the drop and crash finished what the earlier torment left undone. 

Face down she tried to roll, tried to assess her injuries but agony stopped her. A groan slipped through her lips as the pain devoured her. All she could do was wait for the end. 

Eventually it came. Slowly things returned to a reasonable level of horrible discomfort. When she was able to think again, all the needs of her body hit at once. Her mouth was dry, her lips cracked, throat raw. She felt a tightness in her chest, an unrelenting throbbing heat in her back and a kink in her neck. She was tired already and she hadn’t woken up yet.   
Tentative and on alert she tried to open her eyes without reigniting the worst of the pain. Purposefully she kept her muscles as rigid as she could in her fragile state. She didn’t want an accidental twitch to return her to the despair she might actually be climbing out of. 

Her vision was blurred, and her head was resting at an odd angle. That would have limited her eyesight on her best day. Still, she could make out a few relevant details. The room was lit well enough for Arya to know it wasn’t hers. It took several seconds of dedicated focus to put the pieces together. The end result hardly seemed worth the cost. Her head pounded in protest of the work she was asking it to do. She deduced that she wasn’t in the barracks and was in the process of ruling out Daenerys’s bed as the one she was lying on when she heard a weary voice. “Arya, can you hear… Arya can you hear me?”

She knew that voice and it made her anxiety spike. Apart from Aerys’s one question and her singular reply, Daenerys’s voice was the only one she could remember hearing in… how long had it been? Hours? Days? Years? She wanted to think surviving the fall meant she was back to herself, but how could she be sure? It could be another trick, another game, another way to maximize her suffering. 

Daenerys squeezed her hand. Although her touch was gentle Arya was so brittle she expected to hear snapping bones. She didn’t and there was no additional discomfort. “Please,” she pleaded, “tell me you’re okay. We’ve been here all night, Oberyn is gone to get the Maester.”

A soft hand reached to stroke her hair and Arya tensed. “Don’t,” she said as forcefully as she could. It came out matching her body; feeble, weak and unthreatening. 

Daenerys lowered her hand and then adjusted her position so she could be closer to Arya’s mouth. Presumably to hear what she would say next. “I missed you.” 

She wanted to believe it, to accept that whatever she had been enduring was over, that now she was back where she belonged, with Daenerys, but trust was a rare commodity. “You’re not real,” she grumbled, talking into the pillow. 

Daenerys’s new position afforded her the ability to hear, but not understand. “Real? Of course, I’m real.” 

Arya would’ve scoffed if she didn’t fear that much movement would invite disaster. She closed her eyes in the only act of defiance she could think of. Whether Daenerys was real or not, she’d insist she was, making anything she said unreliable. 

“Arya, it’s me, please just open your eyes and talk to me.” 

She didn’t think that would end too well for her. She remembered all the times she witnessed Daenerys whipped, all the times she cried out. Arya had nothing to add, not if it was going to be used against her. 

The door opened and heavy footsteps rushed in. “Is she awake?” a familiar voice wondered. 

“She was, but she seems confused,” Daenerys explained. 

“That’s common,” a third person commented. He sounded old, tired and disinterested. “The milk of the poppy we gave her is known to fog the mind.” 

“The effects will fade quickly,” Oberyn added. Arya guessed he was speaking to Daenerys. 

“Princess can you please move away from the bed, so I can examine her?”

Before she left, she whispered to Arya, “Keep fighting for me, okay, just keep fighting.” 

In the time it took for everyone to rotate positions Arya was nearly back to sleep. Before oblivion took her, fingers settled on her wrist, near where Daenerys’s hand had been. Without looking, she knew in her bones it defiantly wasn’t the Targaryen. “Can you hear me?” 

She opened one eye and almost nodded before thinking better of it. “Yes,” she croaked. 

“That’s good. Are you in pain?

She hoped he was asking to be thorough and not because he was genuinely curious. Without a mirror she was certain she looked horrible. She wouldn’t trust anyone who couldn’t see that. “Yes.” 

“I will get you a drink that will help in just a few minutes, but first I have a couple more questions.” 

The longer she kept her eyes open, the easier it became to see what was going on around her. She saw Oberyn and Daenerys standing together against the room’s wall. She also noticed a man she’d never seen before. She recognized Pycelle as the Maester, but it took significantly longer than it should’ve for her to connect the face to a name. It was like she was trying to recall her oldest memories after drinking a bottle of rum. Everything took immense effort. 

“Do you remember what happened?”

She said nothing for a time while her mind put the fragmented pieces in the proper order. Aerys, the test, Daenerys crying, Oberyn defending her, Aemon, the whip. The whip. Yes, she remembered. That explained why she was lying on her stomach and why her back was the location of her most unyielding pain. She knew what happened to her, but that wasn’t all she remembered. She closed her eyes as she recalled the deaths, her family, Daenerys, Oberyn, Missandei, Grey Worm, over and over again. It was difficult to think of anything else when her head was clogged by all of that, but when she tried, it proved helpful. She couldn’t be certain that this wasn’t another nightmare plaguing her, but there were signs that pointed that way. For one neither Oberyn nor Daenerys had come to any harm since she opened her eyes. If the goal was to hurt Arya through them then some misfortune would have befallen them by now, right? Also, the addition of the other characters suggested something had changed. Pycelle wasn’t a key figure in her life, she barely remembered his name, and this other man, this Maester or Maester’s apprentice or whatever he was, he was a stranger to her. Why would he be there, if this were only in her head?

“Do you need me to repeat the question?” Pycelle asked, moving closer and speaking louder. 

It did nothing to aid her existing headache. “I remember,” she said, knowing it would be forgetting that would be the challenge. 

“That’s good. You’re in the Red Keep, and your wounds are being tended. The best thing you can do is to rest.” 

Rest sounded good. She’d do that. 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes with some milk of the poppy and then I’ll check on you again in a few hours,” he promised or warned, it was hard to tell. When he left the younger man went with him. 

“Do you need anything?” Daenerys asked as she rushed over to the bed. 

Arya didn’t want to be a bother, but there was one thing she desperately yearned for. “Water,” she said, before she remembered who she was speaking to, “please.” 

“Why didn’t I think of that? Of course, you’ll be thirsty.”

Oberyn found it first. “It’s over here,” he said. He was closer but Daenerys beat him to the table and poured some. 

As a smiling Princess brought her a cup, Arya knew she’d find out soon if this was another nightmare. If it was, whatever she drank wouldn’t be water. 

“Should we sit her up?” Daenerys asked Oberyn. 

“No,” Arya replied immediately. The memory of trying to move and the accompanying pain was too fresh to be discounted. 

Oberyn agreed. “It’s probably a bit too early for that.” He approached the bed slower than Daenerys. “I’ll help, if you need it.” 

Armed with the cup, Daenerys hesitated, looking for guidance. “How do we do this? Can she drink lying down?”

“Yes, but it won’t be easy. Nothing with Arya ever is.” He was joking with her, as they’d always done, but she couldn’t laugh or smile. She was busy wondering if her choice to ask for a drink would be something she regretted. 

Daenerys knelt on the floor by the bed, aligned with Arya’s face. “I’m sorry,” the guard said while she watched Daenerys struggle to accommodate her request. 

“None of that,” she dismissed with a gentle smile. “Just lift your head as much as you can.” 

She tried but was struck by how heavy everything was. She lifted off the pillow but was immediately met by an invisible resistance, followed quickly by pain and dizziness. She held the pose as long as she could, but Daenerys didn’t even try to get the cup in place, there wasn’t enough room. 

Before they suffered the indignity of trying again, Oberyn had an idea. “From the side,” he suggested simply. 

Arya, for one didn’t comprehend but she wasn’t at her sharpest. Apparently neither was Daenerys. “What side?”

“You’ll never get her head high enough to pour the water straight down into her mouth, you need to pour it in from the side.”

“How?”

The Prince held out a hand and took the water. “Lie naturally,” he instructed, “but turn your face as far as you can toward Daenerys.” 

She did and not only because she was thirsty, she was also curious if his scheme would work. In doing what he asked, she strained her neck and caused a stabbing pain, but it was tolerable. With her head turned fully to the right, instead of partially buried in the pillow, it was easier to see and breathe. He handed the cup back to Daenerys. “Put your mouth as close to the edge of the bed as you can.” 

Arya was already beginning to understand the logic. She gritted her teeth and managed to move her head a fraction of an inch closer. Daenerys smiled at the minimal progress. “Ready?” she asked, holding the water over her lips. 

Arya opened her mouth and waited, as Daenerys began to tilt the cup. The water dribbled in slowly at first and then faster. The angle was less than ideal, they spilled more than she drank, but what she got tasted divine. “Thank you,” she said, pleased that the act of speaking no longer hurt. 

“You’re welcome,” Daenerys responded. “Do you want more?”

“No.” She was done before adding, “Thank you.”

Daenerys chuckled, amused by her attempt at manners. When she carried the water away, Oberyn took her place. “How badly are you hurt my friend?”

“Is everyone else okay?” she asked while she had the strength. “Is she okay?” Even without her name, Arya hoped her tone would specify who she meant. 

“She’s worried for you. She’s threatening Maesters with the dungeon and fretting over you relentlessly.” 

“Take her somewhere else, get her a m…meal and rest,” Arya tried. As she spoke each word sucked more and more of her energy. She hadn’t been this weak in a very long time. 

“She’s not leaving. She’ll toss me in the dungeon next to the Maester if I try.” 

That was twice he mentioned the dungeons. “What did the Maester… do?” she asked, needing an extra moment to complete the inquiry. 

“He restrained you, you were thrashing and talking as they sewed your wounds. The Princess was unhappy when she found you tied up.” 

“Oh.” She had nothing else to give. 

“Rest now, heal, and once you have, this will be nothing more than another memory.” 

He was trying to be helpful, to make the future appear positive, but all Arya felt was dread. Teetering on the brink of sleep with Oberyn’s words about restraints and memories mixing together at random, something came together in her mind. “The poppy,” she grumbled, feeling much more urgency than she expressed outwardly. 

“It’s on it’s way,” Oberyn promised. 

“No!” she resisted. “I don’t want it.”

“Arya you’re in pain, you need to rest. Milk of the poppy will help you sleep.” 

She ignored the objections of her body as she moved her hand and touched Oberyn’s arm. The weakness of the contact was overshadowed by the movement itself. Daenerys gasped nearby, Oberyn stopped trying to reassure her and gave her a serious expression. “Why not?” he asked, hoping to understand. “Why don’t you want milk of the poppy?”

“Trapped,” she told him, trying not to dwell on the horrors she survived. “My dream, I couldn’t… trapped … I wanted to wake up.” 

Dejected, she was sure none of that made any sense. Oberyn was deep in thought, lips moving in silent contemplation as he considered her words trying to uncover the secret message hidden within. 

Daenerys was the one to understand. She rushed to the bed and placed herself in a spot where Arya could see. “You had a nightmare?” 

She hesitated before answering. “I couldn’t wake up,” she confessed. “I wanted to, but it just kept going.” 

“Oh darling,” Daenerys exclaimed sympathetically. “I’m so sorry. They thought they were helping.” 

Despite the pain associated with talking and moving she felt peace as Daenerys stroked her hair and comforted her. 

Once she had settled the Targaryen addressed Oberyn, making use of his knowledge. “Is that possible? Could the poppy have actually trapped her within a nightmare?”

Arya closed her eyes to conserve her strength and listened to the voices around her. She may be surrounded by enemies but these two were friends, these two loved her and she them. 

R-C

“The poppy is the best way to counteract extreme pain, but it is known to have some undesirable consequences,” he explained slowly. “Most often they are minor and short-lived but even when they aren’t, it’s still used.” 

“Why?” she asked harshly. He was probably about to tell her, but she had to do something, even if her only viable option was to yell. 

“We have nothing better,” he conceded, “nothing even close. It is a choice between watching someone suffer in agony or letting them sleep.” 

Daenerys couldn’t recall being given milk of the poppy herself, she never needed it. Her worst childhood misadventure resulted in skinned knees or bruises, nothing at all like what Arya was facing. This left her woefully ill-informed on the subject. “So, it’s possible that it’s as she said, that she couldn’t wake up?” 

He nodded, his features grim. “The poppy will put you to sleep, in high enough doses it can keep you there. I’ve heard tales of elaborate dreams and terrifying nightmares, but it affects everyone differently. If you and I took it together, our experiences would be wholly unique.”

Fascinated she did her best to limit her questions to those relevant to Arya. Perhaps Oberyn could entertain her other inquires later. “That’s remarkable, but I can understand why Arya wouldn’t want to take more.” 

“As can I,” he agreed, “but the alternative might be worse.” 

“What does that mean?”

“It is true,” he acknowledged, “that without the poppy, Arya will not be trapped within her mind, but it also true that her suffering will increase substantially.” 

Daenerys felt dizzy. Conflicted didn’t begin to describe the war taking place within her. Was he telling her she’d have to choose between torturing Arya with pain or torturing her with her past? How could she, how could anyone make such a decision? “There must be another way.”

“Arya is strong,” Oberyn opined while looking at the sleeping woman, “but her wounds are severe. Healing without the milk of the poppy will mean days or even weeks of slow, prolonged agony. She won’t have nightmares, but only because it’s likely she will be unable to sleep at all. Even the simplest of tasks will become a challenge.” 

It sounded to Daenerys like he was advocating for her to give Arya the poppy. “Or?”

“Or we allow the Grand Maester to give her the poppy as needed, perhaps in smaller doses, or with longer periods in between.” 

“But that would mean…”

She didn’t have to finish. “Yes, we would need to trust Arya to persevere. If her future interactions are similar to the last, she could be trapped in a nightmare with no way out.” 

“There has to be something we can do.”

He gave her a kind, understanding smile. “You are a good woman Daenerys, I saw it when we met, Arya confirmed it again when we spoke. You care about her, you want to heal her, as I do. If I could take her place on that bed, I would without hesitation, but this is her burden, just as it is ours to sit and wait.” 

Fresh tears built up in her eyes. “So that’s it? We just give up?” 

“No one is giving up,” he made clear, “but whether it’s against pain or her memories Arya must wage this war alone.” 

No! She wanted to scream. Alone? That wasn’t acceptable. Together, that’s what they promised. Together. There had to be something she could do. 

Both were lost in their thoughts, their grief and worry until Daenerys finally said what both of them had known for a while. “I can’t decide. I won’t choose which Hell she’ll be thrown into.” 

Oberyn had been looking at the floor, picking aimlessly at his sleeve. He glanced up. “You don’t have to.”

“You’re going to decide?” she guessed. Sick as it was, part of her was relieved he was going to take the responsibility from her. 

“No,” he elaborated, “Arya will.” He wasn’t suggesting what she thought he was, was he? “Wake her up,” he directed. “We have no right to pick her torment. We will let her tell us which is more tolerable to her.” 

Reluctant as she was to wake the sleeping woman, Daenerys could see a symmetry to the idea. Arya was the one who would have to live with the results, she should get a say. 

Peeking at the door she made sure they were alone and then she pressed a soft kiss onto Arya’s cheek. “Arya,” she said gently, “wake up.” 

She stirred slowly, in the way Daenerys was accustomed to. What was uncommon was the moment after Arya returned to the world. Usually, she rolled in the Princess’s direction for a kiss, but today she stayed where she was. Remaining on her stomach, she groaned in obvious and intense pain. It broke Daenerys’s heart and suddenly she was rethinking her aversion to the milk of the poppy. “Hi,” Arya mumbled groggily. 

Daenerys smiled and gave another kiss. “Hi beautiful, how’d you sleep? Nightmares?” 

She held her breath while she waited for the answer, but a soft “No,” came before too long. 

Daenerys smiled and Oberyn did too. That was good. Unfortunately, they couldn’t enjoy the moment, there was a time-sensitive matter they had to discuss. “I’m sorry I woke you, but I need to ask you something.” 

“Mmmkay,” she hummed, her eyes already heavy. 

“The milk of the poppy is going to wear off soon. Do you understand?”

Daenerys kept her voice light, so not to startle her, but it didn’t matter. When the words got through Arya’s eyes opened fully again and she was adamant. “No!”

She cursed whatever Gods thought up such a punishment. She couldn’t even hug the woman she loved without making things worse. “Are you sure? The pain…”

“Dreams are worse!” Arya declared with conviction. She looked to Oberyn for help. The Stark wasn’t prone to exaggerate and yet Daenerys had to wonder. Could the nightmares really be so bad that she’d choose the pain from being mercilessly whipped instead?

“The dreams can’t hurt you Arya, it’s not real. No matter what you see or what they do, you’ll wake up and I’ll be here, I promise.” 

As their conversation progressed Daenerys found her opinion shifting. She’d been clear that Arya shouldn’t be forced to live trapped in the worst moments of her life, but now that seemed like the lesser evil when compared to her being awake and in agony for the next few weeks. “They don’t hurt me,” she clarified quietly, “they hurt you, my parents, my brothers, Sansa, Oberyn, Missandei…” 

She trailed off, barely separating the names on her list. Even if she didn’t know Arya as well as she did, it would have been impossible to overlook how distraught she was. It extended beyond her battered back. 

“Arya, if you don’t drink the milk of the poppy the pain is going to get worse.” 

“I know,” she said, sounding more alert than she had in a while. 

“And you’re certain that’s what you want?”

“No, but it’s what’s best.” Her voice cracked and Daenerys could see the decision wasn’t any easier for Arya than it had been for her or Oberyn. 

“I’m sorry Arya, I’m so sorry.” Daenerys was just about throw herself onto the bed when she remembered why she couldn’t. “I’ll be here every minute, every time you wake up. You just get better.”

“Go,” Arya said, nearly destroying the Targaryen with a lone word. 

“What?”

“Go, go see Missandei. I don’t want you to see me like this.” By the time she finished Daenerys could tell her pain was getting the best of her. Twice while she was speaking, she had to grit her teeth and pause. She still had some of the remedy in her, when it was gone, it would grow all the more intense. 

She took her lover’s hand and raised it to her lips. “Together, remember?”

“Not this,” Arya contended. “You don’t have to…”

She shook her head violently, enjoying the sharp stabbing sensation in her stiff neck. “Together,” she repeated, “always.”

Arya relented by closing her eyes and trying to rest. Daenerys settled into the chair and held her hand. The royal had long since thought Arya was asleep when a raspy voice said her name. “Daenerys?”

Not even in their current situation could her name falling from Arya’s lips sound anything other than perfect. She smiled and brushed some of Arya’s hair with her fingertips. “I’m here, I thought you were asleep.” 

“Going now but…”

Daenerys waited to hear what kept Arya from giving in. At first, she assumed it was Arya’s exhaustion that slowed her, then she blamed the pain. Finally, she ran out of excuses and Arya still hadn’t ended her explanation. “But what?”

“Promise I… won’t… get stuck…there?” 

Daenerys would have given her anything she asked for in the world, including that. “I promise, but the pain…”

“Is better… than tr… trapped with ghosts.” 

She kissed Arya’s temple. “Sleep. No ghosts, just us.” 

“Mmm” Arya muttered, sinking down into her pillow. It was as if her body required Daenerys’s permission before it could relax fully. 

R-C

Oberyn left and came back before they spoke about Arya’s choice. “We need to talk.”

Those words never led to anything good. Daenerys wasn’t sure how much more she could take. “Alright,” she said warily. 

Since the room only had one chair, she released Arya’s hand and went to where he was standing. “Is something the matter?”

“I expected Pycelle to be back by now, he probably got delayed, but eventually he’ll return.” 

Although that was true, she failed to see it as the negative Oberyn did. “And?”

“He is coming to administer another dose of poppy.” 

“He can’t! You heard her, she’s more frightened of being lost in her past than she is of the pain.” 

“I didn’t hear actually, but if that’s what she said, I believe you.” 

“It is,” she swore. “She wasn’t making a lot of sense, but she did say she didn’t want to get stuck with ghosts.” 

With a sad smile Oberyn nodded. “She has more than most.” Such a simple statement and yet the underlying meaning was profound. 

“If she wants to go without milk of the poppy, I think we have to honor her wishes.” 

Oberyn didn’t look pleased but Daenerys had a hunch that he’d look equally unhappy if they’d decided to give her the medicine and force her to fight the nightmares. “I agree, but the Grand Maester might not be as willing to heed Arya’s instructions as we are.” 

“He can’t force her to take it!” She was certain of herself, until several seconds passed without the former Maester agreeing. “Can he?” 

“Normally a castle’s Maester answers only to the Lord, and most Lords take Maesters at their word when they say something is for the best.”

“But?” There had to be a ‘but.’ It couldn’t be her father’s decision. He was not only mad, he was also responsible for Arya’s injury. He couldn’t be in control of her recovery too. Letting Pycelle take the lead was problematic also. He was a dimming old man who hadn’t yet noticed that his best days were behind him. Despite his age he still thought he was the smartest man in every room. As a female, Daenerys didn’t like her chances of convincing him of anything and he wouldn’t change his long-held beliefs just to abide by Arya’s wishes. 

“In this castle, the Grand Maester would be compelled to honor any order that came from a Targaryen.” 

Daenerys didn’t like where this was heading. “My father…”

“Isn’t the only Targaryen in the castle. If you…”

It was Daenerys’s turn to cut him off. “I don’t have that kind of authority. I wish I did, but no one listens to me. They ignore me. I’m just the pretty Princess people trot out for special occasions.” By the end she sounded bitter and angry to her own ears. Apparently, the lack of sleep and abundance of worry had left her ready, willing and able to share her thoughts fully. Strangely she didn’t view the change as a bad thing. Maybe it was time people heard exactly what was happening in her head. 

“You weren’t helpless when we walked in and you found Arya was restrained against your wishes. You didn’t lack authority when you banished Mormont to the hall. You are the Dragon Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. My dear, the way you view yourself, and the way others do, differs greatly. Arya needs you. She needs the woman who was willing to defy her father and endanger her own life, who was prepared to fill the dungeon with all those who opposed her. She needs someone who doesn’t give a fuck what Grand Maester Pycelle thinks. Can you be that person?” 

She blushed. It wasn’t embarrassment that had her cheeks warming, it was the passion with which he recited her accomplishments. Daenerys was no soldier, but she imagined it was men like Oberyn and speeches like that that rallied men by the thousands to risk their necks. Could she be the one Arya needed? She wasn’t stupid enough to believe it would easy, but did that make it impossible? She stopped to really think about it. This wasn’t the time for rash decisions. Careful deliberation was what counted now. Could she do what Oberyn was suggesting? If she did, could she live with the consequences? Could she follow it through? If she lost her nerve the first time someone got angry or appeared disappointed it would be for naught. She’d have to stand up, for herself and for Arya against not only Pycelle but anyone else who tried to interfere. She was the one who knew Arya best, she was the one who loved her, it wasn’t up to Pycelle or anyone else to choose what was right for her. That was Daenerys’s responsibility, her self-appointed job, because there wasn’t a person in the Realm who was willing to go as far or risk as much to secure Arya’s full recovery. 

What she was contemplating was a dangerous path. It would pit her against her family, and many she once considered friends. There was no half measure. Either she fought for Arya fiercely against all opponents or not at all. Either she’d make the decision she knew was right and wielded the power she’d been given at birth to see it done, or she’d need to sit back and leave things to Grand Maester Pycelle and other men like him. 

While her mind raced, she observed Arya sleeping restlessly. It was fitful and frantic. The injured woman groaned and moaned, with her arms and legs twitching before they’d abruptly stop, likely when the sleeping woman realized movement would only make things worse. 

Daenerys weighed her options carefully. Back and forth she went. She was reminded of what Arya said after they returned from Highgarden. She spoke about the important moments in her life and their lasting effects. No matter what she chose, Daenerys knew this was another of her moments, just like when she protected Arya from Viserys. All her life she’d been searching for a cause. She wanted to find a purpose, some way to help, to contribute, to leave her mark on the Realm and improve the lives of the people who were too often marginalized. She did what she could, she visited the orphanage, she gave some gold, but it never felt like enough. As Arya cried out again Daenerys located the flaw in her thinking that kept her from success. She’d been trying to find her place in the existing frame of King’s Landing and the Red Keep. She was looking for some way Daenerys Targaryen could fit in and add value, but maybe what the Seven Kingdoms needed was someone who wasn’t constrained by the usual borders, someone who refused to play by the slanted rules. 

Was this the cause she’d been searching for? Had she found it in the woman she loved? She’d never gotten anything accomplished by behaving like the Princess everyone expected her to be. That timid woman was terrified of Viserys, wary of her father, nervous around Tywin and blind to Rhaegar’s faults. She smiled falsely and said all the right things at all the right times but what had it gotten her? She couldn’t even convince her own brother to intervene to protect Arya. Acting as she always had would produce similarly dismal results going forward. If she wanted change, it needed to start with her. 

She was hesitant because current anger aside, there were people in the castle she cared about. Was it worth causing irrevocable damage to her existing relationships just to feel useful? She pictured the faces of the men who would oppose a less controlled, more outspoken Princess. The King, Rhaegar, Tywin, and Jorah immediately topped the list. Although sad, Daenerys knew whatever this was had been brewing for a while. Her father wasn’t going to become less mad, and Tywin wasn’t going to wake up tomorrow and value her opinion. How many fights had she had in recent months with Jorah? How many more with Rhaegar? Could she mend their bonds? Of course, but it would never be as it was. She wasn’t closing the door to the possibility of forgiveness and reconciliation, but one thing she absolutely refused to do, was to pretend recent events hadn’t occurred. They had, and now everyone was going to have to live and coexist in the aftermath, Daenerys included. 

She was on her feet, thinking when the door under her back moved. Stepping to the side, she made room for Pycelle and two of his men to enter. “Oh Princess, I didn’t think you’d still be here.” 

“Where else would I be?”

The question made the Maester uncomfortable. “Oh, I don’t know, but surely have meetings and appointments.” 

“Nothing that matters more than Arya.” 

She watched as the younger men took turns counting the pulse beats in her wrist, before moving on to her forehead to check for fever. Arya groaned when one of the Maesters moved her arm too roughly and Daenerys knew her decision had been made. All thoughts contrary to her current road fell away. “Be careful!” she demanded hotly. “She’s already hurt. Don’t make it worse!”

Startled, he set Arya’s arm back on the bed with the upmost care. “Apologies Princess,” he said while he hurried around to the other side of the bed. 

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Oberyn. He nodded and smiled as if approving of her outburst, and then he slipped out into the hall without a word. They didn’t need words. The message couldn’t have been clearer – He trusted her with Arya. 

“Has she woken up?” Pycelle asked the Targaryen. 

“She’s awake,” Arya answered for herself, earning a chuckle from the woman about to speak on her behalf. 

“So you are. How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” 

It was one word but to Daenerys she already sounded better. She got a new cup, added water and carried it over to her lover’s bed. “You must be thirsty, drink.” 

“Rodrick,” Pycelle said, addressing one of his aides. “Get the milk of the poppy.” 

As she helped Arya sip, a grey eye widened, and she looked to the Princess for help. Daenerys gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile, stroked her hair and then set the cup down. 

“I don’t want that,” Arya declared plainly. “I’ll be fine without it.” 

Pycelle had his back to the bed, hunched over reviewing some notes. He turned toward the guard. “What’s this now?”

“I don’t want milk of the poppy,” she said again. “I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.” 

“It will help ease your discomfort,” Rodrick said, likely thinking the same information from a different source would change her reaction to it. 

“No,” Arya announced with finality. “Now when can I get out of bed.” 

“I’m afraid I must insist,” Pycelle pushed. “Milk of the poppy will cause you no harm and hasten your recovery by… by quite a large amount.” 

Even only seeing a fraction of Arya’s face, the tension in her jaw was all the advanced warning Daenerys needed to comprehend that she was growing angry. Daenerys tried to mediate. “Grand Maester, if Arya wishes to recover without milk of the poppy, surely we can permit it?” She posed it like a question when it really wasn’t. She was not about to force Arya to do anything and she wouldn’t allow anyone else to either. 

“I suppose,” he admitted, “but the pain will be excruciating. It is really best for all involved if you allow me to administer some.” 

“I’ll be fine.” It was a statement made less credible by the pain in the speaker’s voice. Daenerys hated her hurting, but she’d decided to support Arya’s wishes and that began here with Pycelle. He’d be good practice for what was coming later. “Can I get up?”

“In a hurry?” he asked rhetorically, laughing at his own joke, oblivious to the glare Daenerys was giving him. 

“The Princess has places to be,” she quipped, though she was less than convincing, “she requires a guard.” 

“The Princess,” Daenerys remarked, “isn’t going anywhere. So, you can protect me from that bed.” 

“You don’t need to stay Princess,” the Maester said, misinterpreting her reasons for wanting to. “We will see your guard returned to top form in no time.” 

She smiled at the young man whose name she didn’t know. “I’d certainly appreciate that.” 

“He’s right Princess,” Arya added. “You should rest, I think you got less sleep last night than I did.”

That was definitely true. “I will shortly,” she bargained, not quite ready to leave Arya’s side. 

“Grand Maester,” Roderick, said as he finished his assessment of Arya, “her bandages require changing.”

“Very well. Let’s sit her up and have a look at things, shall we?” 

Daenerys flinched. Luckily, everyone was focused on Arya. “Princess, we’ll need you to move.” 

“Go,” Arya urged again. “You don’t want to see this.” 

She didn’t want to see Arya’s wounds, but only because she felt guilty. Seeing them would reinforce just how monumental her errors and how steep the cost. Still, she had to face it. “How can I help?”

“Princess,” Pycelle began in disbelief, “you intend to stay?”

“I do.” Secretly she was pleased she sounded more confident than she felt. 

The kind Maester took over. “Your friend is right. It might be best if you took your leave for a time. We’ll have fresh bandages on soon. I’ll come and find you when we’re done.”

Probably predicting Daenerys’s response, Arya joined in. “Go check on Missandei, change your clothes, have something to eat. I’ll be here when you get back.” 

Talking with Arya, even with others around, it was easy to forget their predicament, and just interact as they always had. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.” 

Arya smiled briefly before the visible portion of her expression turned serious. “Daenerys, I don’t want you to see this, not today. Go, please.” 

She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t refuse. “Alright,” she relented, “but first let’s sit you up. Then I’ll go when it’s time to change your bandages.” 

She stood against the wall and watched, trying to memorize what she needed to know in the event Arya required her help. It was all going fine until it wasn’t. Arya had made it from her stomach onto her side without too much difficulty. Daenerys could tell she was in extreme pain, but she persevered. The plan was for her to sit with her legs over the side of the bed, to avoid her back making contact with anything. The Maesters gave very explicit instructions about how she should use her hands for support and balance. It was a sound strategy until Arya’s hand slipped midway between lying and sitting. Daenerys gasped and took an instinctive step forward, but she was too far away to be of any practical use. It was over in an instant. To keep Arya from falling, Rodrick and his partner gripped Arya from opposite sides. Daenerys thought the crisis was averted until she heard the anguished wail Arya unleashed. A quick study of the situation provided an easy explanation. In his haste to keep her upright Roderick put his hand under Arya’s arm. In the process he brushed against her covered back, enflaming the sensitive wounds. He was quick to pull his hand away, causing Arya to wobble, but between her arm and the extra support from the opposing Maester, she managed to sit fairly steadily. 

Though aggravated about Arya being hurt, success was success and Daenerys thought it went okay, for a first attempt. Pycelle didn’t wait long to disagree with her unspoken idea. “That is why you need the poppy. We can’t have you screaming every time you move.” 

“It’s fine,” Arya said adjusting her posture. 

“How’s your vision?” Roderick wondered. 

“Fine.” Daenerys rolled her eyes. She had a feeling they were going to be hearing that particular word quite a lot in the coming days. 

Unbothered by the repetitive word choice, Roderick moved on. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Arya said, dodging Daenerys’s eye as she confessed the extent of her injuries. 

“Can you be more specific?”

“My back, my right side, my hip, my shoulders and the back of my neck, oh and the back of my left arm.” 

As she listed off her wounds, Daenerys’s mind recalled how she got them. The cracking of the whip, the sound of the leather meeting flesh. It turned her stomach. 

Roderick nodded as if he expected that answer. “Most of your wounds will heal on their own. Time and care will do wonders, so just try not to strain yourself more than necessary.” 

Arya nodded as if there were no questions to ask. Daenerys had a few. “What do you mean most? How long will she need to be careful for? A week, a month, how long?”

Rodrick lifted his eyes from his notes and then replied, “That’s not clear,” he said diplomatically.

“Not clear,” she spat back, “what is clear?” 

“It’s okay,” Arya whispered to her, as she tried to calm the raging Dragon. 

Rodrick looked to Pycelle to take the lead, but the old man had his head in a book and was not paying any attention to their conversation. “The damage the whip did was extensive. A full recovery is possible, but we can’t estimate a time, or a prognosis until we see how her body responds. The next few days will tell us a great deal.” 

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but they’d survive. She was preparing to leave, so they could change her bandages when Pycelle spoke. “Aha!” he cried, using a wrinkly old finger to point at a specific line. “Three times,” he declared, “three times.” 

“Three times what Grand Maester?” 

Instead of answering the man speaking to him, Pycelle took his big book to the bed and turned it in Arya’s direction. “This author was the most talented Maester of his time and he estimates that milk of the poppy can speed healing by as much as three times.” When Arya didn’t seem thrilled with the information, he asked, “Do you understand what this means?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I’ll heal faster and more comfortably if I take your milk.” 

“Exactly, so Roderick, get it prepared.”

“I said no!” Arya snapped. “You’re not making me drink that, and if you try, I’ll break your wrist.” 

“Threats, predictable, it’s not surprising then such extreme punishments were required,” Pycelle complained, more to himself than anyone else. 

Daenerys heard a growl she later realized came from her. This was getting out of hand and she knew she needed to pick a side. It wasn’t hard. “Enough!” she shouted, marching to a place deliberately between Arya and Pycelle. “Grand Maester, we’ve discussed this at length already. We agreed Arya could decide for herself if she wanted the milk of the poppy.”

“That was before I had proof Princess.” He turned the book he was holding in her direction then pointed to the spot she should begin reading from. She didn’t. “She should make use of anything that will aid in her recovery, and as the overseer of her care, I must insist.” 

This was utter nonsense. “I am the overseer of Arya St…” she caught her near error and amended, “Sand’s care.” Luckily Pycelle was mostly deaf. She took a breath and regained her composure. “She is in my service, in King’s Landing as my guard from House Martell. I will not order Arya to drink milk of the poppy or anything else. She is free to take as much time as she needs to heal and to do so in any manner she chooses. Am I clear Grand Maester?” 

“This is highly unusual Princess,” he noted. 

“This is a highly unique situation,” she countered. “Arya is not a Targaryen soldier, she was sent here from Sunspear and was due to return to Dorne in a number of days. Efforts must be made to see she returns in the best condition possible.” 

She thought she’d gotten through, by playing on the need for peace between kingdoms but Pycelle proved as stubborn as he was annoying. “Prince Doran will understand us giving her milk of the poppy, he’s a smart man with an injury of his own.” 

Daenerys didn’t try to hold back the dramatic sigh that preceded her next attempt. “Grand Maester how do you think Prince Doran will feel if she returns to Sunspear and tells him that she was forced to drink tonics against her will? We mustn’t do anything that could upset relations with House Martell.”

“Won’t slowing her recovery damage relations too?” Rodrick wondered aloud. 

“She’s a grown woman and she’s made a choice. Note it in her papers. We have witnesses. If she claims she was denied care, we can dispute that at an appropriate time and place, but for now, she is to be allowed to heal in any way she chooses.” 

That did it, Pycelle closed his book and the younger two nodded in agreement with Daenerys’s logic. She’d done it. She waited just long enough to ensure everyone was occupied and then she turned to Arya. Sitting up was good for her. It required visible effort to stay balanced, but she had more color and appeared more alert than when she’d been prone. 

“Nicely done,” Arya whispered. 

She chuckled. “Don’t thank me, thank uneasy the relations between King’s Landing and Sunspear.” 

Arya chuckled too, though it caused her face to contort and her whole body to tense. “No more jokes,” she said through clenched teeth. Daenerys wanted to touch her, to have some connection. but was afraid of hurting her. She settled for maintaining eye contact, hoping Arya could tell she was loved without hearing the words. 

Desperate to be of use she got the water and brought it to Arya. Drinking was relatively easy now that she was vertical. Daenerys just had to hold the cup for her. “Better?” she asked when the cup was empty. 

“No water should taste that good, how long was I asleep?” 

“Not long enough, although I know what you mean. Yesterday feels like ages ago.”

They’d need to discuss what happened eventually, but Daenerys still felt a twinge of relief when the knock at the door gave her an excuse to cut the conversation short. Anticipating trouble, she prepared for another fight, but her efforts were needless. Missandei breezed into the room and claimed Daenerys in a hug. 

“You’re looking better,” Missandei said to Arya. She stood next to Daenerys, so Arya could see her and converse without difficulty. 

“Wish I felt better,” she replied before she could stop the truth from leaking out. “Sorry,” she said to both of them. “How was your night?”

The blatant attempt to change the subject didn’t work on Daenerys or Missandei. “Do you need anything?” the handmaiden asked her friend. 

“Yes,” she answered at once. Daenerys was hurt. She’d been with Arya all night and she hadn’t asked for anything more than water. Why would she suddenly make requests of Missandei. 

“What can I do?”

“Take her out of here,” Arya said with a pointed look at the Princess. “They are changing my bandages and then I need to rest, but Daenerys requires a bath, a pretty, clean dress and something to eat.” 

In a rare moment of dark humor Missandei chuckled. “Oh, this is going to be fun. You worrying about her, her worrying about you, both of you too stubborn to listen to reason.” 

Daenerys laughed and Arya shook her head. It didn’t seem to cause her any pain, but it was hard to be certain. “She knows us well,” Arya acknowledged, her eyes on Daenerys alone. 

She licked her lips as she ached to kiss the woman she loved. “Yes, she does.” 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
> Sorry, there isn’t much in this one. It needed to happen to get us to the next round of confrontations. The next chapter will have the first of several long-awaited conversations with Rhaegar and Daenerys learning what Jorah wanted too. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck it out and followed me on this adventure. 
> 
> Best Wishes and Happy Holidays. 
> 
> Russell Craig


	52. Chapter 52

“How is she?” Missandei asked the royal, placing a plate of food in front of her. 

Daenerys’s hair was still wet and although she should probably dress, she was too hungry to delay. “She is okay I think,” Daenerys said after swallowing the first bite. “You saw her, she’s tough.” 

“And you?”

That was a much more complicated question. “I don’t know,” she admitted, dropping her fork and throwing up her hands. She pushed one through wet strands of silver. “It was all my fucking fault and now Arya is in so much pain and I’m trying to fix it, trying to help, and I’m not doing a very good job.” 

Missandei was firm when she reached for Daenerys’s wrist and guided her hand away from her head. “It’s okay to be scared. Did you and Arya have a fight?”

That stopped her chaotic worrying abruptly. “What?! No, why would you think that?” While she waited for the justification that explained such a random inquiry, she thought back. She was sleep deprived, furious and scared, perhaps she was not the best judge. 

“There was some tension in the room when I came in. I thought perhaps you and Arya disagreed.” 

“No, I sided with her,” Daenerys clarified, getting back to her meal. With few people she could confide in openly, she seized the chance to tell Missandei everything. “Have you ever had milk of the poppy?”

“Yes, once when I was young,” she confessed quietly. 

“What happened?”

“I displeased my first Master,” she stated plainly, as if it were exactly that simple. Daenerys supposed it was. 

“What was it like? I ask because Arya’s experience, it sounded terrible.”

“Really?” Missandei asked, giving Daenerys her full attention. “I remember it made the pain go away and I slept a lot.” 

“That’s the problem,” Daenerys said before she shoveled another forkful into her mouth. She chewed quickly before continuing. “Arya couldn’t wake up, and what she was dreaming was unpleasant.” 

“She had a nightmare?” Missandei understood immediately. It was only then, that Daenerys realized her lover and her best friend shared a connection, one Daenerys couldn’t join. Missandei’s life, like Arya’s was littered with difficult days, harsh lessons and devastating losses. Regardless of how much the Princess empathized, nothing in her life came close to comparing. 

“She did,” Daenerys confirmed, “and she said she was stuck in there unable to wake up. It didn’t make a lot of sense but Oberyn seemed to think the milk put her in too deep of a sleep for her to rouse herself.”

“That would be horrible,” Missandei acknowledged. “She seemed well when I saw her,” she added, trying to steer them to a happier subject. 

“She was, I know she was tired of lying down, so I’m pleased they let her sit up, but I’m worried about the pain. She says she can handle it, but…”

Again, Missandei understood. “But she’d say that even if she couldn’t.”

Daenerys smiled. “Exactly. She made me promise not to let the Maester make her drink the poppy, but I have no idea if I did the right thing. She’s already in agony and it is only going to get worse when she starts moving around.” By the time she finished speaking any peace she found in Missandei’s company had evaporated. She looked into her friend’s caring, chocolate eyes and asked the question she wasn’t brave enough to face alone. “What if I made the wrong choice? Maybe milk of the poppy is what she needs, Pycelle certainly thinks so. I want to help her, but what the fuck do I know, I’m just a stupid girl who has never lived outside a castle.” 

“You are not stupid,” Missandei insisted, “you’re just scared and it is reasonable to worry, but Arya trusts you, so you should too.” 

If only it were that easy. “What if I’m wrong? Her back…” An unexpected sob shook her entire body, and a shaky hand covered her mouth to prevent the next one from escaping. “It has to hurt so much! I want to make it better and I can’t.” 

“You do make it better. It may not seem like it to you, but going there, sitting by her bed, talking to her and holding her hand, to Arya that’s everything.” 

“Thank you,” Daenerys mumbling, returning to her food and making quick work of what remained. The morning sunlight was coming through the window and lit the room. “I needed to hear that.” 

“You’re welcome,” Missandei replied kindly, standing and clearing away the dishes. “If it gives you comfort, I would have done the same thing.” 

Daenerys’s mind was on Arya and so she thought she missed the portion of the statement that explained what she meant by that. “Done what?”

“Ordered the Maester to stop giving her milk of the poppy,” she elaborated without complaint. Endlessly patient, Missandei didn’t take offense to Daenerys’s lack of attentiveness. 

Actually, that did help. “Why?” she found herself asking. It was reassuring to think Missandei would have done the same in her place, especially since Missandei’s intelligence was obvious, but her motives were less overt. 

“Arya spoke of her nightmares to me.” 

Daenerys didn’t expect that. “Really? What did she say?” 

“Not much,” the handmaiden made clear quickly, “only that since returning from Highgarden she is thinking about the past more frequently.”

Stunned, she just stared at her hands. How had she not known this? She spent more time with Arya than anyone, knew her better than anyone and hadn’t been aware she was struggling. She’d been failing the woman she loved and didn’t even realize it. “I had no idea,” she muttered, “she didn’t say anything.”

Missandei seized on that. “No, she didn’t, likely because she didn’t want you feeling as you do now.”

“What else did she say?” It was rude to ask her to break Arya’s confidence, but manners were secondary. There were things she needed to know and a limited number of ways she could go about discovering the answers. Missandei looked hesitant to reveal the secrets, so Daenerys stooped lower than ordering, and begged for it. “Please, Missandei.” 

“I found her in the yard late,” she recalled, gesturing for Daenerys to settle. “She was obviously upset, acting as if she didn’t intend to stop until either the sword or the target broke.” 

As much as she enjoyed hearing about Arya, couldn’t this move a little faster? Daenerys chewed on the inside of her cheek and waited anxiously for the rest. “I asked if she was alright and she told me of the nightmares and how they’d been plaguing her more frequently since Highgarden.” 

Before Daenerys could select from the many questions circling her head, Missandei released more. “Apparently seeing Sansa increased the intensity of the nightmares some and returning to the Red Keep did the rest.” 

Daenerys feared her body might reject the food she’d eaten. “Here?” She’d been so selfish. That shouldn’t have been surprising. Arya had a lot of horrible memories of the castle, Daenerys just assumed her presence was enough to offset the negativity. 

Though she barely spoke, Missandei knew exactly where her mind had gone. “I suggested that maybe she’d be happier in Sunspear, but she rejected the notion, making it known that she wanted to be with you, here or anywhere else.” 

Without quelling her concern completely that detail made it easier to think. “Is there anything else?” she asked, while she tried to compose herself. 

She could tell Missandei remained reluctant, so she made it easy for her. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything else. Thank you for helping me understand.” 

Missandei nodded. “What you need to understand,” she announced seriously, “is that it is Arya’s love for you that makes staying here possible. She couldn’t do that without you. She chooses to live here for you, knowing that it might cause more nightmares, might invite more bad memories, that is how badly she wants to walk at your side.” 

Daenerys was touched. Missandei really did have a way with words. “Is there anything I can do to make it easier?” 

“You need to tread carefully. Talking helps, but only if she is ready.” She paused and then drew from her personal experiences. “I never thought I’d find anyone to talk to, about the things that have happened to me. I never imagined people would see me as a person and not property. Now I have you and Grey Worm and Arya.” 

“Anytime you need to talk,” Daenerys declared, “about anything at all, I’ll listen, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. You’re not alone anymore.” 

Her expression showed that Daenerys’s offer meant something. “I know but I am okay. I am far from my past and little here reminds me of it.” 

“Unfortunately, most of Arya’s terrors happened in the keep.” Was it cruel to expect Arya to recover here? Perhaps it was kindness to let her go some place new? She seemed to like Highgarden and Lady Olenna wouldn’t mind. Arya could recover with her sister… shit. She’d been so busy she forgot to write Sansa and invite her to visit. She promised herself she’d do that today, probably while Arya was sleeping.

“Talk to her,” Missandei encouraged. “It won’t be easy for either of you, but it may help you find the way forward.” 

“Would it be better if you did it?”

“Me?” Despite the room containing only them, Missandei looked around to make certain the Princess was addressing her. 

“I want Arya to have whatever she needs to get better,” she said passionately, believing it to her core. 

“And that involves me how?” 

A sigh she wanted to keep in got out. “I can’t relate to her Missandei. She’s been through so much, I’m a Targaryen. The last person she wants to discuss her nightmares with is me.” 

She was expecting a denial followed immediately by a whole heap of reassurance, but Missandei took a more practical approach. “Try and talk to her about it once, just once, and if doesn’t go well, I will relate to her as you say.” 

“Thank you, from the both of us!” It really was the best of solutions. Daenerys would try to support Arya, but if she couldn’t, Missandei would be there to ensure Arya wasn’t alone. 

“I wouldn’t get too excited. I meant it, you have to try, one serious attempt to talk about her about all this.” 

“I understand what we agreed, but it won’t matter.”

Smiling indulgently, Missandei disagreed. “It will. She will tell you everything the first time you ask. I’d wager it all comes pouring out within the first few minutes.” 

“How can you say that?” Daenerys fired back in disbelief. “You know Arya. She isn’t going to share her feelings about the worst moments in her life just because I am willing to listen.” 

“You’re wrong,” the handmaiden resisted blatantly. 

Normally when Missandei had to adjust her understanding of a topic, she did it subtly and without any direct statements. The change gave Daenerys pause. “How can you be so confident?” With little concern about being wrong, Daenerys was far more interested in what made Missandei so sure. 

“These aren’t the sort of things you can tell just anyone. When she’s ready to speak about them, it will be to the person she trusts most.” She let that sink in before finishing. “That is why I don’t think you will need me. It will be hard, but just listen and remind her you’re there.” 

“Thank you Missandei. I don’t know what any of us would do without you.” 

She laughed lightly, covering her mouth quickly. “Luckily, I happen to quite like it here.” 

Daenerys didn’t know if she believed that, but now wasn’t the best time to dig for truth. Arya needed her. Missandei’s sudden affinity for the capital could wait. “Do you think they’re finished changing her bandages yet?” Daenerys asked. She still had to put her dress on but that would only take a moment. When properly motivated she could be quick. 

“There is more we need to speak about.”

Daenerys didn’t like the sound of that. “There is?”

Gesturing to the mirror, Missandei said, “Sit, we’ll talk and work at the same time, so when we’re through, you’ll be able to go to Arya.” 

A brush was being passed through her hair when the handmaiden revealed the subject they needed to address. “Jorah.”

“What of him? He wasn’t outside the Maester’s room when we left,” she recalled. Daenerys hoped that meant he finally knew when he wasn’t wanted. 

“Only because I sent him away.”

So much for that theory. “He was there?”

She nodded. Daenerys watched the dark curls bounce in the mirror. “He was sitting just outside the door when I approached. I don’t think he’d slept.” 

“I didn’t ask him to stay, in fact I ordered him out of the room,” Daenerys proclaimed in a rush, eager to tell her side of the story. “I didn’t ask for him to follow me around.” 

“No,” Missandei acknowledged, “apparently your brother did that.” 

She knew she was supposed to stay seated, but she couldn’t. She jumped up, likely shaving years of Missandei’s life in the process. She turned and looked her friend in the eye. “He did what?” 

“According to Jorah, the Prince found him after Arya’s…” she paused and adjusted her choice of words, “after Arya was hurt. He reinstated Jorah as your guard until Arya is well again.” 

“Over my dead body!” she fumed. It wasn’t Missandei’s fault, she knew that, but she did have the unfortunate duty of passing along less than welcome information. “I’m not going to pretend things are the way they were before. I refuse to act as if nothing has changed. Jorah tried to have Arya killed and now he is stealing her position. And Rhaegar…”

A hand touched her shoulder. “Sit. I know you’re upset but don’t let Rhaegar or Jorah take time away you could be spending with Arya.”

Missandei had a way of making the most unpleasant ideas seem like worthy undertakings. Sitting in this instance was the last thing she wanted to do. Daenerys was much more inclined to move, yell and fight. Still, she did settle back into her designated spot. “I can’t believe them. Taking advantage of the situation like that is deplorable. I know why Jorah did it, but why was Rhaegar so eager?”

“You should ask him at your meeting,” Missandei recommended. 

She was tying the ribbon in the Princess’s hair, so she put extra effort in keeping still. “What meeting?” 

“Last night, we all met out in the hall, remember, you and I, Oberyn, Jorah, Ser Barristan and Rhaegar?”

“My mind was on other things.” She did remember trying to visit her bedchamber and finding a crowd of yelling, glaring men crowded around, but the details were less than firm. 

“We went inside to speak,” Missandei reminded her, “Oberyn waited. You told Jorah I’d speak to him about his concerns, and you told the Prince you’d see him later.” 

It was coming back. “I remember.” Rather than address the issue at hand she skipped over it. “You and Grey Worm should go out into the city.”

“And do what?”

“Anything you want,” she announced. “I’ll be with Arya, there is no reason to waste the day awaiting my return.”

Daenerys had plenty of experience with the thick, uncomfortable tension that tended to fill the keep on days like this. She planned to hide away from it in the Maester’s room with the woman she loved. Missandei deserved the chance to escape too. 

She peeked out from within the closet, where she was retrieving the Targaryen’s dress. “Do you think that’s wise? You might need me here.” 

“I’m going to be occupied,” she predicted, “there won’t be much for you to do. Go and enjoy the day.” 

Missandei’s expression was less than thrilled, meaning there was likely a flaw in Daenerys’s strategy. “Your brother is expecting you.”

Oh yes, that. She got a little off track. Before they got to Rhaegar, she thought of the knight. “Did Jorah tell you of his urgent problem yet? Do you know what it is?”

“Yes, he wanted to tell you of the orders he received from the Prince. He also advised me that he plans to repair your friendship.” 

She scoffed. So typical. He didn’t ask her opinion, didn’t consider what she wanted, just told Missandei what would happen. He wasn’t going to like the response when he broached that subject with the Princess directly. 

She was dressed and looking for shoes when Missandei guided them back to the last item pending. “And Rhaegar? Last night, you told his knight you’d see the Prince after breakfast.” 

She was afraid Missandei was going to say that. That matched her recollections, although she had hoped they weren’t accurate. “Well, Rhaegar is just going to need to be patient.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? If he is upset already, delaying further might make it worse,” her friend cautioned. 

“You’re right, but if I see Rhaegar right now I can’t promise I won’t kill him,” Daenerys confessed openly. There was no shame or guilt, associated with the admission. In fact, it was freeing to be able to own her emotions so completely. She kept going. “I begged him to help Arya, I offered him anything he wanted, and he acted like he was just some noble from a far away kingdom who was powerless to stop our father. He’s the fucking Crown Prince of Westeros. He could have done something, and he didn’t. Until I know how to make peace with that, the last place I should be is in an enclosed space with him.”

R-C

When Missandei took her leave, Daenerys asked that she send Jorah in. She needed to know exactly what her brother’s instructions were. 

The speed with which he arrived was telling. He’d been close. “Princess, how are you feeling?”

She hadn’t slept, her stomach was in knots, Arya was in agony and everyone around her seemed to be conspiring to make her life more difficult. If that weren’t bad enough, Arya needed her, and she was wasting her time with him. 

“Close the door, Ser,” she demanded. 

He did. He didn’t seem tense or nervous and that annoyed her some. After everything, did he really think he’d just step into Arya’s place and be welcomed with open arms? 

“That’s a lovely dress,” he remarked as he went toward her collection of jewelry. “It would look beautiful with the necklace I gave you for…”

“Stop!” she shouted. He turned to face her, a little less confident than he had been. “What I wear is none of your concern.”

“I was just…”

She didn’t care. “Tell me, did you go to Rhaegar or did he come to you?”

There was a long pause before he said, “Barristan and I were speaking, and we agreed you needed a guard so I…”

That was enough. “You are not my guard,” she told him as directly as she could. “I have a guard – one I like very much. She will continue to serve me until she returns to Dorne or I dismiss her.” 

“This is serious, you must be protected,” he tried, steering them away from Arya and back to his favorite fallback position, her safety. “Viserys has returned, the wedding is scheduled, Oberyn Martell came from Sunspear to bring the girl home.” 

Daenerys felt she could spit fire. Her rage consumed her. “The girl’s name is Arya, and she isn’t going anywhere.” 

By his expression alone Daenerys could see he didn’t believe that, but in this instance the sheltered Princess knew more than the worldly knight. “Be that as it may, she can’t guard you right now. She’s in pain and…”

She interrupted him again. “Oh, she’s in pain?” Daenerys mocked with a heavy amount of sarcasm. “And you know this how? Have you been to see her? Did you spend the night beside her bed holding her hand?”

Jorah recoiled from the venom in her tone, but it didn’t prevent his feeble response. “I’ve seen wounds like that before.” 

He likely had, but he didn’t know Arya. She was strong and determined, she would get through this. They would. “I do not need a guard because until Arya is well, I intend to go from here,” she said raising a finger to point to her bedchamber, “to there and back. No where else.” 

Jorah immediately jumped on what he viewed as a weak point. “What about your meetings, or to visit the orphans or the port? I’m sure the Prince would agree you should get some air after yesterday. I could ask him.” 

Was he trying to bribe her? If so, he was going about it all wrong. Taking her further away from Arya would only worsen her mood. “Very kind of you Ser,” she replied falsely, “but as I said, I have plans. Your services will not be required, you are released of your oath, go and do whatever you please.”

“I want to help you!” he insisted, becoming frustrated by her stubbornness. Little did he know he hadn’t seen anything yet. 

“I do not want your help,” she countered, matching his passion. “This castle is filled with guards, should I need protection from the many assassins lurking in dark corners, I’ll summon one of them.” 

“The Prince assigned me to serve. I have no more say in it than you do.” 

It was her life, and she’d wasted too much of it believing statements like that. Things were different now but explaining the magnitude of those changes to Jorah Mormont would take more energy than she was willing to devote to such a trivial exercise. “Then I suggest you run to the Prince and tell him I sent you away.” 

“I can’t. As I said, my orders came from him!” 

This was getting them nowhere. “You want to be my guard? Fine. Get ready, I’ll tell you how it’s going to work.” 

He smiled for the first time since she started yelling. “I know how to be your guard Daenerys.” 

She chuckled humorlessly. “You don’t know anything.” She watched the smile fall from his face before she proceeded. “Here are the terms of your service, first, you can follow me where I need to go, be it the Maester, or my bedchamber but you will remain outside. You will protect me, by guarding the door and ensuring no one interferes with my affairs.” All at once Jorah understood how drastically different she intended to make things. His face paled and his lips parted, but Daenerys wasn’t done. “Second, you don’t speak unless spoken to. I don’t want to having profound conversations or meaningless back and forths, you are my guard, and I am a Princess, that is all.” 

He took a step forward and reached out as if he planned to touch her arm. A glare made him question himself. “Daenerys, I understand that yesterday was difficult, for all of us, and I’m sure you are worried but it’s going to be okay. Before long everything will return to normal.”

She didn’t doubt that, and that was the precisely the problem. The ‘normal’ the castle operated in, what was considered acceptable for the Realm was utterly sickening. She continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “When we are in a crowded area I will stay within your line of sight, if there is trouble, I will hold my position and you will come to me. Do you understand the duties of your new position Ser?” 

“I do,” he agreed, “but Princess we don’t need rules and terms. All of this is unnecessary.”

“It is very necessary,” she disputed. 

“Why?”

She felt no guilt, and no doubts, even though the next words she spoke were some of the sort she could never take back. If anything, she was eager to be done with it. “Because Ser, we are not friends. You’re right, I may not be able to send you away, I can’t stop you from following me, but I do have some authority and I can enforce these few rules.”

Jorah was hurt, but only for a moment, then it twisted into defiance. “We are friends. I know you’re upset with me but a few arguments does not undo years of friendship and love.”

She ignored the mention of love, because it wouldn’t benefit either of them to open that up for debate. “We were friends,” she clarified. “I trusted you and in return you tried to have one of the people I care about most in this world executed.” 

“I apologized for that,” he reminded her as if that remedied the damage. “I was angry, and I regretted it immediately, but it ended well and there is no reason for that to divide us. It was a mistake, one I am sorry for, but it’s over.” 

Daenerys was still haunted by the memories, so she’d have to respectfully disagree. “You’re sorry?” she spat, her contempt obvious. “All is well, because Jorah Mormont said the magic words?” She didn’t try to dampen her ridicule. “You tried to have Arya killed because you were jealous.”

“I didn’t think she’d be executed,” he whined. 

“Yes, you did, that is exactly what you were hoping for.” 

“Not all those who go before the court are found guilty,” he noted in a pathetic attempt to provide a defense. 

“Really? How many times have you seen someone brought before the King, accused of a crime against a member of the royal family and then granted mercy?”

He thought about it, as she did, but it didn’t take long. Her answer was likely the same one Jorah was coming to. Zero. Arya was the only one. Mercy was rare in any instance, because the King liked his Fire and Blood, but when the crime directly related to a Targaryen, it almost guaranteed a violent end. 

Rather than admit what she knew Jorah tried to find safer ground. “I’m glad she didn’t die, I do regret it, and I’m sorry.”

She was tired of this. “More apologies? You’re a soldier Ser Jorah, not a poet.”

Confused, Jorah looked as though he was questioning her sanity. “I don’t understand.” 

She huffed dramatically. “Unless you make your way in this world as a poet, the niceness and beauty of your words matters little,” she informed him, “you are a soldier, and as such are measured by the actions you take, or don’t take. Your actions nearly got someone I care about a great deal murdered.” 

She left him to ponder that and went to check she still looked presentable in the mirror. The marks under her eyes from exhaustion were quite unbecoming but she hoped Arya would forgive her. 

She was at the door when she looked back and found Jorah in the same spot he’d been occupying when she berated him. “I’m leaving.” 

She planned to give him the choice of guarding her or not, but he quickly pivoted toward the door and her. There was no point in wasting the words. 

R-C

Another nightmare. She was losing count. How many times had she fallen asleep, only to wake up minutes later gasping for air? She’d try to sit up and be reminded of the reasons she couldn’t. It was a vicious cycle. 

As promised the pain did get worse, once the last of the poppy wore off, and while it did feel unbearable at times, it was definitely preferable to the alternative. In addition to being able to wake up from her various nightmares, Arya also felt more clearheaded. It was easier to think, unfortunately there was little to focus on apart from the anguish. 

The Maesters changed her bandages and made some notes about the state of her wounds. She didn’t pay them much mind, choosing instead to give her focus to not screaming each time her torn flesh was poked or prodded. 

When the pain subsided and the memories returned to their cages, she thought about Daenerys. Her heart broke knowing she was in no position to help the Dragon she loved, and she was going to need help. Things were going to be difficult moving forward. If she were whole, she’d be there to protect and aid Daenerys, guiding her to the other side, but she was an invalid now, and as such little use to anyone. The best she could do was to employ others to do what she couldn’t. With a little assistance from King’s Landing’s favorite handmaiden, they might be able to convince Daenerys not to spend her days fretting at Arya’s bedside. 

The Maesters came and went and she was fine with that. She preferred privacy for when she couldn’t hold back the tears, but the quiet was equally strange. Whether it was the servant’s quarters of the Water Gardens, or the barracks she lived in later, Arya had always been surrounded by noise. Even in the Princess’s bedchamber, she had Daenerys, who hummed to herself, or talked, laughed or moaned to fill the silence. 

When the door opened Arya expected to hear some grouping of the three Maesters returning, but she was wrong. Quick, light footsteps rushed straight for the bed. Arya was propped up on side, allowing her to use her arm more freely. It wasn’t ideal and it intensified the pain, but it felt good to be off her stomach. “How are you? Did you sleep? Did they bring you food? Did you have nightmares? They changed your bandages, did it hurt?” 

She laughed at her excited lover and used her greater reach to touch Daenerys’s hand. “Calm down beautiful,” Arya whispered, unsure if they had the room to themselves. “We’ve got time, you can breathe between questions.” 

“I was so worried about you. I wanted to be here sooner but…”

“You’re here now,” Arya pointed out, “that’s what counts.” Daenerys’s smile was blinding, so the injured woman was forced to ask. “Are we alone?”

She looked behind her. “Jorah is guarding the door, but the Maesters aren’t here. Why aren’t…”

Arya would apologize for interrupting her later. “Good,” she said, pulling lightly on the hand she was touching. She tried desperately not to notice how weak and feeble her limb was. She also tried to block out the pain that came from the movement. It was worth it when she pressed her cracked, dry lips to the back of Daenerys’s smooth hand. 

“Thank you,” she said with a grin. “I’ve been missing those.” 

“I know the feeling,” she muttered lazily. 

Daenerys took the room’s chair and returned it to where it had been all night. “How are you feeling?” she asked as she dragged it across the floor, making a scratching sound the whole way. 

“Better now.”

Although she appeared to not want to be amused, she failed to hide it deep enough. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know, I’m just glad you’re here,” Arya confessed. Once she was seated, Daenerys put her hand in a location Arya could easily claim it, she quickly did. 

“Where else would I be?”

“It’s a big castle,” Arya noted, pleased she remembered to skip the typical shrug that usually accompanied such comments. That would have been unpleasant. 

“It is,” Daenerys conceded, “but the only place I want to be is with you.” As she was speaking, she seemed to realize something. “Is it safe for you to be lying on your side like that, doesn’t it hurt? The Maester said your wounds weren’t just on your back.” 

“They aren’t,” Arya agreed, “and I can’t stay like this for long. I’ll have to go back onto my stomach shortly, but they say it’s good to move around.” 

Daenerys nodded as she attempted to retain the new information. “Did you rest any?”

“Some,” Arya replied, aware she wasn’t very convincing. 

“Nightmares?”

She took a breath before admitting what they both knew. “Yes.” 

“But you didn’t have trouble waking, right? They didn’t restrain you or give you the poppy?” 

Arya did her best imitation of squeezing Daenerys’s hand. She used to love the way the Princess matched her grip, but now her hold felt embarrassingly weak. “I woke up, before the worst parts, just like usual.”

Relief passed over her features. “What about the pain? Are you doing okay or just faking it?” She was done before circling back for more. “Any regrets about refusing the milk?”

Arya didn’t need to think about it. “No, none.” Between the conversation and the physical movement Arya was fading fast. She could sense it but had to do something first. She kissed Daenerys’s hand again. “Thank you for not letting them make me.” 

Observant as she was Daenerys saw she needed a reprieve. “Rest now. We’ll talk later.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, “love you too.”

R-C

In the hour since she returned, Arya had been asleep or trying to sleep for three quarters of it. Daenerys came to understand that if her lover could stay asleep for any length longer than ten minutes before the pain brought her back, it should be considered a victory. 

This was their best showing yet. Arya had been out for a few minutes and seemed to be marginally comfortable. Daenerys crossed her fingers and prayed things remained as they were. 

When she started to stir, the Princess would whisper to her, reminding her she wasn’t alone. She also calmed when Daenerys played with her hair or hummed a soothing melody. “Someone needs a haircut,” she noticed, as she combed through it. 

Was it coincidence, or something else that Arya chose that moment to groan? Was it an objection to the notion of cutting her hair? The possibility amused her. Even asleep Arya didn’t change. Daenerys was fine with that. 

“Okay,” she whispered indulgently, “no haircut, but get better soon because I need kisses.” 

Yeah, it was totally unrelated that Arya’s response to that was to tighten her hold on Daenerys’s hand ever so slightly and settle into her pillow. She was sure there was another, perfectly logical explanation, or maybe the lack of sleep was catching up to her. 

R-C

Each time she woke up and found Daenerys next to her it was an immense relief. Even though the dreams ended, the parts she had to endure were horrific and gruesome and Daenerys’s hand in hers felt like an anchor that kept her where she belonged, with the Dragon. 

After a particularly brutal nightmare Arya flinched to try and protect Daenerys from the incoming sword, inadvertently moving her body and inflicting pain. She cried out, startling Daenerys, who was on her feet and looking for aid in an instant. “What’s wrong? Do you need the Maester?”

“No,” she croaked. Daenerys didn’t seem satisfied, so she said it again. “No, only you.”

Her voice must’ve sounded hoarse because it prompted Daenerys to go in search of water. With little interest in spilling it everywhere she began trying to sit herself up. It was slow and difficult, but she was making progress. “What are you doing?” Daenerys hissed, as she came back with the cup to find Arya halfway between lying and sitting. 

“Sitting up,” Arya declared. 

There was a pause, before Daenerys relented. She set the cup on the chair she vacated and asked, “How can I help.” 

She wanted to do it on her own, but every time she made use of a muscle in her midsection the pain flared. Whether she was clenching her stomach muscles or adjusting her hips for balance, it was all akin to being stabbed with fire. It felt safe, seeking help from Daenerys. “Give me your hand,” she instructed as she fought to keep moving in the right direction. One slip and she’d be falling back to the bed. 

Unsure of what to do, Daenerys placed her right hand near Arya’s arm. That was all the soldier needed. She took her hand off the bed and set it in Daenerys’s instead. The change was immediate. Having a higher perch to push from made a world of difference. Arya was successfully sitting under her own power within seconds. She didn’t need Daenerys’s support anymore, at least not to get up, but that didn’t mean she wanted to let it go. 

“Are you okay?”

“Perfect,” she exaggerated. “Thank you.” 

As relieved as Daenerys appeared to be, it didn’t last. She put her hand on her hip in annoyance. “Next time just ask. Don’t hurt yourself being stubborn.” 

“You’re more stubborn than I am,” she retorted. 

With an insincere glare, Daenerys shook her head. “Last week I might have agreed with you, today I’m not so sure. I think you’ve got me beat.” She retrieved the water and handed it carefully to Arya. 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she quipped. “You’ll always be the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known.” She took a sip. 

“Thanks, that means a lot.” Arya would’ve laughed if she didn’t think she’d spill the water Daenerys gave her. It felt good to be sitting, good to hold Daenerys’s hand and even better to be able to tease her like this. The pain was there, gnawing at her, wearing her down, but with Daenerys so close, the discomfort wasn’t all there was. 

Arya finished her water and then was given more. When she’d had enough Daenerys took the cup away and asked. “Why did you scream? You were resting and then,” she hesitated, “you weren’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she said instinctively. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

A finger on her chin tilted her head back. “No,” she said emphatically, “that’s not what this is about. I just want to know you’re okay.” 

She knew Daenerys deserved to hear the truth, but she was afraid it would scare her. Was it fair to share her burden with someone so good? It didn’t feel like an honorable thing. She was about to change the subject when Daenerys looked into her eyes and implored her to be honest. “Please, you can trust me.” 

She did. “It was a nightmare. We were in the throne room. A sword was coming, I wanted to get in front of it, I tried to move, and when I did, it hurt. That’s why I screamed.” 

She forced herself to watch Daenerys closely. Her eyes were so expressive, she knew they’d provide all the insight she needed. Amazingly while there was sadness, concern and sympathy, Arya didn’t see pity. She was still wondering how that could be possible, when Daenerys’s next question froze everything. “Who were you protecting?”

Shit. She didn’t lie to Daenerys, that was the rule, not anymore. She didn’t have many options. “You,” she admitted. The Hound had his sword out and was going to kill you, so I tried to stop it.” 

“Me?” she double checked in disbelief. “I wasn’t even there when your family died.” 

“It’s not always that day,” Arya explained, “sometimes it’s the Water Gardens, or when I was accused of desertion, sometimes it’s all of them.” 

Horrified as she was, Daenerys was working hard to hold it together. She swallowed hard, nodded in understanding and then forged ahead. “And the night you slept on the floor of my bedchamber, when I woke you?”

She smirked at the memory. “When you woke me naked, you mean?”

A chuckle slipped from between those kissable lips and Arya ached to hold her. She would, she promised herself, she swore it on her father’s name. She’d heal and she’d be the kind of woman Daenerys deserved. 

“Yes,” she allowed playfully, “the night I woke you naked.” The humor was short lived. “I heard you talking to yourself that night, in the dream, I didn’t understand it then, but I thought you were trying to kill someone.” 

“I was.”

“My father,” she guessed. 

She didn’t confirm it, but Arya knew she didn’t have to. Daenerys was calm, like she anticipated it. “And when you were on milk of the poppy and couldn’t wake up, you were stuck there, with him.” 

It would have been fairly easy to let Daenerys believe that. It wouldn’t have been a lie. For some reason however, she wanted Daenerys to hear it all. A part of her hoped that if she knew everything and still stayed, still loved her, then maybe it would give Arya the strength she needed to face what was coming. “That was different,” she started, “usually I see bits and pieces, it begins in the middle and I see someone die, or two people, sometimes it happens like it really did, other times it’s worse, but when it gets too bad, when I can’t take it anymore, I always wake up.” 

With care Daenerys moved from the chair to the bed, sitting beside Arya. The guard appreciated the closeness so much, she didn’t mind the extra discomfort caused by the movement of the bed beneath her. “I’m so sorry.” 

She’d deal with the needless apology later. First, she had to finish this, or she never would. “It’s like I told you, I just couldn’t wake up. Over and over again, they’d die, you’d die, Oberyn, Missandei, Grey Worm, Aemon, anyone, everyone I ever loved. I was stuck, forced to watch.” 

Daenerys reached for her, until she remembered to show restraint. “It’s okay,” she said, resting her hand on Arya’s leg. It was one of the few places she could touch that wouldn’t hurt or unsteady her. 

“I lost count. How many times I saw them, how many times I lost them, how many times the whip cracked...”

Arya was being swallowed by her frantic mind, but Daenerys had a question. “The whip? You dreamt of the whip?”

Her eyes filled with tears she wouldn’t cry. “Yeah. It was like reliving it, until it was time for the pain to start. I’d hear the whip crack and a scream, but it wasn’t mine.” 

Daenerys gasped, squeezing Arya’s thigh in a gesture of support. 

“I couldn’t move. I could only watch and listen. Until the burning.”

Daenerys was crying openly when she asked for more information. “The burning?” 

Her blurred vision made it look like the Princess was about to be sick. “That’s how it ended, when the whipping was over, we’d die together in the flames, me and whoever I just watched take the beating meant for me.” 

Her account was cold, and factual, empty of most emotions. She didn’t think she could get the words out otherwise. Daenerys on the other hand was a mess, sobbing and sniffling. “Then what happened?” 

“It would start again, with someone new.” 

Watching Daenerys’s pain and knowing she felt it, because she loved Arya so deeply, tore at something in the soldier’s chest. She needed her. It didn’t matter that they were in a public place, or that every adjustment of position no matter how minor or gentle would hurt, she just knew sitting next to the woman she loved wasn’t going to be enough. “Lie down with me.” 

With her thoughts focused on the nightmare, Daenerys was caught off guard. “What? What are you talking about?”

Arya put a weak, sweaty hand on Daenerys’s shoulder, wobbling slightly as she reached up. She nudged her toward the bed. “Lie down with me. I’ll sleep better with you here.” 

“I’d sleep better too,” she predicted, “but we can’t. I’d hurt you.”

“I don’t care. It’ll be worth it.” 

“I do care,” she resisted. “It’s bad enough I couldn’t stop it, I’m not going to tear your stitches.”

If it were anybody else that she was dealing with, Arya would have admitted defeat and given up, but with Daenerys, she still had one more method that might work. “Five minutes,” she bartered, “lie down until I fall asleep and when I’m better I’ll give you anything you want.” 

Keeping a straight face was difficult. She wanted to laugh at how visibly conflicted Daenerys was. Probably because she was recalling the last time, they made such a deal and how enjoyable it was for the both of them. “I want to, but I can’t hurt you.” 

“You won’t,” she claimed, without much evidence to back it up. Luckily, Daenerys seemed to be losing resolve. “If it hurts, I’ll tell you, I promise.”

She had just pledged, but Daenerys needed to hear it again. “Promise?”

“I swear.” 

With a huff she stood up. “Can you lie down without help?”

Arya thought about it, trying to recall the last time she did it. “Yeah,” she assured her, “down is a lot easier than up.” 

“Fine, lie down and once you’re comfortable, I’ll see if I can squeeze on,” Daenerys proposed. 

Sensing victory, she grinned. “Don’t worry I’ll make room.” 

She wanted to be angry, Arya could tell she was really trying but she just couldn’t hang on to it. “Just lie down, before I change my mind.” 

R-C

Arya was sleeping. Not fending off nightmares, but honest and truly sleeping. The pain pulled her out of her slumber occasionally, but each time it did she quickly found her way back. She wasn’t foolish enough to think her miraculous change could be sourced to anything other than the woman in her arms. It took some effort to ensure they could both lie comfortably, but once they found the proper fit, they quickly forgot about the five-minute stipulation. 

One night spent without Daenerys close and you’d think she’d gone without for years. Now that she knew precisely what effect it could have on her, Arya vowed to spend her nights where she belonged, consequences be damned. 

As often as Arya drifted in and out, tensing and shifting to ease the cresting pain, Daenerys didn’t offer up a single twitch or mumble in protest. Far as Arya could tell the Princess was fast asleep, unmoved from the position she was in when Arya declared it ‘safe.’ She stroked her lover’s cheek. She’d been up all night, obsessing and blaming herself when she wasn’t worried sick. There was little denying that Daenerys needed the rest as badly as Arya did, if not more. 

A light sleeper on a good day, Arya knew each and every time the door opened. She kept her eyes closed and feigned sleep. Four times the Maesters came in and out. They whispered to one another, taking care to avoid speaking too loudly. Arya didn’t think it was for her benefit, waking a Dragon could be risky. Especially with the fuse on her temper so short lately. After they got over their shock that Daenerys was sleeping next to her guard, they moved on to discussing if they should inform Grand Maester Pycelle. She waited, unsure if announcing she was awake would make things better or worse. Could she persuade them to forget what they’d seen without waking Daenerys? She didn’t have to. They agreed quite quickly that Pycelle was busy in the throne room and as long as Arya continued to recover, they saw no reason to mention it. 

There were a lot of things that kept Arya from enjoying the deep, consistent sleep Daenerys was. Fear of nightmares for one, her pain, the Maesters coming and going, even the Princess’s aggressive snuggling deserved some of the blame. They were both on their sides, with Daenerys in front. She was used to Daenerys pressing back into her chest and thought she could handle it, but when she pushed with enough strength to topple Arya, it was only quick thinking and a strong arm that kept her from landing on her very sore back. With all that in mind, Arya stayed awake a moment longer, intentionally, to admire her lover’s beauty. It was possible, if not probable that luring Daenerys into her bed was near the top of the list of smartest things she’d ever done. No amount of sleep could best this. 

She was on the edge of another nap when the door opened. Arya waited, listening for the sounds of the Maester’s walking in together. She didn’t hear what she expected, and it immediately had her on alert. She opened her eyes and saw the cane before the man leaning on it. She gave the Princess a soft nudge. “Time to wake up,” she whispered. 

Unlike when the Maesters visited she didn’t bother pretending to be asleep. She did however attempt to minimize the obvious contact she was enjoying with the woman sharing her bed. It wasn’t easy in such a confined space, and Rhaegar wasn’t a fool, but it was better than nothing. She’d just have to hope the blanket was concealing the worst of it. 

As Rhaegar limped in with Barristan Selmy, Arya tried again to wake Daenerys. “You’ve got a visitor Princess,” she said formally, as if that would make it easier to overlook them cuddled together. Daenerys left her dress on, but all Arya was wearing was the shortened pants that fit under her armor and extensive wrappings of bandages. 

Unaware of how dire their situation, Daenerys squirmed against her lover and covered her eyes to block the invading sunlight. “Fi…five more minutes?” she groaned adorably. 

There was a distinct possibility that Rhaegar was going to order Barristan to kill her any moment and despite that, she still laughed. Daenerys was utterly perfect. “Not this time m’lady. Your brother is here.” 

Tired or not, that got in. A panicked pair of violet eyes found hers. As subtly as she could she nodded, before both women looked toward their guests. 

“I guess now I know why you missed our meeting,” Rhaegar barked bitterly. Arya didn’t like it one bit, but she held her tongue. “Care to explain this, and I suggest you choose your words carefully for both your sakes.” 

Accustomed to being threatened Arya wasn’t concerned. More than any worry she felt for herself, was her concern for Daenerys. She was being threatened by the brother she loved. That had to leave a lasting mark. She had her excuse ready and was about to launch into a tale that went a little like this; Daenerys was exhausted because she hadn’t slept the night before, she refused to leave Arya’s side, and after several failed attempts to sleep in the rooms only chair, Arya offered the bed, rather than see her suffer. That is what she would have said, if she’d gotten the chance. 

“Not particularly,” Daenerys retorted. It didn’t escape Arya’s notice that despite her brother walking in, along with his knight and guard, the Princess didn’t seem the least bit motivated to get out of the bed. “Is there a reason you felt it necessary to wake me up? I didn’t get much sleep last night, as you can imagine.” 

“We had an appointment,” he reminded her pointedly. “You advised Ser Barristan you’d meet with me after breakfast, I cleared my schedule and you never arrived.” 

She thought about speaking up, but she got the distinct impression this was between the siblings. For his part, Barristan didn’t look the least bit interested in participating. Arya decided to follow his lead. “I’ve been busy.”

“I can see that,” Rhaegar responded sarcastically. “Now can you please get up, so I don’t have to try and explain to Father or the court that my sister delayed the Realm’s business by oversleeping?”

Arya relaxed her arm – the one under the blanket, but around Daenerys’s waist. It was meant to be an invitation for the Princess to untangle herself, but instead she just stayed where she was, arm or not. It struck Arya as convenient that now, of all days, Daenerys was suddenly a vital part of ruling the Realm. She didn’t intend to say anything, but she didn’t need to. Daenerys saw the same lie the soldier did and instead of swallowing it, she put it to the test. 

It started with a bitter laugh that sounded nothing like the woman Arya had grown to love. “That’s the best you can do?” she challenged. “The Realm needs me? It hasn’t needed me before, unless you count my limited role, what did you call it, ‘having tea and cookies with wives and children?’ Wasn’t it something like that?”

Arya had been willing to let this happen as if she wasn’t there, but that was before. Before she heard what Daenerys’s own brother said about her. She wanted his blood, and whether he knew it or not, he was lucky she was too injured to act on her murderous impulses. 

His long, drawn out sigh made it known to everyone in the room he was losing patience. It struck her that he was so accustomed to Daenerys being complaint and passive that the moment she showed even the slightest bit of freewill, he was at a loss for how to proceed. 

“I need to talk to you. It is important and it does involve the Realm,” Rhaegar stated, trying to get them back on the path he thought they should be on. One where Daenerys wasn’t reminding him of all the ignorant things he’d said and done, Arya suspected. 

Instead of yielding to the desperation in his voice, Daenerys chose to twist the knife and Gods bless her, Arya fell in love a little bit more. “You want to talk, it’s important and it involves the Realm,” she verified counting off the three things he admitted on her fingers, “but it doesn’t involve Father or the court, those were lies.” 

Even Arya was surprised she pointed out his manipulative shit, and she wasn’t alone. Barristan appeared shocked if Arya was reading him right. Nearby, Rhaegar blushed as he searched the ground for a way to salvage this. Eventually he settled on the truth. “I didn’t think you’d come if it was just me asking.” That justification while honest probably would have calmed some of Daenerys’s anger, but in true Targaryen fashion, the Crown Prince couldn’t help himself. He had to get one last strike in. “I was clearly right, since I had to track you down here.” 

Daenerys seethed and there was little Arya could do to calm her, not with their audience watching. “Shh, calm down,” she whispered. She was so afraid Rhaegar might hear that she spoke so softly, she couldn’t say with any degree of certainty that Daenerys did. 

“You found me. You’re here, I’m here, our guards are here, let’s have this urgent, incredibly important meeting.” 

“Here?” 

“Why not? I’m not leaving Arya until she’s better. If it’s as urgent as you say, we shouldn’t delay a moment longer.”

She was testing him again, and she was winning. It was hilariously funny to the foster and also incredibly attractive. She had no idea where this new wave of confidence and attitude were coming from, but Arya loved it. She always knew it was there, she saw it when they were alone, with Missandei or Aemon, but this was the first time she’d seen Daenerys wield it like a weapon in public without concern for the damage left in her wake. 

“Be reasonable,” Rhaegar pleaded, “we are not having our meeting while you are lying in bed.” 

As entertaining as it was watching Daenerys run circles around the future King’s arguments, Arya felt it only proper to try and mediate a truce. “Go and have your meeting. The Maesters are due back any minute to change the bandages and apply that cream to the wounds.” 

With just a few words exchanged they both seemed to forget Rhaegar and Selmy were there and listening. Daenerys looked back at Arya. “I should stay then. I need to learn how to do that.” 

“Not today,” Arya said seriously. “Wait a few more days, maybe a week, once the wounds heal some, I’ll teach you how to do it.” 

Daenerys’s eyes made it clear she knew exactly what was in their way. She tried to clear the obstruction. “I don’t care,” she proclaimed quietly but with passion. “It doesn’t matter one bit.” 

She wanted to believe that, she just wasn’t sure she did. It wasn’t merely the physical either. This wasn’t Arya the Horseface afraid to expose herself to the most beautiful woman in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. It went beyond that. Yes, her scars would be ugly, but their love was stronger than a few marks. The true problem was what they represented. Arya worried Daenerys wasn’t ready for that. Evidence of her father’s madness permanently etched into her lover’s skin, that would be tough for anyone to handle. She knew what happened in the throne room would haunt Daenerys for a long time, but she feared that if she saw the open wounds with her own eyes, if she touched them, they’d leave injuries of their own on the Princess, equally permanent, just as deep and plenty painful. “Not today.” She quickly tried to turn her serious request into a joke. “You go attend your meetings, do whatever good noble girls do, and I’ll lay around here. It’s been a long time since I’ve had nothing to do.” 

Playing along Daenerys smiled. “Me too. As soon as I’m done, with our Realm-shaking business, I’ll be back. We can do nothing together.” 

For one heart stopping moment Arya thought Daenerys forgot Rhaegar was there. She looked ready to kiss her, and while Arya probably wouldn’t have complained. She got the impression they’d pushed the Crown Prince more than enough already. With a wink Daenerys threw back the covers and slipped out of bed. She wasn’t shy, or blushing, she was at peace and it was gorgeous. 

“At least you’re dressed,” Rhaegar commented under his breath when he saw Daenerys indeed had her dress on. 

“That was a coinflip actually,” the Princess told him, obviously not sharing Arya’s opinion that Rhaegar had reached his limit. She just kept going. “Consider yourself warned, next time you might not be so lucky.” 

Red faced and furious Rhaegar glared at his sister who was causally slipping her feet back into her shoes. She smoothed out a wrinkle in a dress and adjusted the ribbon in her hair all while appearing oblivious to the enraged Prince. “There will not be a next time!” he ruled, as only a highborn, first son could. 

Daenerys laughed humorlessly at his attempt at telling the future. “I hardly think you of all people are in a position to chastise me about romance.” 

All the blood that had been pooling in his face was suddenly elsewhere and he looked white as Northern snow. It was quite impressive how Daenerys seemed to cut him down so effectively, and without mercy. Arya was left to wonder what exactly happened after she fell unconscious in the throne room. She wasn’t complaining, but as recently as yesterday morning Daenerys speaking to Rhaegar so harshly would have been unthinkable. 

“Let’s go!” he demanded, “we aren’t having this conversation here.” What he really meant was ‘not in front of Arya.’ He didn’t know that there was nothing about him that was a secret to her, so he was wasting time and energy on a reputation that was long gone. 

“Go,” she urged the Princess. “I’ll see you when you get back.” 

Given her clear objective to get under Rhaegar’s skin and make him uncomfortable, Arya thought it possible she’d profess her love before they parted. She didn’t. 

When Barristan escorted Daenerys out into the hall and Rhaegar didn’t immediately turn to follow. Arya didn’t know if they were going to have some sort of heart-to-heart about her intentions or maybe he’d rather fight to the death, she’d be ready, regardless of his choice. 

He didn’t say anything though. He just stared. Looking at Arya, at the bed, and then at Arya again. She wasn’t sure what she was witnessing at first. If he’d only stayed an extra minute, she probably wouldn’t have remembered where she’d seen the strange expression but as he lingered, continuing to stare, she put it together. It was happening again, just as it had on the first day she arrived in the Red Keep, he was looking at her and seeing Lyanna. When his eyes flickered to the spot Daenerys had been in, she wondered if he was recognizing the similarities in their situations. He didn’t need to know she was a Stark to see Daenerys was walking in the footsteps he made years before. Was he hypocritical enough to say Daenerys’s happiness wasn’t important enough to upset their father, when Rhaegar’s selfishness led to tens of thousands of deaths? 

R-C

Following Rhaegar and Ser Barristan, Daenerys just wanted to scream. She was so sick of this shit. It was her life whether she was born into royalty or not. She got to choose what she wanted and who she wanted and that was final. Rhaegar and everyone else were just going to have to learn to accept that. 

No one spoke, and Daenerys for one was fine with the uncomfortable tension. It served to feed her anger for the next round of arguments she was destined to have. 

Jorah disagreed, because he broke their newly forged rules when he asked, “Are you alright?” She kept walking without responding. 

They ended up in a private sitting room where Rhaegar held a lot of his personal appointments. The room had been arranged with him in mind, so there was a suitable chair for him to sit in and a place to store his cane within arms reach. She didn’t care where they did it, this conversation just needed to happen. 

“Wait out here!” Rhaegar commanded both knights. Daenerys had no desire to have Jorah join her, but she almost protested, purely out of spite. She decided to save her strength for more appropriate battles. 

He didn’t wait long. As soon as Barristan had the door closed between them, Rhaegar was yelling. “What in Seven Hells are you doing?” 

“About what?” 

Rhaegar had been going to his chair but he stopped and looked back. “You can’t do this Dany. You just can’t.” 

She pressed him for specifics, annoyed by the vague approach he was taking to his very specific objections. “I can’t be happy? Just because everyone else is miserable doesn’t mean I have to be too.” 

He got only a step closer to his chair before her words made him stop one more time. “No one is saying you can’t be happy. I want you to be happy…”

She laughed bitterly. “Let me guess, as long as I’m with someone suitable. Everyone thought Elia was suitable for you, tell me, how happy were you?” 

“That’s different,” he defended weakly, limping to his seat. 

“Or it’s not, and you’re just running out of excuses.”

She stood behind the chair directly opposite him, at the other end of the table. It gave her a clear view of his stunned expression. “What’s wrong with you?” 

With her? Playing dumb wouldn’t work this time. “Since when does there have to be something wrong with me? Why, because I did something the great Rhaegar Targaryen doesn’t agree with? Guess what big brother, if that’s how you keep score there is something wrong with a lot of people.” 

He didn’t respond until he was sitting at the table, with an expansive collection of food and drink he’d ordered hours earlier and never used laid out before him. “What were you thinking? This is reckless and stupid.”

“If this is what you brought me here to talk about, I’m going to leave. My private life is neither urgent nor concerns the Realm.”

“You’re not leaving!” he spat angrily. 

“Because you say so?” she challenged. “Why should I care what you think?” She took a step toward the door to prove her willingness to go. 

He threw up his hands. “Damn it, Dany! I’m trying to help you! What do you think Father will do if he finds out?!”

His attempt to make himself look like he was doing her a favor was all too familiar. He did it frequently when they disagreed and it usually persuaded her, but not this time. It also reminded her of his telling of his past, when he made it seem like all the horrible things that happened were merely unfortunate coincidences, without acknowledging that he set them in motion. “Now you want to help me,” she barked furiously. “Yesterday I begged for help. I offered you anything you wanted, and you claimed you were powerless. Now, because it is convenient for you, I’m supposed to accept your generous help?” 

Something lit the fuse inside Rhaegar and in an instant he was just as enraged as she was. “Don’t play the victim! You threatened to tell Aemon what you know.”

If that was his biggest concern, he vastly underestimated Daenerys’s anger with him, the castle and its inhabitants. “So, you let Arya get whipped to punish me, to see me suffer? I think I liked it better when I thought you were spineless.” 

That hit its mark. Rhaegar fumed. “Watch your mouth Dany. I know you’re angry but…”

“But what,” she roared, “why can’t you just admit you are afraid of Father?” 

“He’s the King, and our father. I show him the respect he deserves, something you seem to have forgotten how to do!” 

“Yes,” Daenerys agreed, “he is our father, but so what? Yesterday our father had an innocent woman whipped and for what?” 

“What did you think would happen?” he shouted from his end of the table. “The King gave her a job to do and she failed to do it. She’s lucky it was just the whip.” 

Although there was probably some truth in his hurtful comment, especially the last part, Daenerys didn’t want to hear it. Luckily her anger quickly overwhelmed the guilt she felt over why Arya failed her assigned task. She could carry the blame later, for now, she needed to focus on the fury. “Would you say that if it was Lyanna upstairs with her back torn up?”

“Don’t,” he growled, raising a hand as if he could swat away her uncomfortable comparison. “That’s not the same thing, it’s not even close!”

Oh, how wrong he was. She and Rhaegar were practically tripping over one another their relationships were so twisted. He loved Lyanna, she loves Arya, Aemon, the war, the Starks. “You loved Lyanna, I love Arya, I’d say that’s the same.” 

It was clear from the momentary flash of surprise that passed over him that Rhaegar hadn’t thought of that. He assumed after finding them that she’d taken Arya into her bed, but he hadn’t yet considered that it might be more than sex. “No!” he announced, like a stiff refusal from the beloved Prince would fix everything. “You can’t. If Father finds out, if anyone finds out...” he trailed off and then summarized, “you just can’t.” 

That excuse might have scared her into obedience once but not today. She’d faced down Grand Maester Pycelle, and Jorah already, she wasn’t about to wither just because Rhaegar commanded it. “Why would Father care!?” she shouted back. “Why do you? I’m a Targaryen, remember. We can do no wrong.” 

“You can’t do this Dany,” Rhaegar tried. “She’s in your service, and she’s not even sworn to this house. She’s a Martell.” 

“So, I have a consort. I’m hardly the first, right brother?” 

“She serves you, it’s not right,” he said again, as his defense got flimsier. “Targaryen’s don’t make consorts of bastards.”

“Since when?” She scoffed and rolled her eyes to let him know exactly what she thought of that particular excuse. “Viserys ran around this castle for years ordering anyone who couldn’t refuse him to bed,” she reminded him hotly.

“You don’t want to be like Viserys.” 

She ignored him. “Did you know he threatened them?” she asked seriously, genuinely curious if Rhaegar knew how depraved the younger Prince was. “He said if they refused him, or if they told anyone, he’d go to Father and claim they were plotting against him.” 

“By the Gods.”

“Did you know?” she asked directly, remembering the night Arya was faced with that same terrible choice. Had the brother that was supposed to protect her and all of Westeros known and let it go on? There was a time when she wouldn’t have even needed to ask but those days were behind them. 

“I knew he took women to bed, but I didn’t know he threatened them.” 

“He did,” she confirmed. “I heard it from one of women he propositioned.” 

“That’s horrible,” Rhaegar admitted, “but Viserys is not you. You need to do better. End things, let her return to Dorne with Oberyn, and we can all move past this.” He softened his voice, turning kind and benevolent despite the yelling. 

“Are we done here?” she asked plainly, tiring of this pointless conversation. 

“We agree then. She’ll return to Sunspear?” 

She groaned in frustration. “Is that what you heard? I’m not doing anything wrong. If you want to tell Father go ahead, but I love Arya and I’m not going to pretend otherwise to appease you or anyone else. Go on,” she invited him, “tell me if it was you in my place and Lyanna in Arya’s, tell me you’d do any different!” 

On her way to the door, she cursed her choice to get out of bed. She could have spent the time with Arya instead of engaging in this pitiful back and forth with her brother. She had her hand on the knob before he replied. “Daenerys, wait.” 

She was tempted to slide out the door, but something made her pause. She looked in his direction. “Yes?”

“Yesterday can’t happen again,” he said firmly. 

On that much at least they could agree. “You’re right,” she told him, it can’t.” 

Any common ground she thought they’d found fell away immediately. “No,” he corrected. “I mean Aemon. You can never threaten to use what you know about Lyanna against me like that again. Do you understand?”

And there it was, the reason for all of this. The urgent meeting, the danger to the Realm, it had nothing to do with Arya or her, that was all noise. The real reason he was upset, the only reason she was worthy of his time at all was because he was scared she’d tell Aemon. How pathetic. Hiding his fears behind concern for her and outrage at Arya, but it was selfishness. She was reminded of how he described his behavior before the war. ‘It was selfish’ he said of him and Lyanna running away without telling anyone. Not much had changed. 

She had the door partially open before Rhaegar’s booming authoritative voice reached her. “Tell me you understand Daenerys, this is not a game.” 

She threw the door back into its place with force, letting it slam. Then she spun on her heel to face him. “Exactly, it’s not a game, it’s your son’s life and his happiness. Tell him the fucking truth,” she implored. “He deserves it.” 

“That’s not up to you!” he told her as if it was undisputable. 

She had the door open again before she left him with one final thought. “Unless it is.” 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Daenerys isn’t done with Rhaegar by a longshot, and her latest fight with Jorah is my favorite. No turning back now. I hope everyone who has waited this long is happy with Daenerys. 
> 
> Lots more to come. 
> 
> Happy Holidays. See you in the New Year. 
> 
> Russell Craig.


	53. Chapter 53

Although tempted to rush straight back to Arya, the logical part of Daenerys’s brain knew there was some business she should attend to first. Her feet carried her away from Arya and toward the guest quarters Oberyn was occupying. He wasn’t there. Where had he gone? She tried to recall the last time she’d seen the Dornishman, but a lot of the last day and a half blurred together into an incoherent mess. 

With every step, Daenerys could feel Jorah’s eyes on her. He wanted to say something, and she had a pretty good idea what. The door to the meeting room where she and her brother had their latest disagreement was well-made, but it wasn’t designed to block out all sound. It was anyone’s guess what exactly Jorah heard, but it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he wouldn’t be happy to learn any number of the things she confessed in anger. 

“Where are we going Princess?” he asked to try and start the conversation he was so desperate to have. 

She knew it was petty, but she wanted someone to agree with her. She wanted someone to say that Rhaegar was being selfish and unreasonable. Arya was the natural choice, but she was still recovering. Missandei was outside the walls with Grey Worm and that left the visiting Dornish Prince. She knew she’d find a sympathetic ear as well as wise counsel, and given the bad blood that existed between her brother and Oberyn, he wouldn’t be opposed to letting her fume about her difficulties with the Crown Prince. Admittedly disappointed that he hadn’t been there, Daenerys wasn’t worried. He wouldn’t leave without telling them, so it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again. Her grudge would be ready and waiting. 

She owed Jorah a response of some kind so after an exaggerated sigh she told him of her next stop. “We need to find Tyrion,” she said as she began descending a series of stairs. 

“The Lannister?”

She looked back at him incredulously. “Do you know any others?” How had she not seen it before? It was blatantly obvious now – her brother, Jorah, everyone had been treating her like she was stupid for years, and she let them. She’d been so busy trying to keep the peace, she never considered how little they must think of her to treat her so dismissively. Well, she was noticing it now, and there was no going back. 

“No.”

“Let’s go find the one you know,” she quipped sarcastically. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked right before they reached Tyrion’s office. 

“No.”

The door was open, so she walked in without knocking and left Jorah in the hall to protect against assassins or rapers or whatever his mandate was. Tyrion was behind his desk. He had his head in a ledger and was mumbling to himself. Lost in the numbers, he didn’t immediately acknowledge her. 

She waited calmly until he did. He hadn’t been expecting her, that was clear, but he did offer a polite smile before he closed his book and asked, “Is everything alright?”

“Not really,” she admitted. She tried to make it seem like a good-natured retort, but he saw through it easily. 

He motioned to the vacant chair on her side of the massive desk. “Sit, would you like a drink?”

She nodded and smoothed out her dress before sitting down. Tyrion had his back to her, pouring their beverages when he spoke. “How is she?”

“She’s okay,” Daenerys stated carefully, hoping it wasn’t a lie. “She seems better today, more clearheaded at least. She’s in a lot of pain, but she’s strong-willed and stubborn.” 

“Those are both qualities that will serve her well now,” he noted. He gave her an understanding smile to go along with the goblet he passed her. 

“Thank you,” she said for more than just the drink. “I wanted to come and see you, to let you know that I won’t be able to host any meetings for a while.” 

She didn’t need to say anymore. “Of course not. Think nothing of it.”

Daenerys did feel bad about abandoning the job she invented for herself, but Arya was her priority and it had to be that way for the foreseeable future. “I’ll gladly begin again when things settle.” 

“I understand,” he promised. They each took a sip and before Daenerys could decide what to say next, Tyrion surprised her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop what happened. If I thought my father would listened to me, I would have spoken on her behalf. My defending her was more likely to make things worse.” 

Appreciative of the sentiment, she knew he needn’t blame himself. She pushed the goblet aside so she could reach across the desk without spilling. “This isn’t your fault Tyrion, there is nothing you could have done.” 

He nodded to confirm he heard, then added, “I wish there was.”

Daenerys could certainly relate to that. “I know that, and I’m grateful and so is Arya.” 

“Will you let her know I asked about her?” 

“You should come see her,” she suggested. “She tires quickly but enjoys the company, and I think she’s growing sick of me.” 

“I find that hard to believe.” There was a twinkle in the Lannister’s eye that made her wonder if he knew there was more to Arya and Daenerys’s relationship than respect and mutual admiration. Having already confessed to Rhaegar, there was little point in keeping the secret. She trusted Tyrion to be discrete. Nonetheless she would be happier if she didn’t have to try and justify her feelings again. “In my earliest days here, I was advised you were the one and only person in the Crownlands Arya Sand actually likes.” 

Daenerys chuckled. She’d heard that particular rumor too. Everyone knew how Arya came to be in her service, so naturally the story got embellished over time. Plenty still believed Arya was counting the seconds until she could return to Sunspear and leave the Red Keep behind. Although she was confident it wasn’t true, a knot tied in Daenerys’s stomach as she thought about Arya leaving her behind. The gossips didn’t realize how right they were when they spoke of the Dornishwoman’s hate for the capital. They were wrong about her motives, but more was accurate than Daenerys cared to acknowledge. “She’s come a long way,” Daenerys laughed, hoping to distract herself from where her mind had gone, “now she spends time with you, Missandei, Grey Worm, Aemon, and even Aidan without whining too much.” 

Tyrion raised his glass in a mock toast. “To Arya Sand’s expanding tolerances.” 

Since he wouldn’t lower his hand until she raised hers, Daenerys did. Ignoring Tyrion’s satisfied smirk, she tried to appear unamused. “Where is Aidan?” she asked, looking around the office for any sign of the hard-working little boy. 

There was an uncharacteristic delay before he replied. “Your handmaiden came and got him this morning,” Tyrion explained. “She said she was going into the city to purchase things for you and wanted to know if Aidan wished to join her.” 

That was incredibly sweet. She hadn’t thought of it, but she was glad Missandei did. “That’s good, he shouldn’t have to work all the time.” 

“Why not?” Tyrion complained. “I do.” 

“So, then you labored over your ledgers all night?” she tested. “You didn’t retire early and share a bottle of expensive wine with a friend or two instead, m’lord?” As she laid the trap for him, she put particular emphasis on the word ‘friend.’

Rather than answer he steered them to something else, which was as good as hearing an actual confirmation. “How are you?”

Any enjoyment she felt teasing Tyrion disappeared when she thought of the answer to that question and the reasons why. She sighed and confessed how frazzled her emotions were. 

Without meaning to, her quick stop by Tyrion’s office turned into a long, friendly chat on a wide variety of topics. By the time she was ready to leave her anger and frustrations had dropped to a more manageable level. On the way out she felt considerably better than she had when she entered. 

R-C

Daenerys was on her way back to Arya when a voice stopped her in her tracks. “Dany, wait!” Her eyes closed without permission and she fought the urge to whine about her poor luck. It wasn’t his fault she was upset, she reminded herself. 

She turned to face Aemon but had to look around Jorah to locate him. She knew this was going to happen, from the moment she threatened Rhaegar with the truth, this had been inevitable. She couldn’t avoid him, and sincerely, she didn’t want to, but the hall, halfway to Grand Maester Pycelle’s office was hardly the appropriate place for such a monumental discussion. She stepped around the knight and managed a smile for her nephew. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she replied honestly, “it’s been a little busy.” 

He ducked his head in understanding. Rather than asking about her very public disagreement with his father or the mysterious threat she made that involved him, Aemon showed his heart by checking on Arya first. “Is Arya doing alright? I went in earlier, but she was sleeping.” 

“She’s okay,” Daenerys summarized. “I’m going there now. Why don’t you join me? I know Arya would like to see you.” 

She naively hoped that keeping the focus on Arya’s health might delay what would come after. “Are you sure she wouldn’t mind? I don’t want to bother…”

Daenerys cut him off. “She’d enjoy it, trust me.” Whether he knew it or not, Aemon was family and seeing her family would do nothing but brighten Arya’s day. Thinking of the Starks reminded Daenerys of her need to send a raven to Highgarden. Sansa needed to hear about what happened from her, before word reached her some other way. 

“Alright, lead on then,” he proposed. They walked in blissful silence for all of three steps before he shattered it. “There is something I wanted to talk to you about, before we see Arya.”

She tensed in anticipation of the incoming blow. Aemon deserved to know. Just because she wanted to avoid an uncomfortable conversation didn’t mean he should be denied the answers he’d been searching for his whole life. “Alright.” They stopped walking and Daenerys waved Jorah away, to give them additional privacy. It was far from ideal, but better than nothing. 

“After the…” he trailed off and tried again, “after yesterday, I went to the throne room, to get Arya’s things but her armor and her sword weren’t there.” 

Daenerys was stunned. That was the private matter Aemon wanted to talk about?! She couldn’t believe it. Too busy thinking about what she expected him to say, it took longer than it should’ve for her to comprehend what he was telling her. Arya’s armor was missing? The Valyrian steel sword she commissioned had been stolen? The rage she’d been working to contain spilled over. Who would do such a thing, thieving from a woman who’d just been whipped? Unfortunately, there were too many likely culprits to assign blame to any one man. “It’s gone?” she verified. Hadn’t Arya suffered enough? How was Daenerys going to tell her that her armor was missing? And it was the armor that mattered. That armor was a symbol of Arya’s progression, from servant to soldier, from the life that was forced upon her, to the one she fought for and earned. It couldn’t be replaced. As for the sword, Daenerys didn’t know if Arya would ever want to see the weapon again. If she didn’t, the Princess wouldn’t blame her. Although given with pure intentions, it had caused nothing but trouble. All because Aerys saw it and assumed it was too good to belong to a bastard. He thought Arya was merely carrying it for Daenerys and she was too fearful to correct him. It didn’t seem important, but oh how wrong she’d been. 

“I’ve asked around,” Aemon said, drawing her from her thoughts, “but no one knows what happened to it.” 

“Thank you for letting me know. I hadn’t even thought of that. I’ll see if I can track it down.” She wasn’t sure where to begin, but she knew she had to try. 

“You’ve had a lot going on,” he said to excuse the oversight. Daenerys was preparing to continue their walk, but Aemon wasn’t done. She should’ve guessed it was too good to be true. “I know now isn’t the best time,” he said to preface the rest, “but later, can we talk about happened between you and Father?”

His request was so sincere that she didn’t even think about refusing him. “Yes, but it really is something you should hear from Rhaegar.” 

“I asked him about it,” he assured her. “He said it didn’t matter and that I should forget it.” 

Of course, he did. “When was this?”

“Last night. Why?”

“I met with your father earlier today. I told him he should be the one to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” he groaned, clearly out of patience. 

She thought for a moment and formulated a plan. “Give him one more chance,” she advised. “Let’s just visit Arya for now. Try speaking to your father again tonight and if he still refuses to discuss it, you and I can talk in the morning. Agreed?”

He was less than thrilled about another delay, but she was giving him more of a chance than anyone ever had before, and he was too smart to throw it away. “Agreed.” 

Jorah had backed away but not far enough to miss what Daenerys had offered her nephew. “What are you doing?” he hissed in an exaggerated whisper. 

She knew precisely what he meant but played dumb. “Going to see Arya,” she told him with a straight face. 

R-C

Neither Targaryen anticipated walking in to see Arya standing, leaning on the arms of the chair Daenerys spent the night in. She had her back to them, giving Aemon his first glimpse of the mess the whip left behind. Even covered with bandages it was enough to startle him. “By the Gods,” he muttered. 

Daenerys didn’t have time to comfort him, she pushed past Rhaegar’s son who was on her right and rushed toward the bed. “Arya! What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t stand it, another second laying down and I was going to lose my mind.” 

The unguarded honesty in that statement tugged at her heart, but that wasn’t all she felt. Where in Seven Hells were the Maesters? They were supposed to be taking care of her. Arya was undeniably in pain, hunched over the chair like that. Her left arm, which was partially wrapped was shaking under the weight, nearly ready to buckle at any moment. How long had she been standing there?

“You should’ve waited, I would’ve helped you.” She was with Arya now but unsure of her next move. The only time she’d seen someone try and assist her, she nearly fell, and they worsened her pain. Daenerys wanted to avoid that if possible. 

“I don’t need help!” she barked, her frustrations boiling over. 

Having spent most of the morning arguing with people, while getting plenty of practice speaking her mind regardless of how it would be received, she was tempted to do so again. ‘Obviously you do,’ she wanted to say in reference to Arya’s predicament, but she refrained. Arya wasn’t Rhaegar or Jorah, Arya hadn’t lied or betrayed her. Arya was who she was fighting for, not who she should be yelling at. She was also quick to acknowledge that Arya’s situation had to be difficult. The Stark was a woman of action and now she was confined to a bed needing assistance for the most basic of tasks. Daenerys would be restless too. 

She swallowed down her unhelpful comment and tried another angle. “How can I help? What do I do love? Do you want to go back to bed?”

“No!” she said immediately, at the same time she gritted her teeth against a fresh wave of pain. “I just wanted to stand up, but I only got this far.” 

“You want to stand up?”

“Yes, please, just for a minute.” 

Okay, she could do that, but how? She studied her lover’s injuries carefully and looked for a place to touch that wouldn’t make things worse. Arya had done the majority of the work, getting off the bed and up onto her feet, she just lacked the strength to straighten her upper body, likely because it required the use of so many injured muscles. 

Without any experiences to call on, she decided to rely on her instincts. She’d do what came naturally and hope she didn’t hurt the one person who mattered most to her in the process. From directly behind the guard, she slipped her arms under Arya’s. She had both her arms straight, leaning on the chair, so it was easy for Daenerys to slide underneath. 

Arya tensed, but didn’t move. The Princess tentatively put a hand on Arya’s stomach, near her belly button. Amazingly, even through the thick bandages, she could feel the ridges of her muscles. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Arya eventually replied, breathing heavy. 

“Okay I’m going to do the same on the other s…”

“No!” 

Her hand stopped moving. “Okay, not there. Where sweetheart?”

“It hurts there,” she admitted quietly, “higher, away from my hip.” 

She was sincerely afraid as she sought out a place to set her hand. She could tell Arya was sore and tired, and they couldn’t keep this up forever. They needed to get her into a more comfortable position soon or she’d fall. 

Daenerys knew she found the right spot because when her hand made contact Arya began leaning into her. Her breathing quickly levelled as well. Within seconds and without the royal needing to do much more than provide support, Arya straightened up to her usual height. 

Upright, Daenerys was impressed by how well Arya was moving. She winced in pain frequently and had to move slower and more cautiously than was common, but she was doing it. After a little dancing between them, they ended up face to face with Arya’s hands off the chair, holding Daenerys’s instead. It felt right having Arya’s fingers laced with hers again, even if the guard’s palms were a little damp. “Are you okay?” she inquired. She knew how much Arya hated that particular question, but couldn’t keep the words in. 

“Never better,” she retorted with a smirk. “I needed to get out of the bed, and I was right, the view is much better.”

She was a woman who had been praised for her beauty since before she could walk, and yet Arya’s compliments and the heated stare that came with them, had her feeling like a girl again, blushing and chewing on her lip. “I know the feeling,” she promised. “Now let’s get you back in bed, I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

The firm grip holding her hands tightened. “Not the bed,” she half demanded, half pleaded. “The chair, please. Just let me sit up for a while.” 

Daenerys looked at the chair she’d occupied for hours and instead of a comfortable padded seat she saw something similar to her father’s throne, with sharp, uncomfortable edges and an unforgiving frame. “Really? Your back is ready for that?”

“I won’t lean back much,” she proposed as a compromise. “I just can’t lie down again, not yet.” 

That tug in her heart got more insistent. If they were going to make a life together, Daenerys was going to need to learn to resist and not be swayed by Arya’s innocent-sounding requests. As it was, she felt powerless to deny her. “How are we going to do this?” she wondered aloud. 

“I’ll help,” Aemon offered, announcing to them that he was there. Shit. Daenerys had forgotten about him.

“What are you doing here,” Arya asked as he stepped away from the door and into her line of sight. 

“Came to see you, but you were a little busy, so I thought I’d wait.” 

Arya smiled against her pain. “Sorry about that.”

He matched her expression perfectly and Daenerys definitely saw the Stark resemblance. “Don’t mention it.” 

Before she and Aemon worked to get Arya into the chair, he appeared at her side. “Someone’s been keeping a secret,” he teased. 

She rolled her eyes unconvincingly, confident her satisfied grin stole credibility from the angry exterior she was going for. They probably should have told Aemon a while ago, but telling him nothing seemed easier than telling him half of it. “Later, help me get her settled before she falls.” 

“She can hear you,” Arya announced. 

Daenerys shook her head, but her smile didn’t fade. This, she realized, must be what it was like to be part of a family, a happy, healthy family. She liked it, a lot. 

R-C

Aemon’s visit was nice. Sitting in the room’s only chair Arya tried not to show how much discomfort she was in. If Daenerys knew how bad it was, she’d stop asking how she was and start demanding that she rest. Arya didn’t want that. Painful or not, sitting was better than being in bed. She was losing her mind lying there. She needed to move around. She was lucky Daenerys came in when she did. She’d been stuck for a while and was running out of energy and ideas. Each time she tried to straighten up it was like a new lash of the whip against her lower back. It made finishing what she’d started impossible. 

Aemon’s concern for her was touching, but Arya could tell he had a lot on his mind. She kept waiting for the Targaryens to bring it up, but it never happened. 

Eventually when Aemon had finished teasing them about their relationship, and stopped worrying about Arya’s injuries, they moved on to simpler things. The soldiers talked about Aemon’s training. He stood against the wall, opposite Arya, while Daenerys sat on the bed. The lovers held hands, exchanging the occasional look or whispered word. More often than not, Aemon would ridicule them for any romantic gestures, but it was all in good fun and more than a fair trade in Arya’s opinion. 

It was peaceful and easy and even with her wounds it was a good memory, the sort Arya wanted to keep. If Sansa and Oberyn were there, she’d have her whole family in one place. 

The knock came just as Arya was preparing to admit she needed to lie back down. Her weak muscles were sore and the longer she sat, the more she leaned back into the chair for support. Each time that happened it inflamed her tears. 

“I’ll get it,” Aemon said since he was already on his feet. 

“Are you okay?” Daenerys whispered as soon as his back was turned. 

With no interest in that question, she focused on something far more important. “I love you.”

Daenerys’s eyes were brighter than the sun coming through the window. “I love you too.”

Their moment ended when Aemon summoned the Princess. “Dany, Jorah says you have a visitor.” 

“Send them in,” she instructed without looking away from the guard. 

“He needs to speak to you alone.”

She sighed, causing Arya to chuckle. Daenerys looked cute when she was out of patience. Then again Arya found her attractive constantly, so that was hardly noteworthy. 

She stood up but didn’t step away. “Do you think people would stop insisting on private meetings if they knew I was going to tell you everything they said anyway?” 

“Maybe,” Arya allowed with a smirk. 

Daenerys smiled despite her annoyance. “I’m tired of it. Nothing anyone has had to say to me today couldn’t have waited.”

“That’s not true,” she resisted, causing Daenerys to pause to hear the rest. “Telling you that I love you couldn’t wait.” She said the words, she meant them, and most importantly she wanted Daenerys to believe them, but she still felt childish and silly saying them out loud. Her face heated as a result. 

Aemon was probably watching, Jorah was at the door and her guest was with him, but she stayed exactly where she was, defiant and unhurried. “I love you too,” Daenerys swore, leaning down for a quick kiss. 

They would need to talk about Daenerys’s sudden willingness to put their relationship on display eventually, but until then Arya tried to follow the Dragon’s lead as best as she could in her battered condition. 

Daenerys left to tend to her business and Aemon came to take the spot on the bed. “So, you and Dany, huh?”

“What can I say? She’s hard not to like.”

“That must be where I get it from,” he joked. 

“It is,” Arya assured him seriously. “I didn’t think I’d like it here, but I was given an order and I followed it.” 

“And now?”

She moved her hand off the chair and nudged his elbow. “Now, there’s Daenerys, and you, Missandei and Grey Worm, even the Imp. Like I said, you’re hard not to like.” 

Their easy back and forth ended abruptly when Aemon put her on the spot. “Do you know what Daenerys wants to tell me?”

Unwilling to lie, she kept it simple. “Yes.”

“Is it bad?” He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “I was so sure I wanted to know, and now I don’t know if I do. If it’s got my father and Dany fighting like this, if it’s got everyone so angry, maybe I should just forget it.” 

With effort she reached out for him again and took his hand. She wasn’t very good at providing comfort, but she was going to try. “No, you shouldn’t forget anything. The questions you have, you have a right to the answers. Daenerys believes that, and so do I.” 

“Was it like this for you too?” he wondered. “You’re a Sand, did you ever look for your father.” 

She pictured Ned Stark in her mind and was struck by the many similarities he shared with Aemon. “My situation was different,” she explained gently, “but if I had the questions you do, I wouldn’t stop asking either.” 

He seemed pleased by the acknowledgement that she’d do the same in his place. “I didn’t know I could feel like this, so anxious and terrified at the same time.”

She nodded, sparking new pain she had to push through. “Once you know everything, it’ll feel strange and it’ll change a lot of things you thought you knew, but no matter what, I want you to remember that your aunt and I, we’re on your side, always. Here, Sunspear, the Wall or anywhere in between, if you need me Aemon for anything, I’ll be there.” 

The world looked at Rhaegar’s youngest son and saw a Targaryen. All Arya could see was the sharp features, the dark hair and the grey eyes. He saw the shadow of an aunt she never met. He was a Stark to her even if he didn’t know it, and that entitled him to as much of her as she gave Sansa, including her promise to come when called. She knew it was the right thing, but it was one more instance where she had doubts about if her father would approve. If he didn’t agree, she hoped he could at least understand. Watching out for Lyanna’s son, regardless of who his father was, was the honorable thing to do. 

R-C

Jaime Lannister wasn’t the last person Daenerys expected to seek her out, but he was near the bottom of the list. What was this about? 

He smiled in that charming way of his, so distinctly different from Tyrion’s and so alike at the same time. “Sorry to bother you Princess, I just need a minute.” 

“Of course.” Jorah closed the door once she was out and then lingered over Daenerys’s shoulder. She looked back at him. “You can leave us Ser.” 

“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Jorah protested, amusing Jaime. 

“She’ll be fine. I just need a few moments.” 

Mormont scowled at the younger man. “Speak then. No one is stopping you.” 

Daenerys turned on him fully, glaring. “I told you to leave us. Now go and do not make me repeat myself!” 

She wasn’t in the mood for this. She didn’t ask for Jorah’s help. She didn’t need a guard anyway. She was with Arya most of the time and when she wasn’t, she was in a castle filled with armed soldiers. 

Realizing this was a battle he wouldn’t win, Jorah relented, closing his mouth before his next attempt could leak out. He retreated quickly but didn’t go far. She turned back to the Lion and found him grinning as he watched Jorah skulk away. “So hard to find good help, isn’t it?”

She didn’t regret reminding Jorah who was in charge, and she didn’t feel guilty for doing it in front of Jaime. She’d given him an order and he didn’t obey it, that was unacceptable. Just because he had a history of bringing her over to his way of thinking, didn’t mean she had to tolerate him defying her in public. Those days were over. Still, she had no interest in joining in with Jaime to mock him further. “Is that what you wished to discuss with me Ser, the quality of allies available?”

He smiled broadly, seemingly pleased by her cold remark. “No, we can postpone that debate for now.”

“I’d appreciate that.” 

He took a breath, watched her briefly as if searching for something specific and then glanced at the knight from Bear Island. Jorah had backed away but was watching intently. “I found some things I think you’d be interested in.” 

Was it a requirement that all fighting men need be so cryptic? Why couldn’t they just say what they meant? “Is that so. I’m quite busy, perhaps this too can wait.” She didn’t know what he’d found or why she’d care but he was eating into her time with Arya. 

“These items,” he clarified, “I think you’ll agree once you see them that getting them back to their rightful owner is of the upmost importance.”

More vague shit. “Alright, show me.” 

“Follow me,” he said after nodding in agreement. Mercifully, it was close by. When she heard Jorah behind her, she raised her hand and signaled for him to stop. “I didn’t want these to be lost in the madness of yesterday,” he told her just before they reached their destination. 

Less than fifty feet from the door Arya was behind, the hallway widened to a small alcove. There were benches and chairs, and a low table with decorative flowers, but Daenerys couldn’t focus on any of that. All she saw was Arya’s armor. The same armor Aemon told her was missing. Jaime had it?! “You? Why?” 

She tried to pull the words back, but it was too late. She hadn’t meant to sound so accusatory, thankfully the Lannister didn’t take offense. “I don’t know your guard very well Princess,” he admitted, “but what I do know, I like. What happened yesterday,” he stopped talking and pinned her with a serious expression that said everything she needed to know. “If it had been me,” he continued, “I would have wanted someone to gather my things.” 

“Thank you,” she replied sincerely. “I just learned they were missing, and I was at a loss for how to begin searching.” 

He nodded and Daenerys thought they were done. She went to the table and began gathering up Arya’s belongings. “The sword,” she asked, realizing it wasn’t there. She dropped the breastplate and turned back to the Kingsguard, “did you find her sword as well?”

“I had it sent to your quarters,” he informed her. “A blade that fine, I didn’t want to leave it out on the table with the rest of her things.” 

“Thank you,” she said again, aware the words weren’t enough. “I can’t tell you how much this will mean to her.” 

With a knowing smile, he put his hand over the three-headed-dragon on his chest. “I have a pretty good idea.”

She chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you do.” 

“You know,” he said, surprising her for a second time by prolonging their exchange, “not too long ago my brother came to me. He showed me an exquisite, Valyrian steel sword and asked my opinion.” 

Anxiety was bubbling in her gut, but she tried to remain calm, outwardly at least. “And what did you think of it?”

All traces of humor gone, he responded. “I told Tyrion it was one of the finest swords I’d ever seen. I asked him what he was doing with it, and he told me a story about his friend, who had it forged for someone special.”

Unsure of where he was going with this, she just waited. Jaime Lannister learning Daenerys gave Arya a sword was hardly the most damning revelation to come to light recently. 

“I offered to buy it from him, from his friend, but Tyrion refused and that’s unlike him. Not even the promise of a hefty purse was enough to change his mind.” 

This was new information to her. Tyrion never mentioned that his brother tried to buy the sword, only that he approved of it. “it wasn’t his to sell,” she reminded him firmly. 

He smiled, perfectly at ease. “No, it wasn’t. I’ve asked him several times since what became of the sword and he refused to speak of it. Not even wine loosened his tongue.” 

It seemed she owed Tyrion more than she knew. She and Arya never told him about their relationship, but for the second time that day she was considering that perhaps they didn’t need to, maybe he just knew. “I don’t know what to say,” she confessed. “That’s an interesting tale.” 

“I wanted the sword,” Jaime explained, “because I couldn’t stand the thought of a weapon like that hanging on the wall or collecting dust some place. A masterwork like that should be put to use as the Gods intended.” 

“I agree,” she contributed carefully, still unsure of where he was leading her. 

“I’m glad it’s not collecting dust,” he declared, finally getting to the point. “Tell Arya I hope she recovers quickly, and to be ready because I wish to spar with her and that sword as soon as she’s able.” 

The thought of watching Arya fend off attacks made her nauseous, but she knew without a doubt that her lover wouldn’t share those concerns. “I’m sure she’d welcome the chance.” 

With one final nod in place of a farewell, he took his leave. She watched him go for several seconds before her emotions settled. That was interesting. Daenerys pivoted back to the table and began filling her arms with various pieces of Martell armor. 

From where he was watching Jorah hurried over. “Here Princess, let me carry that for you.”

Her arms were full and balancing everything was a bit like solving a puzzle in the dark, but she managed. Arya’s armor wasn’t made up of meaningless slabs of steel with insignificant markings. It was irreplaceable to her, and that mattered to Daenerys. Somehow letting Jorah carry the armor for her felt wrong. She was the one who loved Arya, she wanted to be the one to return the items to her. “I’m fine.”

“Princess please, you’re going to drop it.” 

His faith in her was inspiring. “Then I’ll pick it up,” she snapped. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” She had better things to do than argue with Jorah Mormont. Arya deserved her armor back. 

R-C

She took a deep breath and savored the silence. It had been a long day. The familiar, coarse weight of Arya’s hand in hers kept her thoughts from wandering too far from the present. Right now, this moment, was good. 

No one could deny that the Red Keep was full of lying, scheming men and women who manipulated as naturally as they sucked in air, but Daenerys was beginning to see its opposite side too. Tyrion offered her a drink and friendly conversation after she told him she needed a break from the meetings he arranged for her. Missandei took Aidan out into the city shopping with her. Grey Worm protected them while never once complained about all the purchases he was asked to carry. Aemon had every right to be distracted, and yet he checked on Arya and spent time with her, leaving his own problems for later. Jaime Lannister even brought back Arya’s armor without asking for anything in return. There was plenty of bad in the castle, and there always would be, but Daenerys was beginning to understand what she needed to do, and where she needed to look to find some of the good. 

After Arya was sleeping Daenerys snuck away to the rookery to send a raven to Highgarden. Aidan accompanied her. He was fascinated by the animals and entertained himself by talking to the birds while Daenerys wrote to Sansa. Arya hadn’t wanted her to, she didn’t want her sister to worry, but Daenerys insisted. There were no secrets in the Red Keep, not for long anyway. Sooner or later Highgarden would hear of the whipping of Daenerys’s personal guard. She preferred if Sansa heard it from her. The letter was filled with sincere apologies and promises to keep her updated, but the words felt utterly insignificant. How could she ever right such a tremendous wrong? For her part, Arya refused to discuss the whipping, or Daenerys’s role in causing it. but avoidance didn’t make it go away. Arya got hurt because of her, and that was something they would eventually need to deal with. Daenerys would never allow herself to forget or minimize the part she played. Her hope was that she could take the guilt and regret and use them as motivation to help not only Arya, but others who desperately needed it. 

She’d been back in the chair beside Arya’s bed for less than an hour when the door opened and one of the Maesters slipped in with Oberyn right behind. Daenerys got up from her seat and went to the Prince. “There you are. I was beginning to wonder if I’d see you again.” She wasn’t being wholly serious and yet the severe set of his features made her wonder if perhaps she should be. “Is everything alright? Where were you?”

The longer he went without responding the more concerned Daenerys became. “How is she?” he asked, taking a step toward the bed. 

“Resting now,” Daenerys said, feeling foolish for telling him what he could plainly see. “She had a good day I think, she was sore but she sat up and even stood for a few minutes.” 

From some hidden pocket he removed a vial of clear fluid. “This will help,” he told her before he handed it over. 

She took it and assessed it with a critical eye. She had no idea what she was looking at. “Not water?” she guessed. 

Oberyn chuckled. “Not water. That’s a tonic that should help control her pain.” 

She was instantly uneasy. “The dreams…”

“It shouldn’t effect her sleep. It doesn’t work as well as the poppy does, but it’s better than nothing.” 

Wow, she didn’t know such a thing existed. “Why didn’t the Maesters have this?” She wasn’t trying to be rude, but she was curious. Why hadn’t they been using this alternative remedy since Arya refused the milk of the poppy? 

“It requires a rare ingredient,” he explained. “That’s where I was, I spent the day meeting with contacts and buying up everyone’s supply. It should be more than enough for Arya to heal.” 

“That’s great!” Daenerys proclaimed a little too loudly. Three sets of eyes turned to the bed to see if Arya would wake. She didn’t. Daenerys chose to take that as proof her recovery was moving in the right direction. “Thank you Oberyn.” 

He smiled kindly. “I’ve given Maester Rodrick the supplies, he’ll mix up the rest, so it’s ready when she needs it.” 

Daenerys turned the vial over in her hand and watched the mixture move. “What’s this?” If the Maester had to brew the tonic, what was she holding? 

“I bought that one already mixed. You can give it to her when she wakes up, and by the time she’s in need of more Rodrick here will have it ready.” 

After the Maester confirmed he understood his role in the plot, Daenerys spoke to both of them in turn. “Thank you!”

Rodrick seemed genuinely pleased she wasn’t yelling. Oberyn on the other hand gave her another tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. If there was anything Daenerys Targaryen knew well it was insincere smiles. Why wasn’t he as thrilled as she was? 

She didn’t find out the answer until the Maester had finished his exam of Arya, waking her in the process. Arya was happy to see Oberyn there, and he peppered her with questions about her health and recovery. Although she rolled her eyes and grumbled more than once, she answered every inquiry honestly, a true testament to the bond between them. 

“What’s wrong?” Arya asked him, after Rodrick was gone. Daenerys didn’t know whether to feel relieved or afraid. She’d been right, it wasn’t her imagination, something was going on. 

“Have either of you seen the King today?”

Daenerys thought back to ensure she got the answer correct. “I saw him at dinner, when I was getting food for Arya and I, but we didn’t speak.” 

“And the Prince?”

“We did speak,” Daenerys recalled. “We met this morning and had a disagreement.” 

“About what?” Oberyn pressed. 

Daenerys hesitated. Arya, even from her bed noticed the change. “What’s going on? Stop asking her questions and tell us!” 

Unsure of what kind of a response a demand might bring out of Oberyn she tried to prepare for anything. He paused, looked at Arya for a moment and then nodded in acceptance. “When I was coming back with the ingredients, Tywin found me. I was escorted to a meeting with the King, the Crown Prince and the Hand.” 

That couldn’t be good. “What did they want?”

“For me to leave,” he told the Targaryen bluntly. The rest of the message was directed at Arya. “Since Viserys has returned with Eliza and the wedding is on schedule, the King has released you from Daenerys’s service. He wants us on a ship bound for Sunspear as soon as you’re able to ride.” 

Daenerys’s heart was breaking. Had it really been only minutes ago that she was thinking about the good in her life, about the positive things she’d discovered, and now she was being reminded of how deep the pits of despair could reach. “It’s Rhaegar,” she said confidently as tears welled in her eyes. “He knows about us and he ordered me to end it, I refused so he is trying to separate us by force.” 

She counted the seconds, waiting for one of them to disagree with her, hoping someone would provide another plausible explanation. It was eerily silent. When Arya did speak, she only said, “It’s going to be okay.” Usually, she tended to believe anything Arya told her, but this, this time she wasn’t so certain.

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: So, Daenerys is done hiding her feelings. That should make things interesting. 
> 
> Happy New Year to everyone reading. I apologize for the delay posting this chapter and for how short it is. This was the natural place to stop, before we dive in and see how Daenerys and Arya react. I promise the next chapter will make up for the lull in this one. 
> 
> Until then,
> 
> RC


	54. Chapter 54

Arya laid awake and squinted in the dark as she tried to memorize the woman next to her. The warmth, the softness, she refused to forget any of it. Even with Oberyn’s new tonic, every action brought pain. Daenerys clinging to her added more but Arya didn’t have the heart to remove her. Not when she was very likely running out of chances to be with the Dragon she loved. 

There would be time to rest and recover later. For now, she just wanted to soak up every second she could. She had to go back. Not long ago, that was all she wanted in the world. Now, the thought caused a knot to form in her stomach. How could she leave Daenerys, after everything? She didn’t want to, but what choice did she have? Aerys and Rhaegar were making it for her. 

Daenerys had been defiant. She wanted to fight, to disobey and face the consequences but Arya couldn’t let her do that. Before her last trip to the throne room, she intended to stay in King’s Landing by severing her ties to House Martell and pledging her sword to the Targaryens instead. She really believed it would have worked. Unfortunately, in her current state that wasn’t possible, and she didn’t think Rhaegar was going to wait patiently for her to heal. He wanted her away from the Princess, and one way or another, she would be. 

After Daenerys’s defiance came bargaining. She wanted to fix it, and she thought she could. Twice she tried to leave, to find her father or her brother or both, but each time Arya persuaded her to stay. She told her it was because she wanted to spend every available moment with her, and while that was true, Arya had a secondary motive. She didn’t want Daenerys placing herself in danger trying to change anyone’s mind. Not only did that have a low probability of success it also exposed Daenerys to grave danger. Although she liked to think her family would never harm her physically, the foster who’d suffered the whip wasn’t willing to bet Daenerys’s life on the likes of Aerys and Rhaegar. If she had to go, the least she could do was ensure she didn’t leave too great a mess behind her. 

In addition to Daenerys, she also had Oberyn to contend with. He looked livid when Daenerys started crying and physically pained when she began blaming herself for their predicament. He let the guard do the majority of the comforting but agreed when Arya made it clear that none of the blame belonged on Daenerys. 

He excused himself not long after and to be honest Arya wasn’t inclined to give it another thought. She was busy trying to calm her lover and assumed Oberyn was just giving them a little bit of privacy. She would have continued believing that if the Targaryen hadn’t stopped sobbing long enough to inquire about where he was going. It was while they waited for the answer that Arya’s eyes met Oberyn’s and she saw what she could only describe as a flicker of guilt. It was as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He assured Daenerys it was nothing important, just some business he needed to resolve before they left for Dorne. The royal accepted his excuse, Arya didn’t. She knew him too well, and knew he was planning something. 

In the end she let him go because she was powerless to stop him and because she knew the Red Viper could take care of himself. Daenerys needed Arya far more than he did. 

“I love you,” she whispered to the sleeping woman. She may not be able to hear, but Arya was running out of opportunities to say it so she seized this one. 

R-C

It wasn’t because of her back that Arya was awake when Daenerys woke with a gasp, wide eyed but seeing nothing, frantically grabbing for the person next to her. She knew the signs, knew what they meant and knew Daenerys wasn’t thinking. With that in mind she bit her cheek hard and tried to stifle the scream as a frightened Daenerys clawed into her bandaged hip. “Not…so…tight..” she spit between her teeth. 

There was another gasp, this one much more natural. Daenerys released Arya and threw herself in the opposite direction of the guard. By the time Arya had reins on her pain, Daenerys was off the bed entirely, clutching the sheet in front of her body wearing a look of absolute horror. 

“I’m alright,” Arya informed her before the string of apologizes could start, hoping it would settle some of the unrest Daenerys was sure to be feeling. 

The words made Daenerys more frantic instead of less. “I’m so sorry. I knew it was a bad idea, I never should have…”

Not even the pain of getting whipped could keep her in the bed. Daenerys needed her and she was useless to the woman she loved lying down. 

Daenerys saw her move and immediately misinterpreted the meaning. “What are you… oh are you hurt? Are you going to get the Maester, I can…”

“Stop,” Arya pleaded, hoping the request got through. “Please, just stop.” 

Daenerys was afraid to touch her, but when Arya struggled to stand as she had the day before, Daenerys couldn’t refrain from offering aid. Arya took it, straightened up but maintained her hold on the Princess’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, already near tears. 

“Look at me,” Arya instructed. Easing her guilt would be difficult if Daenerys refused to look at her. “Please Daenerys, I’m fine, it doesn’t even hurt anymore.” 

There was a sniffle or two before she said, “I hurt you. You aren’t supposed to hurt the people you love. I don’t want to be that kind of person. I don’t want to be like…”

She didn’t finish, but Arya had heard plenty. She could think of a few people Daenerys probably didn’t want to imitate. The vulnerability and the pain were obvious, and they cut deep. “You,” Arya said, shuffling a bit closer, “are nothing like them. What happened was an accident, you were asleep and didn’t know what you were doing.” 

“I still did it, and I chose to get in the bed. I should’ve known better.”

She sighed, lacing her fingers with the Targaryen’s. Daenerys appeared even more stubborn than usual today. “I quite liked having you in my arms again. Even if it hurts sometimes, it is absolutely worth it.” 

With a watery laugh Daenerys finally looked up. Arya reached out, a bit unsteady with her free hand and wiped away some of the tears. She looked so utterly broken Arya felt tears of her own threaten. “Oh sweetheart, it’s going to be okay, just breathe.” 

They ended up sitting side by side on the bed. Arya was leaning on Daenerys a little more than she might’ve otherwise, but apart from that, she didn’t feel too bad. Perhaps Oberyn’s magic tonic was more than dirty water and horse piss. 

“I had a nightmare,” Daenerys confessed after a lot of quiet. Her crying had stopped, and they were just together, content to be sharing the same space. 

‘I know,’ is what Arya was tempted to say. She had enough experience with nightmares to spot one. Any doubts she had while she watched Daenerys dream disappeared when she woke up and was so intensely emotional. “About what?” she asked instead, deciding supporting her was more important than proving her own intelligence. 

“I dreamt you were gone. I woke up and you weren’t there,” Daenerys explained in a rush. 

Arya leaned over a little more, a physical reminder that the dream was over, and that she wasn’t gone, yet. “I’m still here,” she whispered. 

“Not for long,” Daenerys complained. It was quiet and subdued, but moments later she was speaking loudly, fueled by a fire inside. “I can’t believe Rhaegar would do this to me. He’s supposed to protect me, to love me!”

Arya didn’t know if she was supposed to respond to that or not. “He probably thinks he is protecting you,” she eventually contributed. 

“I don’t need protection from you!” Daenerys declared passionately. 

“He doesn’t know that. He likely `thinks he’s helping.” Defending Rhaegar Targaryen made her sick, but he was Daenerys’s brother, and once Arya was gone, Daenerys would need him. 

“Or he just wants to see me suffer,” she retorted bitterly. 

“Do you really think he’d do that to you?”

She gave it some consideration before replying. “After yesterday, anything is possible. He was furious that I threatened to tell Aemon the truth.” 

“If you think he’s upset now,” Arya pointed out, “wait until tonight, after you’ve done more than threaten.” 

Without warning Daenerys sprung up onto her feet. Her absence almost toppled Arya, but the guard managed to get her hand down in the spot Daenerys vacated, providing the necessary stability to keep her upright. “That’s it,” she decided, “I’ll make a bargain.” 

As badly as she wanted to remain with Daenerys, Arya knew there were limits to what she was willing to do to achieve her goal. Daenerys didn’t seem to be bound by the same restraints. It wasn’t because Daenerys didn’t care, in fact it was the opposite, she cared too much. She was becoming desperate and Arya knew desperate people did dangerous things. She didn’t want that for her lover. “Rhaegar knows about us. If you go to him and ask him to let me stay, he’ll assume it’s because you want to keep me as your consort, regardless of the reasons you give.” 

“I know,” she acknowledged. “He wants you gone, the only way he’ll let you stay is if we make him a better offer.” 

Arya definitely did not like where this was heading. “Like what?” she asked. “We have little the Prince desires.” 

Daenerys who was pacing in front of Arya stopped moving and faced her. “That’s not true. He wants my silence.” 

Her heart sunk. “Daenerys, you can’t…”

“He wants me to keep his secrets, well then fine, but it’s going to cost him. If I agree not to tell Aemon, he will have to let you stay.” 

“You can’t do that.” She held out a hand and waited for Daenerys to take it. “I love you, and I’d do almost anything to be with you, but not that. We can’t do that to Aemon. He needs to know who he is.”

“I need you more.” 

She shook her head. “You’ll have me, forever, I am yours, but we can’t trade our happiness for Aemon’s. I know you, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. It would ruin you.” 

“So, I’m just… I’m just supposed to let you leave? Watch you board some ship and sail off to Dorne?”

Arya smiled sadly. “Yes,” she confirmed, “you let me go, but you always remember that I love you. No matter where I go, or how many miles are between us, you will be the woman I love.” 

Breaking down again Daenerys climbed into Arya’s lap, taking care not to injure her in the process. “This isn’t fair,” she repeated over and over again as she cried. 

Arya kept one hand on the bed for balance and used the other to stroke the softest hair she’d ever touched. “It isn’t, but you’re a survivor. You’ll make it through this. We can write letters, and once I heal, I can get myself assigned to guard shipments bound for the capital. We will see each other again, I promise.” 

There was a humorless chuckle from somewhere in her arms. “You’d hate that,” Daenerys predicted, “guarding crates of wine and spices, travelling from Sunspear to King’s Landing again and again.” 

“I can think of worse ways to earn a living,” Arya commented, doing her best to sound casual. She was right of course, Arya would be bored as fuck and feel completely useless guarding shipments but what was the alternative? The prospect of never seeing Daenerys again was infinitely more terrifying than any boredom. If she had to spend the remainder of her life bouncing back and forth between Sunspear and King’s Landing just so she could steal a few more moments with her Dragon, then that was exactly what Arya Stark was going to do. 

R-C

She didn’t bother knocking. It was pointless to waste energy on insincere courtesies when there was no chance of a peaceful resolution. The door was unguarded, additional, unnecessary proof of the hypocrisy she lived with. Rhaegar had as remote a chance of surviving an attack as Daenerys did, but no one required Barristan to follow him everywhere. The precious Prince got to pick and choose when he was protected, but because she was a woman, she couldn’t venture outside her bedchamber without Jorah or someone like him serving as her shadow. 

The guard wasn’t with her now. She told Jorah she was going to take a much-needed nap after spending the night with Arya, and suggested he do the same. She waited just long enough to ensure he was gone, and then she went to accomplish her true objective. 

She walked in on Westeros’s Crown Prince shaving. He twisted, nearly falling as he tried to face whoever was barging into his room. His face was coated with cream, and he clenched his razor tightly until he recognized his sister as the intruder. He threw the razor down next to the bucket of water. “Gods Dany, what are you doing?!”

He wiped his face clean without actually removing the hair. He dropped the towel carelessly and then reached for his cane. On another day she might’ve helped, but for once, possibly the first time in her life she didn’t care if he had to struggle for it. “I could ask you the same thing. Why are you sending Arya back to Sunspear?”

“Her job is done,” he stated simply, as if he had no ulterior motive for ordering her away. “It’s time for her to go home.” 

His indifference, real or false, bothered her. “Her home is here! With me.” 

“No, it isn’t!” he disagreed, just as fiercely. “You’re a Targaryen, a Princess and she’s…”

“She’s what?” Daenerys snapped, taking a full step toward her brother. “Go on,” she urged him, “I want you to say the words. Tell me she’s just some poor Dornish bastard.” He said nothing, he just stared at her as though he was looking through her. Somehow it was more hurtful than when he spoke. “Do it!” she commanded. “Do it, and then ask yourself if Lyanna had been the miller’s daughter, or a Snow instead of a Northern Princess, would it have made any difference to you?”

The mere mention of Lyanna’s name had his jaw clenching and his grip on the cane tightening. “That’s different.”

“You keep saying that, but it really isn’t. You fell in love with Lyanna, and didn’t care what anyone thought, not Father, the Martells or Robert Baratheon. Is it so hard to believe I feel the same way about Arya?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he maintained. “Father has already decided. She’ll be leaving as soon as the Maester says she’s healthy enough to travel.” 

If he was dead set on being stubborn, refused to listen to anything she had to say, and insisted on making everything difficult, then so be it. Two could play this game. “Fine, perhaps I’ll go with her then. I loved Sunspear, I think I’d be happy there.” 

Rhaegar’s expression showed that he hadn’t anticipated that. Whether it was because he steadfastly refused to acknowledge the similarities between her situation with Arya and his past with Lyanna, or if his motives were more innocent, she couldn’t say, she could only tell he never thought his compliant little sister would threaten to run away from their home. “You can’t! Father would never allow it.” 

She rolled her eyes. So predictable. The minute he was challenged or made to feel uncomfortable he relied on the Targaryen name and their Father’s madness to get his way. Not this time. “I wasn’t planning to ask for permission.” 

His face reddened with every word in their exchange and Daenerys didn’t think it was because of his weak legs. “Don’t even joke,” he barked, “do you have any idea what Father would do if you left?” He asked the question and then immediately delivered the answer. “He’d burn the world down to find you and when he did, he’d hold everyone within a hundred miles accountable for your disappearance. You think he’s bloodthirsty now, just you wait, you have no idea how deep that particular well goes.”

Mentioning their father’s illness provided Daenerys with a reminder that before she and Rhaegar were at each other’s throats, they were allies. They had agreed to work together to replace Aerys. Perhaps mentioning their past bond could help them find some common ground. “I believe you, which is why he shouldn’t be King anymore. He slaughtered an entire family because you fell in love with Lyanna.”

“He’d do it again without a second thought.”

Unfortunately, she didn’t doubt that. “If he wasn’t King, he wouldn’t be able to. Our disagreements aside, I agreed to help you, and I will. Have you arranged the allies you need to remove Father from power?”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” he told her as he limped toward his chair. “Even if Father wasn’t King, she’d still be gone.”

“Why?” 

“Because she doesn’t belong here,” he said, lowering himself down. 

Outrage didn’t come close to accurately describing what was bubbling up under the surface. She didn’t want to think that Rhaegar really believed that. That he truly felt Arya was unworthy because of who he thought she was, or who he assumed her parents were, but unfortunately for all of them, Daenerys did think he was being honest. It fell in line too perfectly with a whole lifetime of memories and experiences to be an exaggeration. “Were you always like this?” she wondered, asking herself as much as him. 

“Excuse me?”

“All those years, when Father was whispering about dragons and fire ending the world, when Viserys was taking his hatred of you out on me, I actually believed you cared about me. I thought you were one of the few people in this world who actually wanted me to be happy.” 

“I do want you to be happy…” he started. 

She wasn’t interested. “Was I happy before Dorne brother?” she challenged. “Was I happy before Missandei? The only friend I had, our father literally purchased for me, like a necklace. Do you understand how disgusting that is?!” 

“You will be happy. It won’t always be this way. You’ll go to Highgarden, you liked it there. You’ll be happy, I know it.” 

He said all the right things, and it probably would have been enough a year earlier, it was less convincing now. “Highgarden?” she repeated back sarcastically. 

“The Tyrells are good people. The Reach is a good place.” 

She scoffed. “It may be, but I won’t be happy there.” 

“You never know, you might surprise yourself.” 

“I do know,” she assured him. “I’ll be no happier with Loras Tyrell as my husband than he will be having me for his wife.” 

That caused Rhaegar to reconsider whatever he planned to say next. He appraised his sister carefully before asking, “You know? About Loras?”

She laughed humorlessly. “No, I naively failed to notice my future husband would rather be marrying you than me.” 

“Why did you agree? You were in charge of the negotiations, you could have declined.” 

She saw no reason to skirt the truth. If he wanted to know why she was willing to enter into a fake marriage with Loras, she’d tell him, but he wasn’t going to like the answer. “I decided if I was going to be whored out by my family to strengthen relations with another kingdom, I could do worse than the Tyrells.”

As expected, he took offense to her characterization of the arrangement. “Wait a minute, that’s not fair…”

She ignored his pitiful complaint. “I decided that I’d prefer a husband with no interest in me over one with too much interest.” 

“You aren’t being fair Dany,” he claimed, falling into his role as the wise, displeased older brother. “Not all marriages are bad. Sometimes they work well.” 

Not for her. “I love Arya, that’s the truth whether you want to accept it or not. I’ll always love her, and no wedding to some noble in front of the Gods, a Septon and hundreds of guests I don’t care about is going to change that.” 

“You’re young. You won’t feel this way forever,” he said, repeating an earlier assertion. 

She was unimpressed by his foresight. “This from the man who has been pining for his lost love for decades? I don’t think you get to say that to me.” 

“Stop that!” he shouted. “Stop pretending what you have with some soldier is anything close to what Lyanna and I had. You don’t have a clue!”

His unwillingness to see what was right in front of him baffled her. She decided to show him that she wasn’t as clueless as he thought. In fact, on this subject she had more information than he did. “Did you know Ned Stark had children?” she asked rhetorically. “Five, three boys and two girls.”

“Reading more dusty books?” he spat rudely. 

Daenerys let the comment pass. “The middle son was just a boy. Father had his legs crushed with the same Warhammer that broke yours.”

“Horseshit. That’s impossible. I told you Father killed the Starks years ago. Where did you hear that anyway?” Although he worked hard to appear unaffected, his face lost color and his eyes turned empty. 

“From someone who was there,” she announced proudly, wanting him to realize the value of her knowledge. “I’m not as dumb as you think I am, and I’m not blind either. What happened to the Starks, to Lyanna’s family and so many others will keep happening unless we do something to stop it.” 

She didn’t think he’d suddenly heed her words and agree to be named King tomorrow, but she wasn’t ready for the response she got either. Grabbing the first thing within reach, Rhaegar took his cane and threw it across the room. It collided with a painting on the wall and they both fell to the ground. “What exactly do you think I can do Daenerys? He’s the fucking King.”

“He’s a deranged man who is a danger to everyone and everything. Having no King is better than bending the knee to a man like that.”

“Careful,” he warned, pointing a shaking finger at her. “He’s still your father, and mine.” 

Daenerys was unmoved by the familial connection. “That only makes what has to happen more tragic. It doesn’t change anything else.” 

Seeming to have run out of anger, the Prince was resigned and almost defeated when he said, “You’re wrong. You think replacing Father will fix Westeros, but it won’t. He might be the one people fear, but he’s not the only powerful man in the capital with a taste for torture and revenge.” 

Daenerys didn’t expect things to change immediately, but she knew replacing their father was the logical first step. “We have to begin somewhere.” 

“And what about all the others?” he inquired, “they’re not as mad as him, but they’re just as greedy and selfish and violent?”

The answer was obvious to her. “We replace them too.” 

“With who?” He looked her in the eye and gave her a sober assessment of their world. “If we did as you’re suggesting, if we even could, there would be no one left.”

“I don’t believe that. There are good people out there. We could find them.”

Rhaegar didn’t approve of her optimism. “Is that your expert opinion?”

“Do you have a better idea?” she fired back bluntly. 

“Yes. We save ourselves a lot of pain and heartache and just accept that somethings can’t be fixed. We’ll live the best lives we can, and that’ll just have to be enough.” 

“It isn’t enough,” Daenerys yelled, “it’s not even close.” When had her brother become such a defeatist? Was she oblivious to who he was, seeing only the good, or had he changed? “What about the people? Millions of people live in the Realm and they deserve better than this.” 

“The people,” he scoffed, “you’re worried about them?” Shaking his head Rhaegar ran his hand over the stubble she prevented him from shaving off. “Let me tell you something about those people, half of them would kill you, rape you or both for a handful of gold dragons, and the others, they don’t give a fuck about who sits on the Iron Throne.”

“You don’t mean that,” she checked, hoping he’d confess to overstating things. 

“I know it,” he declared boldly. “Most parents don’t care which noble rules their land, they want food for their children, a roof over their heads and a few coins in their pockets, that’s all. It’s only us highborn who care about the rest of it.” 

She honestly wasn’t sure if she preferred this Rhaegar over the one who ridiculed her and screamed. He was emotionless, as if he were recounting a story that meant nothing to him. “All the more reason for change,” she tried. 

“You want to fix something that’s already rotted to the core. Removing one man and replacing him with another won’t change a thing.”

Maybe he was right, but didn’t they have to attempt it? Wasn’t it better to take a shot and miss, than to be too afraid to pick up the bow? “Then we scoop out the rot and replace it with something different.” 

“You’re not hearing me,” he said, sounding tired. “It’s too late.”

She refused to relent. “No! If you were King, things could be different. With the Small Council’s support, we could do it.” 

Rhaegar surprised her by smiling. “You remind me of myself sometimes.”

“Really? We don’t agree on much these days.” 

His smile turned sad. “Not this me, the man I used to be. Before,” he looked down at his legs. “I wanted to change the world too once. I wanted to fix all the problems and make it possible for every man in every kingdom to prosper under my rule.” 

“What happened?” she couldn’t help but ask. If her brother had felt that way once, maybe she could help him find that again. If she could bring back that man, maybe she could persuade him to let Arya stay.

“I wanted to be King once, I wanted to be a good King, a just King. I had so many dreams. I thought I’d raise my children to sit on the throne after me and they’d raise their children after them.” 

She was struck by his use of past tense. What did he mean he ‘wanted to be King once?’ That day was coming regardless. “It’s not too late.” 

“It is,” he insisted without malice. “I haven’t cared about any of that for a long time.” 

Daenerys knew what the defining moment in Rhaegar’s life was, so it wasn’t difficult to make sense of his vague, incomplete explanations. She was still upset with him, angry that he tried to remove Arya from her life, but something compelled her to show empathy. “You changed, after everything you went through, how could you not?”

She didn’t think it was a stretch to assume her efforts to support him fell on deaf ears. When he spoke, he had a far away look in his eyes, she didn’t think he was speaking to her anymore. “The day I met Lyanna, my world started spinning in the other direction. Nothing felt familiar anymore, not my home, not my wife, not my children. I tried to continue on, to forget, but then a courier hand-delivered a letter from Winterfell.” Daenerys hung on every word, hoping it would provide the clarity she was lacking. “For months I acted as if nothing had changed, but everything had. I had. The life I was living with Elia, my responsibilities as Prince, none of it felt real. I was merely existing, smiling, laughing, eating, sleeping, waiting for the next letter to come. Each time I sent a courier North with a reply, a little more of me went with them.” 

Daenerys didn’t know where to begin or what to say, so she remained silence. Not unlike the last time they discussed Lyanna Stark, Daenerys acknowledged that this wasn’t the conversation she thought she’d be having with her brother this morning. She just hoped something he said, would provide a hint of the path forward. Was she destined to repeat history and run away just like Rhaegar had, and with another Stark no less?

“It hit me like a bolt of lightning,” he continued, staring at the wall behind her, “I was sitting next to my wife, with my son in my lap, Elia was talking about how things would change once I was King and it just occurred to me, right then I knew I didn’t want any of it. Not my family, not the throne, not the power or the responsibility, nothing. I sent Elia and the children away the next day.” 

The way he said it, more so than the words themselves sent a chill down Daenerys’s spine. He was talking about abandoning his family and it didn’t seem to trouble him in the least. Well, she wasn’t as indifferent. “I met them you know, while I was at the Water Gardens, Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys. They’re good people. Don’t you care about them? Are you really so cold that you don’t care about your son and your daughter?”

“I just told you,” he said, looking at her and really seeing her for the first time in a while, “from that day at Harrenhal, all I wanted was her.” 

She tried to be understanding, to see things from his perspective, but she couldn’t manage it. Her patience was at its end. “She’s gone, so now what?”

He shrugged, unbothered by her frustration. “Now nothing,” he told her, “I raise Aemon as best I can, I try to make him into the man she’d want him to be.” 

“Father isn’t going to live forever!” she pointed out. “You’re heir to the throne.”

“I don’t want it,” he barked, before he scrubbed his hands down his face hard. “Are you listening? I don’t fucking want it, none of it, the castle, the throne, the crown, they can keep it.”

She couldn’t believe he was behaving so childishly. “Who exactly do you think is going to be the next King then?” She paused but he didn’t provide any insight into his thinking. “Viserys?” she guessed first, already dreading the thought. “Aemon?” she chose next. It was slight, but there was a momentary change in the set of his jaw. And just like that so many separate pieces fit together. She’d been viewing them as individual, as disconnected, but when weaved together with this new information, it painted a clear picture of her brother’s intentions. “You want Aemon to rule after Father,” she realized. It wasn’t a question, she wasn’t asking. She kept following the same road. “That’s why you haven’t let him go to the Wall, why you haven’t told anyone about your grand plans, because you know Father will never give Aemon the throne. If he knew what you intended to do, he’d name Viserys his heir in a heartbeat, so you keep him happy by pretending to be the heir he’s always wanted.” 

He did nothing in word or deed to correct or affirm her ideas, but he didn’t need to. It made too much sense to be wrong. “There is a flaw in your scheme.” 

“What’s that?”

“Well for one thing, Aemon doesn’t want the throne anymore than you do and even if he did, he’s got less experience in politics than I do. You can’t expect him to wake up the day after Father dies and become King.” 

It was short-lived but there was a smile on Rhaegar’s face for an instant. Daenerys couldn’t be positive, but she got the impression her brother was pleased by her logic. “All Aemon has ever wanted is to belong, when I give him that chance, he’ll take it,” the father predicted, “and yes, he will have a lot to learn, but I’ll be there to help him.” 

She’d been wrong. Rhaegar’s plot wasn’t flawed at all. He’d thought of everything. Including, it occurred to her, manipulating the stupid Princess to meet his needs. “You lied to me,” she accused him hotly. Her mind was still coming to terms with the implications of his confession, but there were a few undeniable elements. “You let me believe you were going to replace Father soon. Did you have any intention of actually doing that?”

He averted his eyes before he justified the inexcusable. “The timing wasn’t right. Aemon isn’t ready, the Realm isn’t ready.”

“The Tyrells agreed. Maybe the Realm is more ready than you think.” 

He sighed and immediately placed the blame on her. “I told you not to discuss it with them, I told you to wait.” 

That request made a lot more sense now. “Of course, because me talking to Olenna might interfere.” She shook her head. “You’re just like the rest of them, Father, Tywin, Viserys, Jorah, Daario, Varys, Illyrio, everyone just uses me to get what they want and then tosses me aside.” 

“That’s not…”

“Yes, you did!” Why would he lie now? The damage was done. She knew more than enough to decide for herself what his reasons were. “You knew, you knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted me quiet and agreeable, and after Arya was nearly executed, that was unlikely, so you told me what I wanted to hear and led me to believe we would be able to keep her safe.” 

She waited for him to look at her. He didn’t, so she just kept waiting. Eventually he glanced up. “Did you know Jorah made it all up?” she pressed. Her blood felt like it was burning the underside of her skin. “Arya sought him out that morning before she went into the city, she asked him to guard me until she got back, and he turned around and ran to you and to Father to try and have her killed.” 

She observed him carefully, curious to learn if he knew Jorah’s accusation was a ploy. She didn’t like what she saw, the details were new to him, but the concept of Jorah using false claims to achieve his ends wasn’t surprising. “That was unfortunate but it’s over. She’s…”

Daenerys lunged toward her seated brother, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Say the word ‘fine,’” she hissed, “and I will rip the tongue from your skull.” 

He used his bigger, stronger hands to knock hers away and she retreated rather than attacking again. “Calm down,” he demanded. 

That was not going to happen now or any time in the near future. “She’s not fine!” Daenerys screamed. “She was whipped like an animal in front of an audience. She can’t stand up straight without help and the pain is so horrible she can’t sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.” 

“She was sleeping fine when I walked in,” he quipped, referencing catching them lying together in bed. 

She refused to be ashamed, willing herself not to blush or look away. “Trust me, that was for my benefit much more than hers. I hadn’t slept since it happened, and I was starting to unravel.” 

Rhaegar definitely didn’t like the idea that Daenerys was in the instigator. For that reason alone, she kept going. “Think about it, she could barely move, if I didn’t want to be there, she couldn’t have held me against my will.” 

Bitter and petty, Rhaegar reminded her of Viserys when he responded with, “That won’t be a problem anymore.” 

She clamped her teeth together and growled. “It was never a problem,” she clarified. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, trying to get to the root of his actions. It took a moment, but the answer Rhaegar wouldn’t give came to her without him doing more than meet her eye. It gave her another line of attack. She didn’t hesitate. “What do you care if I spend my nights naked next to some dark-haired, grey-eyed woman?” 

“Stop!” he insisted. 

His reaction made it known that her instincts were true. “I thought you were simply determined to see me as miserable as you,” Daenerys continued, undeterred by his command, she lashed out again, “but that isn’t it, is it?” She gave him the chance to speak for himself and when he didn’t take it, she said what he wouldn’t. “I know why you want her gone, I know why you won’t let her stay no matter how happy she makes me, and I know why you’ve detested everything about her since the day those guards dragged her before us in chains.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

For a liar as practiced and skilled as her brother, that was utterly pathetic. Daenerys kept pressing. “Arya looks like her, doesn’t she? It’s the eyes I bet.” 

“Stop!” 

The time for stopping was behind them. Daenerys had foolishly believed she and Rhaegar were on the same side, when in actuality, he was just manipulating her like everyone else. “Does seeing us together bring the memories back?” The haunted expression on his face didn’t slow her in the slightest. “Do you envy me or hate me?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted in a rare flash of honesty. 

Three times Daenerys tired to speak, but the words got caught on their way out, leaving only tension thick enough to cut between them. What was left to say after that? 

“I’m doing you a favor,” he remarked. “There are things you can change in this world and things you can’t. The worst thing you can do Dany is not know the difference.” 

“So I should just give up, like you did?”

He sighed. “Listen,” he encouraged, “and really hear what I’m telling you -- The Realm has been like this for a long time, since long before Father lost his mind, and it’ll be the same long after our children’s, children’s bones turn to dust. Nothing you or I can say or do will change that.” 

That was nothing short of entirely unacceptable. Daenerys would not just sit by and let them take the woman she loved from her. If Rhaegar wouldn’t help, she’d find others who would. Before she said goodbye to Arya, she had to know she did everything in her power to keep them together. 

“Speak for yourself. You may be ready to give up, but I’m not. I’m not going to let this happen. You can either help me or get the fuck out of my way!”

“What are you going to do?” She didn’t respond she just turned and moved for the door. She heard the grunts of effort that accompanied her injured brother trying to stand, but she wasn’t worried, she knew he wouldn’t be able to catch her. “Where are you going?”

“To see Aemon,” she mumbled under her breath, before she slammed the door between them. 

R-C

The cursed as she tried and failed to get her shirt over her head. “Fuck!” Not even Oberyn’s tonic could make this a tolerable experience. 

Pycelle and the other Maesters had arrived just after dawn. Daenerys was already gone and although she didn’t leave a note the guard had a pretty good idea where she’d disappeared to. The Maesters cleaned her wounds, applied fresh bandages and then declared her well. She was presented with a small pouch of tonics and advised she was free to return to the barracks. She wouldn’t be sad to see another set of walls, but the sudden push to get out the door only reminded her that it wasn’t just the room she needed to vacate. Rhaegar wanted her out of the capital and no matter how persuasive Daenerys was, that wasn’t going to change. 

“Can I help?” a soft voice asked from somewhere behind the disgruntled woman. 

“You don’t…”

“Let me help,” Missandei pleaded, coming closer. 

“Surely you have better things to do.”

She paused like she was giving it a fair amount of consideration and then she said, “I can’t think of any.” 

“I need a favor,” she admitted as she resigned herself to accepting the offered aid. 

Good natured as always, Missandei only smiled. “Before or after we get you dressed?” 

“After,” Arya answered. Missandei was careful and gentle as she helped Arya get the shirt over her head. It still hurt, but not nearly as bad as it would’ve without the slave’s assistance. “Thank you,” she said as soon as she was sure the worst of the discomfort was over. “I thought my days of having a servant help me dress were behind me.” 

“I’m flattered you’re making an exception for me,” Missandei joked, as she provided the necessary support Arya needed to stand. The guard had gotten her legs into her pants before Missandei arrived but was still figuring out how to pull them up without inviting agony or falling on her ass. “How are you feeling?” she asked once the pants were up and Arya was safely seated on the bed. 

“Every day is a little better,” she explained. “I’ll be okay.” 

Missandei pondered that, likely deciding if she believed it, and then moved on. “The favor?”

Arya took a deep breath. “I need you to watch out for Daenerys.” 

Misunderstanding the reason for the request, the handmaiden was quick to provide reassurance. “You don’t need to worry, you said yourself, you’ll be recovered soon, and Daenerys will be fine.” 

“I hope so, but I’m afraid I won’t be here to see it.” 

This had Missandei’s full and undivided attention. “Why not?”

“Rhaegar found out about us,” Arya summarized, “he wants me gone and the Maesters just told me I was healthy enough to travel, so they are sending me back to Dorne.” 

“Can they do that? It’s only been a few days, it’s much too soon.”

She smiled at the worried woman. “The Prince isn’t concerned with my welfare. He wants me far away as quickly as possible.” 

“When do you leave?”

“As soon as Oberyn and the ship are ready,” she guessed.

“There must be something we can do,” Missandei countered, sounding remarkably like the Princess she served. “We can…”

They were wasting their time on the wrong things. Arya tried to redirect her by reaching for her hand. Missandei provided it so she wouldn’t need to stretch. “Take care of her, please. She’s going to be angry, and she’s going to want to take it out on someone.”

“She won’t be alone,” Missandei pledged. 

Arya smiled at her friend. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be as good as new by the time we reach Sunspear.” 

“Why doesn’t Daenerys join you? You know she is not happy here. She enjoyed Dorne, perhaps…”

As pleasant as it would be to lose herself in that fiction, she couldn’t. She didn’t know how long they had. “The King would hunt us, and if he caught us, I don’t think he’d be satisfied just killing me.” 

Missandei understood the grim message Arya was leaving unspoken, but she wasn’t ready to give up on the idea quite yet. “Shouldn’t that be her choice? She loves you and she might decide it’s worth the risk.” 

“I don’t want her to live like that, afraid, worried every time there is a knock on the door or a stranger approaching. She’s not a criminal, she shouldn’t have to live like one.” 

“She wouldn’t be living like a criminal, she’d be with you.” 

“If she disappears at the same time I do, Aerys will assume I kidnapped her. There is no place we could go where we’d be safe.” 

“I know people in Essos,” Missandei supplied, “maybe they could help.”

“I do need your help, I need you and the Unsullied to keep her safe, even if you need to protect her from herself.”

“From herself?” Missandei repeated in confusion. 

“Once I’m gone, she’s going to blame her brother. He’ll probably tolerate it for a while, but eventually he’ll tire of the scorn. I don’t want her hurt trying to avenge what happened to me, so you need to keep her calm.”

Dark curls bounced as she shook her head vehemently. “If she loses you, nothing will be able to calm her. She will be furious.” 

“I know,” the soldier acknowledged. That was the whole reason Arya began this conversation in the first place, because deep down she knew what Missandei was saying was true. If Daenerys was determined to see the world burn, nothing, not even her best friend could prevent the Fire and Blood. That more than anything else she was facing, terrified the Wolf. 

“I’ll do what I can,” she promised solemnly. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Yes, can you ask Tyrion to visit, please?” 

R-C

“Lyanna Stark?” he verified in disbelief. He stared out the window. “Are you certain?”

“Positive,” Daenerys assured him. “I asked your father about it, and he confirmed it.” 

“Why would he tell you and not me?” 

Aemon was visibly annoyed. Daenerys didn’t mind his anger, it was well-deserved in this instance. “I already knew. I was asking questions and wouldn’t let the matter drop. He had to tell me something. He didn’t plan to reveal her identity to either of us until he was King.” 

“We’ll both be long gone by then,” Aemon noted, “you’re to marry Loras and I’ll be a Ranger on the Wall.” 

A blush burned her cheeks. Neither of those things were likely to happen now. “Do you think if things were different here, maybe you might like to stay?” she checked. Rhaegar had put a lot of faith in the assumption that if given the chance Aemon would choose ruling over the Night’s Watch, she disagreed and was curious to know which of them misjudged her nephew so severely. 

“Different how?” He was giving her some of his focus, but she could tell the majority of his mind was recalling every fact he could about the infamous Starks of Winterfell. Daenerys had done something similar when Arya confessed her identity. 

“You know,” she nudged him, “Rhaegar wants for you to rule after him. You could be King, maybe sooner than you think. Wouldn’t you like that?”

She tried to keep her tone the same, to hide her serious inquiry in a causal-sounding hypothetical. If his reaction was any indication, he didn’t seem to notice she was in distress. “No. I’d hate it,” Aemon declared, “the pressure, the responsibility, all the meetings. I’d lose my mind.” 

Pride filled her. She’d been right. She knew Aemon didn’t desire power or titles. Despite her success, she felt it necessary to verify her answer one final time. “So, if you could wake up tomorrow King of the Seven Kingdoms or a Ranger in the Night’s Watch, which would you pick?” 

Just like the last time there was no quiet deliberation, no uncertainty, no doubt. “The Ranger. Why? What does this have to do with my mother?”

“Nothing,” she replied instinctively and then she sighed. She was done lying to him. “Everything.” As angry as she was at her brother, she tried to soften the blow for Aemon’s sake. “I think your father has plans for you that don’t involve letting you go North.” 

She had his full attention for the first time since giving him the name of his mother. He stood there with his shirt open, his muscles on display along with a single jagged scar across his abdomen. He’d been sick as a boy and nearly died, would’ve died if Pycelle and the other Maesters didn’t cut open his stomach and repair an internal rupture. Just as she had his father, she interrupted him preparing for the day. Aemon was a little further along but appeared too distracted to keep going through the motions. “What? Why would you say that?”

“I wanted him to tell you about your mother,” Daenerys said, redirecting them a bit. “I told him you should hear it from him, but he refused.” 

“Why are you telling me?”

She gave him a sad smile. “I know how badly you’ve wanted to know who she is. You have a right to know.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, softening his voice and features. “Thank you for telling me.” 

“You’re welcome. According to what I’ve uncovered your mother and father met at a tournament. He was taken with her, so much so that he sent Elia and the children to Dorne to live.”

“I always wondered about that. It was another thing Father refused to discuss.” He was quiet for a time before adding, “I suppose now I know why. He didn’t want me to know my mother came from a family of traitors.” 

Those words cut through Daenerys’s heart and she immediately wanted to jump to the defense of Arya’s family, but she’d promised to keep her secret, so she needed to tread carefully. She trusted Aemon wouldn’t tell anyone if he knew, but it wasn’t her decision to make. If and when Aemon found out Arya was his cousin, it would be up to the Stark. “That wasn’t it.” With a hand she gestured to the bed. “Sit, I’ll tell you what I can.” 

“What else is there to know? My father fell in love with the daughter of a traitor. They’re gone now, right? I’m the last of them?”

She reached out and touched her nephew’s arm. “Some of this is going to be hard to hear,” she warned him, “most of the Starks are dead.” With two very notable exceptions, she commented internally. “What we were taught, about the war, about who started it and why, it was all lies Aemon. Your father, mine, everyone else, they lied. The Starks weren’t traitors, they were just a concerned father and brothers who wanted to know what became of their kin.” 

“Lyanna?” he tested, making sure he was on the right page. 

“That’s right. She ran away to be with your father, but they didn’t tell anyone where they were going. She was supposed to marry Robert Baratheon.” 

He understood the weight of that far quicker than she did in his shoes. “That started the war.”

She swallowed hard. “Lyanna’s father and eldest brother rode to King’s Landing to seek information, they wanted to question your father, but he and Lyanna had already left.” 

“What happened?”

“The King murdered them both,” she admitted, trying to remain detached from her emotions. It would be hard to explain why the story of the Starks was such a personal one for her without revealing Arya’s truth. “Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon mistakenly thought Lyanna was kidnapped. That’s why they went to war. They didn’t want the throne.”

“Why didn’t Father and Lyanna just tell them?” he inquired, echoing the same question she asked not too long ago. “My parents,” he paused, “that sounds so strange. I never had parents before, not really, just a father and an unknown mother.” 

She smiled despite the awkwardness. “I’m glad you know.” 

“What happened to her?”

“That part was true. After the war, after your father healed, he went to her. He arrived just before you were born. She died not long after.” 

Familiar grey eyes suddenly became interested in the floor and Daenerys pretended not to notice when he swiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “Why did Father fight the war then? If it wasn’t real?”

Daenerys had heard Rhaegar’s justifications, she had thought about them a lot in the days and weeks since, but she still couldn’t say they made any more sense than they did that first night. The war was avoidable, and he chose to fight it anyway. He claimed it was for Lyanna, to keep her safe, but she suspected a large amount of his motivation came from a desire to kill Robert and a healthy dose of pride. “I don’t really know,” she told him, not trusting her ability to articulate Rhaegar’s reasons properly, “you’ll have to ask your father if you want to understand that part.” 

She anticipated more resistance. He finally had someone willing to tell him the truth, she didn’t think he’d want to give that up without a fight, but he surprised her. With a nod, he returned his gaze to the window. “A Stark?” he said in wonder. “I’m half Northman.” 

“A Stark helped build the Wall you know,” Daenerys supplied, remembering something she read in that book before it burned. 

He gave her a fond, loving smile. “Dany, everyone knows that.” 

Oh! She hadn’t, not until she read it. Regardless, she chuckled. “I’m sorry I can’t answer everything you want to know, but…”

“No,” he said, cutting her apology in half, “you’re the only reason I know my mother’s name was Lyanna Stark.” 

When he stood up, she did too. One stride later he had her locked in an embrace, squeezing tight. She hugged him back just as fiercely. “I hope it brings you peace, finally knowing.” 

“I’ll never forget this,” he swore.

The knock on the door forced them apart. Aemon turned to answer it, but Daenerys’s hand reached out to stop him. She gripped his forearm. “Wait, there is something else you deserve to know.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” he said, looking suggestively toward the door. Another round of knocks came. Daenerys thought she knew who was there, and she suspected what he had to say would take more than a minute. 

He tried to slip away, but she wouldn’t let him. “Wait!” she pleaded. 

“What is it?” he asked, showing concern for her as he tried to interpret her unwillingness to let him answer the door. 

Although she thought he had a right to hear it all, she just couldn’t bring herself to tell him that Rhaegar would never let him go. His belief that he’d reach the Wall one day was the only thing that kept him going. She didn’t want to see what became of him when that was taken away. She’d lived without hope for a long time and she didn’t want that for him. She chose to offer a warning instead of a declaration. “Just be careful,” she advised, “your father has plans for the future and for you. If you want to go to the Wall, then you should, no matter what anyone says, even him.” 

It didn’t feel good enough, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. More knocking reminded them of the time constraint. Aemon tried again to answer it, and again she stopped him, but this time she took his place. “I’ll get it.”

She’d seen her brother angry plenty in her life, and even more so recently. She even knew what it was like to have his white-hot, burning anger aimed at her, but she’d never seen him quite so furious as when she opened the door to Aemon’s chamber, and he saw her there. Selmy was behind him in the background, looking uncomfortable. “What are you doing here?!” he hissed as they glared at one another from opposite sides of the doorway. 

Rather than respond she looked back over her shoulder. “Take care of yourself okay? You know where I’ll be if you want to talk some more.” 

With every word she could feel Rhaegar fuming. She tried to step around him, but his big body impeded her progress. “What did you do?!” he demanded to know. 

She pushed past him with force. He tried to stop her but his reliance on the cane left him with only one hand to trap her and standing on injured legs he didn’t really have a chance. He wobbled when she bumped into him. Barristan lunged forward to keep him from falling. While he should have been thanking him for the rescue, Rhaegar grunted something incoherent and turned toward the Princess. He called for her to stop, he ordered her to, he even sent Barristan after her but Daenerys just kept walking. 

R-C

She’d been ordered back to the barracks to recover and rest until everything was ready for her departure. Her things, few as they were, were in Daenerys’s bedchamber. She could have met with Tyrion in either location easily enough, but she directed him to a sitting room in a distant corner of the castle. She didn’t want them to be overheard. 

The walk was slow and depressing. The frequent number of stops she had to make, the need to use walls and tables for support, it was humbling. She’d been struck in the back, but she felt the effects everywhere, the pounding in her head, the tightness in her chest, even her steps were wary. She feared moving in the natural way she was used to, because doing so would likely invite pain. Most troubling however was how exhausted she became after even the most basic of tasks. She needed to sit and rest after Missandei helped her get dressed, to catch her breath and rebuild some stamina. Never in her life had she felt so weak or fragile, not in Winterfell, not before her training and certainly not after. 

She reached her destination only minutes before Tyrion. She thanked the Gods for his busy schedule. It would have been embarrassing to request a meeting and arrive after he did. 

“I’d ask how you are, but you’re probably tired of answering that.” She nodded, and he continued, “That’s okay, I know how I’d be in your place, and that’s bad enough.” 

“It’s getting better, it’ll take some time, but I’ve been through worse.” There was a part of her that knew she was saying those words for her benefit as much as his. Arya needed to hear them too. 

“That’s good.” Without asking he went to the drink cart and prepared two glasses. “As you know, I welcome any chance to get out of my office and away from the numbers, but I don’t think you summoned me here without a purpose.” 

She took the drink when it was offered. She was surprised it was only juice, but then again it was still quite early. “Thank you,” she said raising the glass, “and for coming. I need your help with something.”

Apparently, that was all Tyrion needed to hear. “How much?”

Confused Arya went back and reviewed their conversation to that point, she remained lost. “How much what?”

“Gold, how much do you need?” he clarified before taking a sip. 

“I don’t want your money Tyrion,” she assured him. 

She hadn’t seen much in the time she’d known Tyrion that made him seem out of his depth, but perhaps this was the first time. He seemed truly unprepared for that, stunned by the unexpected turn. “I’m sorry,” he said after taking another, longer drink. Arya had to wonder if his was juice too. “Usually when someone asks a Lannister for a favor, there is only one thing they want and that’s been all the more true since I was named the Master of the Coins.” 

“You can keep every last copper,” she told him honestly. “I just need you to find work for Daenerys. Meetings, tea with Septas, it doesn’t matter, she just needs to stay busy.” 

He chuckled while he shook his head. “I don’t think the Princess is going to appreciate that.”

“Why not?” She was trying to do a good thing, for Daenerys, for after she was gone. If she was handling meetings for Tyrion there would be fewer opportunities for her to get herself into trouble. 

“She came to me after,” he used his empty hand to gesture to Arya’s injury, “she asked me to stop assigning her meetings. She wanted to be available to assist in your recovery.” 

Arya muttered a curse to herself. She should have guessed. That was such a Daenerys thing to do. Sweet and selfless. “Things change,” Arya advised him. “Please Tyrion, if you care about her, keep her busy from dawn to dusk.” 

“What’s going on?” he asked putting his drink on a nearby table. 

“The King and his son have had their fill of my company,” she explained. “I’ve been ordered to return to Sunspear as soon as I’m able.” 

She gave him a moment to understand the significance. It didn’t take the intelligent dwarf very long. “Does Daenerys know?”

Arya nodded and was pleased that it only caused a short, dull pain. Perhaps saying she was improving wasn’t the exaggeration she thought it was. “She wasn’t there when I woke, I imagine she’s probably trying to convince the Prince to change his mind.” 

“That makes sense,” Tyrion noted. “If I were her, that’s who I’d turn to. Do you think it will help?”

“No. In fact, I suspect by the time Daenerys is done informing him of her opinion, he’ll want to pick me up by the scuff of the neck, toss me into the bay and make me swim to Sunspear.” 

He smiled softly at her humor. “How long do you have?”

“Oberyn’s out making arrangements as we speak, a day or two, most likely.”

“You have some rotten luck Arya Sand,” he said as he stood, “I’ll give you that. It will be far less interesting around here with you gone.”

“You’ll survive,” she assured him, “just help Daenerys, if you can. She’s going to need it.” 

They shook hands and Tyrion committed to doing his part to help Daenerys in the wake of Arya’s absence. It wasn’t perfect, but with both him and Missandei working together, they had a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There you have it. I apologize if there was too much dialogue in this chapter for some people’s liking. I didn’t plan it that way, but everything came together at the same time, the conversation with Rhaegar, then Aemon. 
> 
> Now who Rhaegar is, and his motives are finally clear. This version of the Prince made sense to me, that Lyanna’s death would break him if he had survived long enough to see it. It also made sense that he’d put all his hopes in Aemon, whether he wanted them or not. I am genuinely curious what everyone thinks of this. It has taken a lot to get to this point and I hope the majority of the people reading feel it was worth it. 
> 
> Thanks,
> 
> Russell Craig


	55. Chapter 55

Daenerys needed fresh air after her talk with Aemon, so she went for a walk. She was certain that Jorah was looking for her by now, and for that reason alone she stuck to secluded areas, avoiding the spots he’d think to look for her. 

She ended up near the castle’s forge, on a small square of grass that was almost entirely hidden from view by large buildings. Aimless walking had led her there, but it was ideal, and she took comfort from the knowledge that it was damn close to the last place anyone who knew her would imagine she’d go. She kicked off her shoes, folded her legs under her and sat down. She needed to think, alone. 

What had she done? She left her brother and went straight to Aemon, determined to tell him the truth. As she knocked on the door, as she hurried in and overlooked his wet hair and exposed chest she was sure she was doing the right thing. He deserved to know. So, why did the pit in her stomach remain? 

She’d been angry after learning Rhaegar used her, angry when she found out he lied, again. As she sat alone, in the shadow of the forge’s sweltering heat, she questioned her motives. Had she done it for Aemon or was she as spiteful and vindictive as all the other Targaryens? Maybe she told him not for his benefit but to punish Rhaegar. 

She was tired of the lies, but the truth appeared equally chaotic. Aemon knew Lyanna Stark was his mother. If he hadn’t questioned Rhaegar about it yet, his restraint wouldn’t hold much longer. 

Rhaegar would not only discover Daenerys revealed his most closely guarded secret, he’d also learn as she did that his plan for the future of Westeros was flawed. She believed Aemon when he told her he didn’t want to be King. He didn’t hesitate, he didn’t equivocate, he was adamant and certain. Rhaegar’s schemes didn’t account for that. 

Where did that leave them? Would Rhaegar suddenly change his mind and decide to be King after all? Would Aemon’s unwillingness to rule be enough to alter Rhaegar’s plan? If Aemon wasn’t going to fill the void, that left only Viserys. She shuddered to think what the Seven Kingdoms would become under his leadership. If she thought it was bad now, the potential of Viserys as King reminded her it could always get worse. 

Then there was Arya, her beautiful, damaged Arya. Gods did she love Arya. She loved her so much the words didn’t seem adequate to express the true range of her emotions. She couldn’t lose her, not now, not ever. 

Daenerys put the other problems to the side for the time being. The Realm, the latest Targaryen drama, even Aemon, they could all wait, she would have the opportunity to examine them later. She needed to give all of herself to solving Arya’s predicament. If Daenerys couldn’t convince Rhaegar to let her stay, there was little point wasting the energy persuading her father. Even if she got the King to see the wisdom in Arya’s continued service, it would only last until Rhaegar learned of it and then he’d begin swaying Aerys in the opposite direction. She was his daughter, but Rhaegar was a first-born son. Their standings weren’t remotely close to equal. If she made their father choose between him and her, she’d lose every time. 

What options remained? She could run. She threatened to flee, but Rhaegar’s words rang true. Her father would hunt her down, and he would believe Arya kidnapped her, no matter how fiercely Daenerys insisted otherwise. Arya was a soldier, she should be leading men proudly in an army, not hiding from her lover’s disgruntled and deranged father. 

She knew Arya wanted her to stay. They’d spoken about it at length, into the early morning hours. She said it wasn’t forever, that they’d find their way back to one another again. Arya wanted Daenerys to remain in the capital while she returned to Sunspear. She promised she’d visit and write, that it wasn’t the same as saying goodbye. Daenerys knew Arya was worthy of her trust, and if she said it, it was practically set-in-stone, but that didn’t dull the ache she felt in the slightest. It wasn’t that she thought Arya wouldn’t write, or never visit, she knew the woman she loved would do both of those things as often as possible. Daenerys’s doubt came because she wasn’t confident that she could survive the days, weeks and months between the letters and the visits. How could she go back to the life she had before Arya? Seeing her a few times a year and reading words on a page – no matter how sincere – wasn’t going to be enough, not for her, not for them. 

Arya might be willing to endure months apart, for the chance to have a few blissful days together, but Daenerys wanted more. She was selfish, she was greedy, and she was in love. She’d wear those labels proudly if it meant she could have what she wanted this one time. 

She didn’t know how long she was sitting there, time lost it’s meaning, until suddenly she wasn’t alone. Her initial thought was, ‘Shit, Jorah found me,’ but instead a reprimand about her reckless and irresponsible behavior, there was silence. From the corner of her eye, she watched him sit down next to her, looking perfectly at peace. It wasn’t Jorah. 

“Did the Prince agree to help you?” Oberyn asked. 

Daenerys’s anger had held the tears back since she left Rhaegar’s bedchamber, but now a single inquiry from Arya’s mentor had her lip quivering. “No, he lied, about everything.”

“That’s hardly surprising. He has had years of practice,” he commented. Immediately he turned his head and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, as you know my history with your brother is long and unpleasant.” 

“You can say whatever you wish,” she swore, giving him an open invitation. “You’re right. He is a liar and he’s a damn good one.” 

Reacting to the venom in her words Oberyn’s tone and face displayed sympathy. “What happened my friend?” Despite her tumultuous emotions she smiled at that. ‘My friend,’ is how Oberyn addressed Arya. It filled her with pride to be gifted with the same moniker, to know that to Oberyn at least, Daenerys was a friend, on her own and separate from her relationship with Arya. It didn’t matter to him that she was royalty or a Targaryen, in fact the Princess suspected he was her friend in spite of those details and not because of them. 

She could have brushed him off with a pretty, fake smile and a few empty words, she could have told him a portion of the whole sordid tale, but in that moment, she didn’t’ feel like concealing any of it. She was raised to believe that being a Targaryen meant putting your family first, above all else, and she tried to meet those high expectations for years, before finally admitting she simply couldn’t. After being constantly ignored, marginalized, and belittled, she was sick of it. How many meetings had she attended only never to be called upon? How many times had she politely agreed to something she disapproved of because consensus is what was expected of her? How many men had dismissed her ideas as meaningless because of her gender? She endured all of it in an attempt to feel as though she was doing something, contributing something, to the family, to the castle, to the Realm and its people. She foolishly believed that those around her would show likeminded loyalty if and when she needed them. Rhaegar especially, she would have bet her life on the fact that he’d support her in a time of need. It was a fantasy, a child’s dream of what a family was supposed to be. Rhaegar didn’t care for her anymore than Viserys did, he merely did a better job of pretending. Why should she keep their secrets, why should she suffer in silence? It was clear now that none of them would do that for her. Why was she the only one making sacrifices? 

She told him everything. Every detail she could think of from the moment he left her and Arya the night before, until he showed up next to her and sat down. It came pouring out, every terrible admission, every unforgivable sin, every angry outburst and cold reply. 

R-C

She’d finished speaking and Oberyn had run out of questions, so they sat together and listened to the smiths work their steel in a peaceful quiet. Daenerys’s mind raced as she tried to find a solution that kept her and Arya together and safe. The Viper somehow sensed she needed space and didn’t interfere. 

It was utterly random. She’d been staring at the grass for so long her neck was starting to cramp. She raised her head and rolled it from side to side while attempting to stretch her tight shoulders. As violet eyes swept her surroundings without interest, she spotted a tall, familiar figure approaching the forge. She squinted first to make sure it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity. Once she was certain, the squint became a glare, hateful and murderous. 

“If only looks could kill Princess,” Oberyn teased, but even as he joked there was an undercurrent of sincerity and seriousness in his message. Daenerys understood. Oberyn shared her pain and her rage. 

“Actually,” she confessed without pulling her eyes off the man in the distance, “I was thinking of using my hands.”

Oberyn popped up to his feet and quickly dusted bits of grass off his expensive clothes. He snatched one of Daenerys’s hands with incredible speed, but also kept his touch gentle. He looked at her hand for a long moment and then another, as if it were a work of art, or a puzzle he meant to solve. “Not your hands,” he said emphatically, before he released her. “Come,” he said taking his first step toward the castle, “let us find our mutual friend and let her know what is happening.” 

Seeing Arya and letting her know about Rhaegar and Aemon was important, and Daenerys knew she needed to do it, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Oberyn was trying to distract her. Was his sudden desire to locate Arya just a ploy to get her thinking about something else, something other than the man she intended to painfully murder? She followed after the Martell without complaint but decided to let him know his strategy hadn’t succeeded. “I am going to kill him, no matter how long it takes me.” 

He nodded, but it didn’t feel like an agreement or comprehension, more that he wanted her to know he heard. She didn’t expect they’d discuss it any further. Their route toward the castle took them past the man she’d been staring at. Ser Ilyn Payne was there, less than five feet in front of her. Unlike the woman he whipped, the knight had no visible injuries, no trouble standing under her own power. He was fine and Arya was upstairs suffering. It wasn’t right. While she seethed, her hands curled into tight fists on the off chance the opportunity to strike him might arise. If it did, she wanted to be ready. “I mean it,” she told Oberyn. 

“I’m sorry Princess,” he responded, sounding truly regretful, “but this one’s mine.”

Her steps faltered, but thankfully no one other than Oberyn seemed to notice. He patiently paused and waited for her to catch up. She looked at him intently, trying to see into his mind. Did that mean what she thought it did? It should hardly be surprising, Oberyn cared for Arya deeply and all the reasons Daenerys had to hate Payne were true for Oberyn too. Her stumble allowed for more distance between them and the knight, but Daenerys still took care to make certain her voice wouldn’t reach him. “You’re going to…”

“It’s already done Princess,” he told her calmly, “we will have our revenge soon.” 

Already done? What in Seven Hells did that mean? Payne clearly wasn’t dead. She didn’t know how to ask, or what to ask, so she waited, hoping Oberyn would provide more. He opened the door for her and held it so she could go inside. As she passed under the arch, she looked at him and whispered her thanks. He replied by saying, “He’s already dead, he just doesn’t know it yet, he soon will.” 

Perhaps it made her despicable, or wretched, or maybe just a typical Targaryen but Daenerys took some joy from those words. A grim, perverse smile decorated her face. He was going to die, if not by her hands than by Oberyn’s. She’d been thinking about killing Ilyn Payne since he picked up the whip and lashed Arya’s back the first time. Justice or vengeance, she didn’t know, she was committed to seeing her will done regardless.

R-C

“You’re avoiding me!” Jorah accused as he hurried down the long hall to catch up to her. 

She could admit, at least to herself that she enjoyed his frustration more than was healthy. “Am I? That doesn’t sound like me.”

He sighed heavily. “You told me you were going to sleep.”

“Yes,” she acknowledged. She did tell him that. “And?”

“You didn’t,” he accused. “You lied and snuck out.”

“I didn’t sneak anywhere,” she disagreed with an authority she didn’t actually feel. She had snuck away, and although she didn’t regret it, it is what happened. 

“Why do you insist on behaving this way?” he lamented. “I know where you were anyway, so there was no reason to hide it.”

She rolled her eyes. So smug and entitled. “Let me guess, the big, strong Prince complained to the knight that his sister was mean to him?” she mocked. By the time she was done, her contempt and sarcasm were evident. “I didn’t leave the castle and I didn’t ask for a guard, I have a guard. You following me around like a puppy was not necessary.” 

Jorah flinched when she used the word ‘puppy’ to describe him. “Those aren’t the rules, and you know it. You’re required to have a guard with you every time…”

She didn’t want to hear it. She knew the rule. She’d known it far longer than Jorah Mormont. “Maybe it’s time for the rules to change,” she snapped. “If I can’t have a conversation in my own home, with my own brother without armed escorts, I think there is something wrong in this world.” 

“You were with Prince Rhaegar?” he confirmed cautiously. 

Daenerys huffed. “You just said you knew I was,” she reminded him, tiring quickly of this meaningless back and forth. 

“I thought you were with the girl,” he admitted feebly. “I came to check on you and you weren’t in your room. I went looking and saw you talking with the Dornishman talking…”

Daenerys didn’t feel obligated to let him finish. She got the point. “If by ‘the girl’” she quoted bitterly, “you mean Arya, then you were wrong. I wasn’t with Arya this morning, I had business with Rhaegar. After that I went for a walk and bumped into Oberyn, so we spoke.”

“What about?” he wondered, working awfully hard to appear casual. 

She didn’t consider answering him for a second. Even if she and Oberyn hadn’t discussed murder, she still wouldn’t have shared the details of their private conversation. It occurred to her that Jorah claimed he saw her talking to Oberyn but didn’t approach until the Viper had left. They were on their way to find Arya when a servant presented Oberyn with a scroll that demanded his attention, he excused himself and was immediately replaced by the man from Bear Island. 

“You should have taken a guard,” he whined. 

She was done with this. “Whatever you say.” Without a destination in mind, she turned and went back the way she came. She secretly – not so secretly – hoped he’d grow weary and give up. Although it was petty to make him chase after her, she did it anyway. 

Regrettably, his longer legs allowed him to keep pace with her without too much difficulty. “I spoke to the King today,” he said, as if they were two friends discussing their lives while enjoying a casual stroll. 

She was sure silence was the right course. Nothing she said would cut Jorah as deeply as ignoring him outright, but the moment he mentioned her father she saw red. Holding her tongue was no longer an option, no matter how logical. “Plotting more executions of innocent women?”

It wasn’t by design that she asked him that just as they were passing a young noblewoman, but her horrified expression and Jorah’s embarrassment made her wish she’d planned it. “I’ll keep apologizing for as long as you want,” he offered. 

“And I’ll keep telling you words aren’t enough.” 

She expected more protests about how unfair she was being, or how aggrieved he was, but he returned them to the topic of the King. “Your father still wishes for you to learn the sword. He’s assigned me to train you now.” 

She stopped walking. “Absolutely not!” she roared, without a care for who might hear her fury. “I won’t do it.” This nonsense with the sword had gone too far. It was her training that caused the mess they were still trying to wade their way through and now she was supposed to do it again? It was utterly ridiculous. She didn’t want to learn to fight. If Arya Stark couldn’t persuade her to practice, no one could, because that woman had some interesting motivational techniques. 

Jorah sighed again and looked as though he was addressing a scorned child and not a Princess. “He is serious Daenerys, he wants you to learn and he isn’t going to stop until he’s satisfied.” 

“No,” she said again, just as vehemently as before. “You can’t force me to do it, and neither can he, not anymore.” 

“Do you want to make him angry?”

“Do you?” she retorted rudely. “It wasn’t me he blamed for failing, it was the instructor.” 

He tried to act as if it were a joke, he forced out a stiff laugh to help sell it, but it sounded hollow. “You forget how well I know you Daenerys,” he proclaimed boldly, “you’re a good person with a good heart, you won’t knowingly allow me to be harmed just so you can avoid your lessons.” 

His confidence pressed down on a nerve and she wanted nothing more than to prove him wrong. She scoffed dismissively. “You actually believe that, don’t you?” She didn’t let him answer. “You tried to have the woman I love executed so you could take her job. Do you really think I’m going to lose sleep if the next time Father summons his pyromancer it’s for you?” She let her ominous question hang in the air as she walked away. She hadn’t seen Arya in too long. 

R-C

Arya didn’t know how it happened. She didn’t arrange it and to the best of her knowledge none of the others had either and yet, they still ended up together, in Daenerys’s bedchamber. The Princess, Missandei, Grey Worm, and Tyrion had all gathered to wish her and Oberyn safe travels back to Dorne. 

She purposefully waited until everyone was enjoying their wine before she addressed the other Dornish. “How long do I have?” She wanted to know how many more nights like this she’d be permitted. 

She had hoped to keep the question from Daenerys’s ears, choosing to ask it when she seemed suitably distracted by Missandei, but Daenerys’s conversation with the handmaiden ended just in time for everyone to hear Arya’s private inquiry. 

The mood in the room had be easy and light. Everyone knew Arya would be leaving and most knew why, but they were choosing to ignore it. They laughed, traded stories and drank freely. She estimated that they could have gone the whole night without mentioning Arya’s return to Dorne, except now the bubble had burst. She’d brought it up and everyone was silent while they waited for new information. 

When Oberyn didn’t provide an immediate schedule, she grew exasperated. “Come on, just tell me, I know you have been to the docks. How long?”

He sipped his wine as though he didn’t have a care in the world. When he was finished, he set it aside and smiled at his friend. “I did go to the docks, and I did see the Dornish Captain who brought me here, but there was a miscommunication.” 

His widening grin didn’t match the words he way saying. What was he so happy about, and what happened to the ship? 

“What sort of miscommunication?” Daenerys wondered for them all. 

“The man is a fine sailor, but he isn’t the smartest lad I’ve ever known,” Oberyn explained, clearly enjoying his role in the center of the attention. “I told him we needed to go, and he misunderstood, he thought I meant immediately. He left the harbor this morning and is already on his way back to Sunspear.” 

Arya chuckled. Misunderstanding her arse. He’d sent the ship back without them, and he’d done it for her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Daenerys interrupted as soon as she made sense of what was left unsaid in Oberyn’s tale. “You’re not leaving?!” The hope Arya heard nearly shattered her. Yes, Oberyn had delayed their departure slightly, but how long could the ruse last?

“It’ll take a few days for word to reach the Captain to turn around,” Arya guessed, trying to keep Daenerys’s expectations reasonable. 

“It’ll take longer than that,” Oberyn corrected, “I gave the Captain specific instructions not to send or receive any messages until he is back in Dornish waters. Any attempts to turn him around before he can see the Tower of Spear is going to be met with silence.” 

Missandei and Tyrion chuckled at his creativity. Arya shook her head, adding one more thing to the long list of debts she owed Oberyn Martell. His gambit would give her several more weeks with Daenerys, a prize that was literally priceless. 

Daenerys’s reaction was the most surprising and entertaining, not only for Arya but the rest of them too. Her mouth hung open like a fish out of water until the full extent of Oberyn’s duplicity became known. Then her mouth closed, and her lips curled into a seductive and devious smirk, one that made it hard for Arya to remember there were other people in the room. Taking Daenerys to bed in her current state would definitely hurt, but Arya would wager it would be a fair trade if it meant she didn’t have to delay taking her lover another second. “I could kiss you!” the Princess blurted out, dragging Arya from her thoughts of doing much more than kissing her Dragon. It was only when she looked up and met those stunning, violet eyes that she realized the Targaryen wasn’t talking to her. 

Oberyn laughed at the sentiment, opening his arms as if he anticipated as much and was ready for Daenerys to climb into his lap. “Please do,” he told her. 

“Please don’t,” she fired back. Her disgruntled expression only serving to amuse everyone further. 

“Who’s going to stop me, you?” he challenged. 

“I did last time,” Arya reminded him. 

“You got lucky, and I was fresh off the ship. I’m faster now, stronger and we both know, so much prettier.” 

The banter came easy, like there wasn’t a dark cloud hanging over her head. She promised herself she’d enjoy it for as long as it lasted. “Is that true?” she asked the ladies directly. 

Everyone turned to Missandei for the first verdict, but the handmaiden respectfully looked away and shook her head. Whether that meant she was refuting Oberyn’s claim or attempting to dodge the question entirely, the guard didn’t know. Naturally, Daenerys made no effort to avoid the comparison. “I’m not sure. You both have a certain charm. Hmmm.”

“Wait!” Oberyn shouted jumping up from his chair. “You can’t rightly decide until you’ve seen both of us naked.” 

Of course, Oberyn would say that. Shit. She closed her eyes and shook her head, a reaction mirrored by the stoic Grey Worm. Missandei gasped into her hand and looked to be fighting back giggles while Tyrion just sipped his wine and watched to see what would happen next. 

Daenerys blushed but didn’t back down. “You know what, you may be right, Prince.” 

When Arya heard the rattle of his belt, she had to put an end to it. Perhaps Daenerys and the others didn’t realize it, but Oberyn was fully capable of stripping down in a room full of people without a second thought. For all of their sakes Arya tried to prevent that. “Anything that comes out of your pants, Prince, I’ll be sending back to Ellaria in a bag.” She took pains to try and match Daenerys’s tone and her use of Oberyn’s title. 

Finally, the festivities pulled a response out of the Lannister. “Don’t risk it,” he advised the Dornish, “I think she means it.” 

Pouting like a child whose favorite toy was taken away, Daenerys whined, “That hardly seems fair!” Arya had to give credit where it was due, she sounded genuinely disappointed. She knew this song and dance was for her benefit, so she played along. 

“Really? Wow, I’ll remember this.” She didn’t think her false indignation was convincing anyone, but she held it nonetheless. 

Daenerys’s pout bloomed into a triumphant grin as she made her way to her lover. She leaned bent down and they shared an intense but brief kiss. Before Daenerys pulled away, she didn’t go far, settling her mouth over Arya’s ear. “Forgive me?”

She stole another kiss before she remembered their audience. “Ask me later.” 

“What about me?” Oberyn asked, putting an end to their private moment. “I’m the one who sent the ship away.” 

Arya and Daenerys’s faces wore matching indulgent expressions before the Princess turned away. “You’re absolutely right,” she agreed, “you are due a reward, how do you feel about a statue in your honor or a song?”

“Don’t tease him. He’s wanted a statue since his fifth nameday.”

Daenerys laughed and Missandei joined in. “Is that so? Well perhaps the day has finally come.”

“It was my sixth nameday,” he amended with a pointed glare in Arya’s direction, “and I certainly wouldn’t say no if you wished to memorialize me and my contributions in gold.”

Across the room Tyrion nearly choked on his wine. “Gold? Do you have any idea how much it would cost to create a statue of pure gold?” Leave it to the Master of the Coins and the Lannister to worry about the price of something that would come to pass. 

Rather than being bothered by talk of the expense, Oberyn chuckled dryly. “Yes, I do,” he confirmed. 

“Well,” Daenerys chimed in, getting them back on track, “until your statue is ready, please accept my gratitude.” There was no kiss, but Daenerys went to him for a hug. Arya couldn’t hear the words exchanged but she knew Daenerys was thanking him for his efforts. 

She certainly seconded that notion. “Thank you,” she said emphatically, “truly.” She stood, or tried to stand, from the padded chair where she’d been sitting. When Daenerys realized what she intended she moved away from Oberyn and provided the help her scarred back and injured muscles couldn’t. She thanked her lover with a smile and limped over to Oberyn, pleased that walking hurt less than it did the day before. He stayed on his feet and was ready to receive her when she got there. “Thank you,” she repeated. 

“We can’t go home quite yet my friend,” he told her seriously, “we still have business left here.” Everything about Oberyn from his posture and inflection to the choice of those specific words led Arya to believe they weren’t joking anymore. 

“What business?” The Master of the Coins was just as curious as Arya about what would compel a Crownland-hating Dornish to remain in the capital a single sunrise longer than absolutely necessary. 

“I do not like this place,” Oberyn began. He stayed there within reach, in the event she needed something to lean on. She didn’t, but with her body still so weak, it was impossible to know when that might change. “For years I avoided coming here, but now I see that was a mistake. I need to be here.” 

“Here? Are you sure? I can think of plenty of places I’d rather be.” Tyrion noted with a smirk. 

“I wish to right the wrongs done to the people I love. I want the justice I’m owed.” 

“If you’re looking for justice, you’re definitely in the wrong place.”

“I think not,” he challenged Tyrion and the rest, “all the people who have harmed me are here. Perhaps I am in the perfect place.” 

R-C

The castle was filled with an uneasy mix of unresolved tension and nervous energy. Something was in the air and almost everyone could feel it. Meals were the most awkward. Outside the hall, the warring parties could avoid one another, but the King’s decree that his children attend dinner each night, required them to come together at least once a day. Aerys seemed oblivious to the large divide forming within his family. Aemon and Rhaegar weren’t speaking. When conversation was inevitable Rhaegar received brief, emotionless responses, usually in as few words as possible. As for the siblings, each time their eyes met Daenerys could see the contempt her brother held for her. It hurt, she wouldn’t deny that, but she refused to wilt. She’d given him the chance to tell Aemon the truth, more than once, he was the one who was too cowardly to take it. He refused and forced her hand. The one he should be angry at was himself. 

Rhaegar’s mood only became more foul once Oberyn informed the court that the ship that was supposed to take he and Arya back to Sunspear was delayed. Again and again, he’d ask his wife’s brother when the ship was due and every time, Oberyn would answer with, “Any day Prince,” even though he knew it was a lie. 

Cersei seeing opportunity tried to swoop in and calm the enraged heir. As Daenerys chewed her food and watched her fawn over him night after night, she had to wonder if she’d still be interested if she knew Rhaegar had no intention of actually ruling anything? Was it her brother Cersei wanted, or the next King?

The prospect of another silent meal at the royal table didn’t appeal to her anymore than the chicken they were serving. Deciding to demonstrate her free will, she walked past the chair where she typically sat. She took time to say hi to Aemon, and to ensure she was seen by her father, and then Daenerys crossed the large room in search of people she might enjoy talking to. Oberyn was sitting alone at a table on the room’s rear wall. It was as far from her usual seat as she could get, and she loved the idea immediately. No one would bother her there. Since it wasn’t a particularly busy season in terms of visits, there were several rows of empty tables between where the newest arrivals to court sat, and where Oberyn situated himself. It would give them privacy. He saw her coming and smiled, standing up to pull out the chair next to him. 

Once she was settled with a plate in front of her, she looked over her shoulder and found Missandei, “Sit down,” she instructed. 

It was such a simple request but all three of them knew how significant it was. “Is that wise?”

Daenerys didn’t care about that. She tired of forcing her best friend to stand by and watch her eat. It was incredibly rude and insensitive. Daenerys was done with it. Customs be damned. “Sit. It’s not as if Rhaegar can hate me more than he already does.”

“He doesn’t hate you, he just needs…”

Daenerys appreciated the optimism, but it was needless. “He does hate me. I told Aemon a secret he had been keeping for decades. He’s not going to forgive me.” As she spoke, she divided her food into two portions and then transferred one to the empty plate in front of Missandei. “That’s better.”

The handmaiden gave an appreciative smile. “Thank you.” 

“So, what happens now?” Oberyn asked, picking up his fork. “Do you plan to marry Loras Tyrell and live in the Reach?”

She hadn’t thought about her bargain with Loras for a while. Since returning she’d had quite a few other things that demanded her focus. “No,” she told him truthfully, “it was one thing when I thought I’d have Arya, we agreed I’d have my life, while Loras had his, but now…” she trailed off. 

“Now what?” Missandei nudged. 

“What’s the point?” she asked, talking to herself as much as them. “Arya will be leaving, and I’ll be alone.” 

“Would you join her if you could?” Oberyn wanted to know. 

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. 

“In Dorne?” he followed up. 

“I’d go anywhere with her,” Daenerys confessed. 

“There is room on the ship,” he informed her. 

She appreciated his willingness to support them, even though she was confident it was Arya more than her he wished to help. It was tempting to think she could disappear, just run, but Arya remained opposed. They discussed it several times and the Stark was unmovable on the subject. She was of the opinion that they’d never be able to run far enough, or fast enough to escape her father. Daenerys felt it was worth an attempt. Even if all they had was a few weeks alone, together and free, she’d take it over a lifetime spent in her expensive cage. That said, she wouldn’t demand Arya join her, so they remained at an impasse for now. Aware Oberyn was still waiting for a response she managed a smile for his kindness. “Thank you, I want to, but Arya worries.” 

“About what?” Missandei asked. 

“The King,” Oberyn answered for her. “He’ll search for you.”

Missandei lowered her voice to a whisper. “Would he really hurt his own daughter?”

Daenerys planned to offer an honest assessment of what her father was capable of, but before she could, Oberyn contributed more. “It’s not only this King Arya worries about, it is the next one as well.”

That knocked her off balance a bit. She was glad she was sitting. She might’ve fallen otherwise. How did he know that? Why had Arya never expressed that concern to her? 

“The Prince?” Missandei verified looking toward the royal table. “I thought he didn’t intend to rule.” 

“He doesn’t.”

A dark eyebrow raised as she tried to work through the implications. “Aemon then?”

“Aemon doesn’t want the throne either.” 

Understanding spread across Missandei’s face, accompanied by a look of dread. “Viserys.”

Daenerys shivered and pushed her plate away. She wasn’t hungry anymore. “After what I did to him, if he were King, Arya’s right, I’d never be safe again.”

Dejected she covered her face with her hands and sighed. Were these the choices she had? She could either lose the woman she loved and live an empty meaningless life without her, or they could be together, and share a life filled with fear as they tried to stay one step ahead of not one Targaryen tyrant but two?

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until Oberyn answered her. “Perhaps there is another way.” 

Was it desperation or something else that made her lower her hands from her face and ask what he meant by that? As he began laying out what he had in mind Daenerys kept waiting to feel guilt, horror, or regret but those emotions never came. What she felt in their stead was relief because someone was finally offering a solution that had the potential to keep her and Arya together. 

In the end, it was relatively simple – Arya was worth the risk and honestly, she didn’t have all that much more to lose.

R-C

“How’d Aemon take it?” It was a transparent attempt to put her mind on something other than her pain. Oberyn’s brew helped quite a bit actually but it wasn’t magic, and it didn’t cure her. She still felt like she’d been vigorously whipped, probably because she had. 

“Better than I would’ve,” Daenerys responded calmly. The lack of strenuous and repeated inquiries about her health led Arya to believe the reason she was asking remained hidden from the Princess. That was good. She had caused Daenerys enough heartache to last a lifetime, she had no interest in making it worse. “He’s so composed. It’s sometimes hard to believe he’s a Targaryen.” 

Arya smiled at her lover. “That’s the Stark in him,” she explained, “centuries in the harsh North made us tough. As I heard it, my Aunt Lyanna was tougher than most, even by Northern standards.” 

Daenerys chuckled as she came to join Arya on the bed. “You’re probably right,” she conceded. “Now that I know what to look for it’s rather obvious. It’s a miracle more people don’t see the resemblance.” 

“It helps that your father had all of my family erased from memory. Everyone except the people in the room that day think we’re dead.”

This particular detail seemed to unsettle Daenerys. “What do you mean?”

She thought it was pretty self explanatory, but since she asked, Arya crafted a reply. “Varys told me that most of the Realm believes my family is dead. The King forbid those who knew otherwise to mention that he sent Sansa and I to foster.” 

Although she tried, she couldn’t comprehend the flurry of emotions that passed across the Targaryen’s face. She was hurt, then sad and finally hopeful before she settled on a look that Arya could only describe as cautiously optimistic. “Did he tell Rhaegar?”

“Why does it matter?” 

“Did my father tell Rhaegar about what really happened to your family?!” she asked again, growing agitated. 

“Not unless the Spider lied,” she answered, “which is possible.” 

Daenerys’s sudden, wide smile didn’t fit their exchange at all. She clutched Arya’s hand in her excitement. “He didn’t? That’s great.”

“Is it?” 

All at once Daenerys seemed to remember Arya was there. Her smile dimmed but didn’t disappear. “It is,” she promised. “Do you remember when I spoke to Rhaegar about your family?”

She did, Daenerys had snuck out after their first night together to hear her brother’s side of the story. She told Arya about it later. “Yes.”

“There were things I didn’t tell you, they didn’t seem important at the time, but that was before I knew what Varys said, now it could be the most important thing ever and…”

Despite giving it her full attention, she was having trouble keeping pace. “Calm down,” she instructed, “breathe, it’ll be alright, just tell me what you’re thinking.” 

“Your father,” she confessed after a deep gulp of air, “I asked Rhaegar about your father.”

“Why would you do that?” Arya questioned as something inside her cracked. Whatever Daenerys was struggling to tell her, it involved her father. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” she countered. “I wanted to see how he would justify what was done to you and your family.” 

It was a challenge to remain outwardly indifferent. Inside a storm was raging. “How did he justify it?” Knowing the Prince, it was an epic tale with him as the true victim, exactly like his depiction of the rebellion. 

“He told me your father was killed, that my father had him executed.”

Arya still failed to see how any of that was noteworthy. “He did, so what?”

Daenerys’s wide smile returned. “We don’t know that he’s dead,” Daenerys claimed boldly, arriving at the point, “you said yourself that no one outside the throne room knows what really happened, so it’s possible that Rhaegar was given the same lie as everyone else. Maybe that’s why he told me every Stark was killed.” 

Suddenly the pain she was suffering had nothing to do with her back. How long had she wanted to know if she was the last of her family? She’d seen Sansa and confirmed with her own eyes she was well, and now Daenerys was dangling the possibility that her father survived too. Hope was a double-edged sword. Arya wanted to believe it more than anything, but if she did and was wrong, it’d be like losing him all over again. She didn’t know what the right thing to do was. As hard as it was, she’d come to terms with her father’s death, with the loss of her family, with the fact that she’d never see Sansa again, did she really want to open old wounds on the chance Aerys granted mercy to man he despised? 

Yes, she eventually realized, she did want to know, because she was her father’s daughter if nothing else. He had taught her to face things head on no matter how painful. It would dishonor him to hide from the possibility that he was alive. She couldn’t unhear Daenerys’s theory, and no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, and block it from her mind, a part of her would always have doubts. She needed to put this to rest one way or another. If her father was alive, she wanted to find him, and if he was dead, then she needed to know that definitively too. 

“What exactly did your brother say?” Arya asked more harshly than was fair. She’d apologize later. 

“I asked him what happened to your father,” Daenerys recounted. “I told him I remembered your family being Wardens.” 

“And?” She needed more information than that to understand what made Daenerys so hopeful. 

“He told me that our father summoned your whole family here and had everyone killed, including your father. I believed him, why wouldn’t I? I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want to hurt you by confirming it.” 

Arya was much less interested in Daenerys’s reason for keeping it from her, than she was about the actual details in Rhaegar’s story. “What else?”

“I kept asking questions, I wanted to hear what he’d say. When I asked about the children he told me none survived.” 

“He was wrong,” she noted sarcastically as her frustrations boiled over. She regretted her comment as soon as she saw the hurt in Daenerys’s eyes. 

“I know,” the royal assured her. “I thought it strange that he’d lie about it, but I could hardly explain how I knew he was wrong, could I?”

That was certainly true. “Did he say anything else?”

“No,” she admitted sadly. “I was so focused on you, that I didn’t stop and think about what his story truly meant. It never occurred to me that if he was wrong about what happened to you, then he might be wrong about what became of your father also.” 

Arya followed her logic easily, but she still failed to see any proof her father wasn’t as dead as Rhaegar claimed. “What makes you think he is alive?”

“Rhaegar wasn’t there,” she reminded the Stark, “he would have heard what happened from someone else, and if my father forbid them from saying anything other than ‘they’re all dead,’ then who would defy him?“

“You really think he’s alive?” Arya verified. She thought Daenerys was making a lot of assumptions, but just as she feared, she couldn’t quell that tiny spark of hope that lit inside her. 

“I know someone who can tell us,” Daenerys replied. 

It wasn’t hard to determine which man she meant. Not many were in the room when her family was judged, and of those that were, there weren’t many Daenerys would go to for information. “You want to ask Varys? Are you sure? After what happened on the way back from Highgarden we agreed to tread carefully around the Spider.” 

“This is worth it,” Daenerys contended. “If he can tell us what became of your father, it’ll be a bargain at twice the price.” 

Talk of price had her anxious, thinking about the cost. Information was power and no one embodied this principle more than the King’s Spymaster. Even if they could trust his words were accurate, he wouldn’t give them up freely. “You can’t say that until you know what he wants.”

“If he was behind the blockade, he owes us. I think this is a suitable way for him to begin repaying that debt.” 

Arya may have been swayed by Daenerys’s attractive use of her power and title, but she doubted Varys would be as amenable. “Are you certain you want to do this? It’s a risk.” 

“We need to know, and you deserve to know. Varys told you he cared about me, so maybe he’ll welcome the chance to help.”

To Arya it sounded as if Daenerys was reaching, and she intended to say so, but the Princess wasn’t finished. “He has known who you are for longer than I have, and he hasn’t told anyone.” 

Again, Arya couldn’t dispute Daenerys’s point. The Spider had said he liked Daenerys and he had kept the soldier’s secret. “That was before Highgarden.”

“He hasn’t revealed your identity since we got back either. I know we agreed to keep our distance from him, but I’m starting to think we’re overdue for a serious conversation.” 

She gave what she was hearing consideration and could see the merits of what Daenerys was proposing. “I’m sorry,” Arya said, “you’re right and if this is what you want, I won’t stand in your way.” Rewarded with a kiss, there was a delay before Arya could finish her thought. “And, since I haven’t said it recently, thank you for keeping my secret.” 

Daenerys leaned in for another peck at her lips. “Of course, if I didn’t tell Aemon, you can trust I won’t spill the truth to anyone.” 

That was a surprise. “You didn’t tell Aemon about me?” she repeated dumbly. Arya always assumed that Daenerys wouldn’t be able to tell Aemon the story of his birth without exposing Arya Sand’s true history. “Why not? He deserves…”

“He does,” she agreed quickly, “but I won’t put you at risk.” Her eyes hardened and her expression became severe. “You’ve already been hurt enough. I won’t make it worse, not even for Aemon.” 

“You could tell him,” Arya permitted, “I’ll be gone soon, once I am, you should tell him everything.” 

She could see that mentioning her imminent departure did little to brighten Daenerys’s mood. “I’m not letting you go,” she decided. “I’ll talk to Rhaegar again.” 

With an incredulous look Arya reminded her lover of the current state of that relationship. “You just revealed his biggest secret to his son, I don’t think he’ll be rushing to do you,” she paused and amended the point, “or us any favors.” 

“You’re right,” she conceded, “luckily, he isn’t the only powerful man in the castle.” 

Daenerys had said something similar the last time they discussed it, but Arya was no more receptive this time. “No, it’s too dangerous.” She could tell by her expression that Daenerys wanted to argue, so Arya hurried ahead without giving her the chance. “This isn’t what we want, but it’s better than nothing. I will see you again, as often as I can. I promise.” 

“But…”

“Don’t,” Arya implored. “Fighting to keep me will only cause people to question why. Our friends know your reasons, and now Rhaegar and Aemon, but everyone else is still in the dark. If your father finds out I’m your consort, I won’t live long enough to see the ship return.” It was a dirty tactic to motivate Daenerys to let this go, but she was almost out of options. “So how is Aemon?” she asked, in a blatant attempt to redirect them. 

Daenerys was reluctant, and she expertly avoided the guard’s eye. “He’s okay, a little shocked but who wouldn’t be? He’ll be fine, given a little time.” 

That sounded a lot like Aemon, but Arya wasn’t buying it. “Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Daenerys tried, not willing to give it up yet, whatever it was. 

“Whatever you’re afraid to tell me.” She thought of her cousin who was struggling to make sense of what had to be a startling piece of information about himself, and she worried. “Is Aemon alright?”

“It’s nothing like that,” Daenerys eventually admitted looking pained. 

“What then?”

She kept her eyes down. “He thinks his father hid the truth because he was born of traitors.” She took a deep breath before adding, “I tried to correct him, to explain it was lies, but I don’t think he believed me.” 

“It’s okay,” Arya assured her, and it really was. Aemon needed someway to try and make sense of a puzzle when he was missing half the pieces. He’d need a way to justify Rhaegar’s behavior and the Starks being traitors made sense. It resolved any and all questions about why Rhaegar wouldn’t want to tell his son who his mother was. 

“How can you be so calm!?” Daenerys erupted. “Aemon believes his mother’s family were liars who were blinded by power and hate, desperate to steal the Iron Throne, doesn’t that bother you.” 

It did. Every time someone disparaged her father or her mother, each time they ranted about the just downfall of the Starks, she seethed inside. She wanted to draw her sword and start killing until there was no one left to spread the King’s hideous lies, but other things were more important. Daenerys was more important. Arya needed to make the Princess see that too. “I’m angry too, but we need to be smart. What matters most is our safety, yours, Aemon’s, mine.” She added herself in as an afterthought but didn’t think Daenerys noticed. “When Aemon has questions, he’ll come to you. Until then, you need to be careful, around your father, your brother and Tywin.” 

“I will,” she said unconvincingly. 

She took her lover’s hand. “I mean it, this is serious. Avoid them if you can, and if you can’t, stay calm. Now is not the time for anger.” 

“When is?” Her violet eyes shined with a lifetime worth of mistreatment but mixed in Arya saw genuine curiosity. She really wanted to know when she could unleash the fire inside. 

Honestly, Arya didn’t know if the day would come when Daenerys could confront her family, especially now that Rhaegar was no longer on their side. When Rhaegar was planning to replace Aerys, Arya took comfort from the fact that it would only be a matter of time before Daenerys was allied to the most powerful man in the world. Now, Aerys would remain King and even after he was gone the crown would fall to Rhaegar or Viserys, both of whom had a grudge against their only sister. Neither future filled Arya with much optimism. She would have put her faith in Ameon given the chance, but Arya was aware her cousin wanted to be on the Wall long before the end of his grandfather’s reign. He didn’t want the throne and wouldn’t take it unless there was no other choice. Few of these options put Daenerys in a place where she could speak freely, voicing her true feelings. Still, Arya knew what she needed. Arya answered with a soft kiss that was followed by words. “Soon,” she exaggerated, “when it’s safe.”

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Another chapter posted. Oberyn delays the ship and saves the day. He also has plans for Payne, plans for Arya and plans for Daenerys. What can I say? I enjoy writing him. 
> 
> Daenerys thinks Ned is alive. Arya didn’t see him die after all, but could they trust the Mad King to be that merciful? You’ll find out in the next couple of chapters, I promise (it’ll either be one really long chapter, or two short ones).
> 
> They couldn’t avoid Varys forever, who better to answer their questions? Unlike Rhaegar he saw even more of what happened to the Starks than Arya. 
> 
> We are nearing the end now and it may take me a little longer than usual between chapters to make sure I can get everything into a semi-coherent finish. Thanks for sticking with me. 
> 
> RC


	56. Chapter 56

It had been eight days since her talk with Oberyn over dinner and Daenerys was no closer to making a decision. Truthfully, she felt even more lost now than she had when he originally suggested it. Flattering as it was to believe, even temporarily that she could replace Rhaegar, succeed her father and sit on the Iron Throne herself, it simply was not that easy. How could she rule anything? She’d never been included in any aspect of true governing. Loathe as she was to admit it, Rhaegar had been right when he minimized her contributions and ridiculed her role. There was more to leading than tours of the castle and tea. At the end of the day, her lack of experience and knowledge couldn’t be overcome. could it? 

Countless times she prepared to politely decline the idea and thank Oberyn for thinking her worthy, but something always held her back. It was more than her own selfish wants or Arya’s, what gave her pause was thinking about everyone else. Millions of innocent people lived under her father’s unjust rule and they paid dearly for that. They deserved someone better, but was it hubris to think ‘better’ meant her? 

Her mind raced and she quickly came to the foot of another insurmountable obstacle. She was not a man. Would Westeros accept her or any woman, regardless of her bloodline? Sure, it was tradition for Targaryen Kings to rule beside their sister-wives, but Daenerys wasn’t naive. That arrangement while custom did not make the Kings and their Queens equal in the eyes of the masses. 

She tried to divide the various arguments into two groups. The list of reasons she should do as Oberyn was proposing and replace her father was short but sincere. She really did want to help people but was she capable and if she was, would anyone let her? She didn’t know and that alone fed the debate taking place inside her.

She hadn’t spoken to anyone about this yet, not Arya or Missandei, not because she was ashamed but rather, she didn’t know what she’d say. What made Oberyn think she was right for such a weighty obligation? She was a spoiled girl who rarely left the castle. Good intentions aside, it would take years of study to craft her into a suitable ruler and Daenerys didn’t think the Realm had that long. After Aerys the people wouldn’t tolerate more Targaryen nonsense. They’d need a strong, stable presence in King’s Landing to reassure them and guide them toward change. 

There were admittedly few Targaryens left. Rhaegar had been secretly planning to refuse the Crown all along. Daenerys didn’t think he’d suddenly change his mind now. Aemon dreamed of being a Ranger in the Night’s Watch and he deserved the chance to chase his dream. No matter how confident Rhaegar was of his scheme, she didn’t think the throne, its prestige or its responsibility would make her nephew happy. She didn’t want Aemon to be trapped in a life he didn’t choose. All that remained was Daenerys and Viserys. 

Unless allowances were made for Elia Martell’s children, the Realm would need to decide between another violent, unstable King, or his inexperienced, woefully untalented sister. It was a difficult problem with no clear solution. 

There were benefits to being in charge. She could finally implement the ideas she had to improve the capital and all seven kingdoms. Potentially even more appealing was the knowledge that if she were Queen, no one would have the power to keep her and Arya apart. For that reason alone, Daenerys was tempted to track down Oberyn and accept, but she couldn’t be so selfish. She loved Arya but this needed to be about more than just her. Daenerys had to make the best choice for everyone, Arya included. 

Part of the reason she hadn’t mentioned any of this to her consort was because she knew Arya would be her usual supportive self. She’d encourage Daenerys to go ahead, to change the world and make it better. The Princess knew if Arya reacted with such optimism, she’d grow strong and fearless, capable of anything. She’d agree and take the leap of faith, regardless of the consequences. While it was appealing to have someone to share the burden with, she held her tongue. Whether or not she would try to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was a decision she had to make on her own. She appreciated Arya’s unwavering support, but their current predicament called for realism. Although being with Arya often made her feel as though anything was possible, the truth was Daenerys was a timid, introverted, young woman who could count on her hands the number of truly impactful moments in her life. She was never meant to lead. She wasn’t groomed for it like Rhaegar. She didn’t have Viserys’s sense of entitlement nor his overconfidence. 

She stopped walking and leaned against a wall. The unforgiving, cool stone felt nice against her skin. Frustrated with her jumbled, inconsistent thoughts she tried to approach the problem from a new angle. One day, whether it was sooner or not, Aerys would not be Westeros’s King. What happened then? If Rhaegar was steadfast in his refusal and Aemon was in the Night’s Watch who did the duty fall to? Would they name Viserys King or bring Aegon from Sunspear? As she followed her prediction to its conclusion, she didn’t like the future she conjured up. Whether it was rightfully his or not, Viserys was going to claim the title for himself the instant he became aware that Rhaegar didn’t want it. If it was decided Aegon was the true King, would Viserys step aside and return to Dragonstone or would he resist and plunge the Realm into a war between Targaryens? 

She didn’t know Aegon vary well, just what she learned from Arya and Oberyn, mixed together with what she discovered for herself from during their brief interactions. Still, she was certain the kind, thoughtful, soft-spoken young man she met in the Water Gardens would make a far better leader than her brother. 

As it often did, her mind wandered to what would become of her in this imaginary future? Would she remain in the Red Keep, would she live in the Reach as Loras Tyrell’s wife? Viserys had always wanted her as his wife, and if he were King, he’d have the authority to try and make that happen. After what she’d done to him in her quest to protect Arya, Daenerys knew Viserys would revel in making her suffer. Her thoughts took a dark turn as she was swarmed with all the depraved ways he might choose to take his revenge. She always knew she’d have to answer for threatening him, she was prepared for it, but that was before. There was a big difference between upsetting a Prince and upsetting a King. 

Maybe Rhaegar and Lyanna had the right idea, maybe the best Daenerys and Arya could do was leave Westeros and never look back. She didn’t have skills exactly, but she’d be willing to learn and wasn’t above washing dishes or scrubbing sheets if necessary. She also had drawers and drawers of expensive trinkets. She would gladly sell the lot of them to start her new life with Arya. They wouldn’t make their predecessor’s mistakes however, they’d tell people, the ones who mattered anyone. She’d tell Aemon, and Arya would tell Sansa. They’d both tell Missandei… Her thoughts skidded to a halt as her stomach rolled violently. Missandei, could she leave her friend behind? Could she convince her and Grey Worm to join them without securing freedom for the Unsullied first? 

Perhaps she could barter with the next King. Viserys wouldn’t do anything to help her, but Aegon might. She could support his claim on the throne and in return he could set the Unsullied and Missandei free. 

When she believed she was helping Rhaegar prepare to ascend to power, she made a list of all the influential houses likely to side with them. With Arya’s help and Tyrion’s wide-ranging advice Daenerys had a pretty extensive sense of her potential allies, everyone from the Tullys in Riverrun to the Arryns in the Vale. Some would be easier than others to persuade but Daenerys liked her chances. If she was suitable to lead was debatable, but Daenerys knew without question, she could do this. She could rally allies and consolidate a base of power. She had already managed to get a pledge from Lady Olenna in Highgarden, and that was with only one conversation and a vague plan. Properly motivated, and she was, she could do better than organizing one house. Whether she was backing Aegon or opposing Viserys, Daenerys was committed to doing her part. 

Refusing to be Queen meant that she’d likely need to say goodbye to Arya, and while that was not the desired outcome, she knew her lover and knew that she meant it when she said they’d find ways to be together. It might take time, and there would be heartache during their separations, but Daenerys had the upmost faith in Arya Stark. 

She managed to keep herself hidden from Jorah by disappearing into the frequently forgotten space that belonged to Missandei. The handmaiden was once again enjoying a day in the city with Grey Worm, at the Princess’s insistence. They invited her to join them, but she declined. She wanted to stay close to the keep, and close to Arya, especially with tensions as high as they were. 

She hadn’t seen Arya since that morning. She tried to get up when Daenerys did, but the Targaryen encouraged her to rest. Arya tried to claim that the worst of her injury was behind her and while Daenerys certainly hoped that was accurate, she wasn’t entirely convinced. Either way, she didn’t want Arya hurting herself needlessly. 

Without prompting Missandei and Grey Worm provided both companionship and protection as she attended two meetings for Tyrion. It was after they were complete that Daenerys recommended the lover’s sneak away. She had nothing on her schedule beyond stealing as much of Arya’s time as possible, so why not release them? Not only did she invent a reason for Missandei to be out, in the event anyone asked, but Daenerys also provided her friend with enough gold to ensure she and Grey Worm had a nice, relaxing afternoon together. 

After seeing Missandei off, Daenerys went to Arya and found her napping. With care she adjusted the blankets around her lover and then dropped a feather-light kiss onto her forehead. “Sweet dreams,” she whispered before she slipped out of her bedchambers. She viewed retreating to Missandei’s room to be a stroke of genius on her part. No one would look for her there. She was desperate to avoid not only Jorah but the lecture he would undoubtedly spew. Daenerys needed to think. 

It was only supposed to be a brief reprieve, but it rapidly became more. She busied herself thinking about the future and what was best, not only for her, but for Aemon, Arya. Missandei, the Unsullied, Tyrion and all of Westeros. Time passed quickly without her knowledge or consent. When she finally realized how long she’d been secreted away she jumped to her feet and went in search of Arya. Was she with Oberyn or somewhere else? Would she be upset that Daenerys hadn’t been as attentive or present as she should? 

Since it was the closest to her current location, she started by checking the bedchamber that belonged to her. It seemed highly unlikely that Arya would still be resting, but it was definitely worth a look. 

The heavy door gave no advanced warning about what she might find within. She turned the knob quietly and slipped in, working hard to be as silent as possible. Before she crossed the threshold, she heard a mumbled curse. Initially she assumed she walked in on another nightmare. Quiet and careful no longer felt necessary. She let the door close on its own and hurried deeper into the room, eager to help Arya in any way she could. 

Surprisingly, the bed was both empty and made, Closer observation allowed her to spot the creases and wrinkles that made clear that it had not been tended to by one of the servants. 

“What are you doing here?” Arya barked, between panting breaths. 

Daenerys chased that voice to its source, her eyes sweeping the room as she went. She bristled a bit at the harsher than usual tone but responded. “I live here too, remember,” she joked. 

When she finally found Arya, the younger woman was standing not far from the mirror, with her back against the wall and both of her hands tucked behind her. It was difficult for the Targaryen to focus. In addition to wearing her usual boots and a simple pair of brown trousers, Arya’s upper body was uncovered, completely uncovered. No shirt, no bandages, nothing. Violet eyes pinpointed the freshest marks. Most were hidden but there were several she could see peeking out near Arya’s ribcage. It had been so long since she’d seen Arya like this, she allowed herself a moment to stare greedily. 

Arya didn’t appear to notice. “I thought you’d be busy.” She sighed, bringing her hands in front of her and wringing them. “I didn’t think it would take me this long.” 

Oblivious to what this was really about, Daenerys kept teasing. “You never need to apologize for giving me such a glorious sight to return to.”

Although Arya replied with a smile and a chuckle, they were empty. Daenerys knew a thing or two about forced, hollow gestures and she didn’t like that Arya felt the need to use them with her. What was happening? As she sought to understand she reviewed the unevenly made bed again before moving on to the remainder of the room. She stopped when she saw the small leather bag that was resting on the floor next to Arya’s foot. Daenerys recognized it immediately, those were Arya’s things, and that wasn’t where they’d been when she left that morning. 

Panic started bubbling in her chest. “What is happening here?!” she asked almost frantically. Her heart was pounding, and her vision blurring. What was Arya doing? 

In hopes of finding comfort for herself and at the same time provide reassurance for Arya, Daenerys held out a hand for the guard to take. She looked at it a long moment without making contact. The Princess’s panic was blooming into something much worse. “Arya please!” she begged shamelessly. 

That had the desired effect and Arya’s mask cracked a little. “I was going to tell you,” she began, “just not now, and not like this.” To emphasize what she meant she moved her left arm and gestured to her naked upper half. With her eyes drawn to the movement, she noticed a handful of different wounds. For most of the lashes Arya had been on her hands and knees, or flat on her stomach, but for the first few she was kneeling with her arms at her sides, and those were the ones where the whip was able to reach out and extend the horror beyond Arya’s back to her arms as well. Seeing Arya’s strong arms with wounds was physically painful. The marks were red and appeared to be healing but that did nothing to quell Daenerys’s rage. She was furious. Someone had hurt Arya. She had wanted Jorah dead for trying to hurt her, she’d tied up Viserys and cut him when he threatened her, so there was no mercy in her when it came to Ilyn Payne. What he had done was unforgivable. When would the fates give him what he was due? Spots of black in the largest visible cut to Arya’s arm confused her until she realized it had been sewn closed. She tore her eyes away from the injury so they could continue their conversation and found Arya watching her with a slight, sad smile. “Like I said, I thought I’d be finished before you got back. Let me cover up, then we can finish.” 

Daenerys didn’t give a fuck about that. “I get the feeling this can’t wait.” 

Arya’s answering expression spoke volumes. As was her way, she got straight to it. “I thought you’d want your bedchamber back. I’ll return to the barracks or stay with Oberyn. He received word the ship is on its way back.” 

Growing dizzy Daenerys wobbled slightly. Arya didn’t hesitate to reach out and keep her from falling. She appreciated the kindness and the contact. What was less enjoyable was the way Arya retracted her arm immediately after the Targaryen had her balance. “You’re leaving?” 

“It’s for the best,” she said although Daenerys didn’t think she believed it. “You don’t need me bleeding all over the furniture, and we both know I can’t guard anything like this.” 

She repeated the words in her head twice to verify she understood Arya’s reasoning. That was what Arya was upset about? That was why she wanted to leave? “You were never just my guard,” Daenerys said, feeling in her bones how true the words really were. She may not have known what to call it, or how to face it, but there had always been something more between them, right from the first. She offered Arya her hand again and tried not to scowl when she didn’t grasp it. 

Daenerys inched closer to her lover. “I don’t care if there is a trail of blood drops from the bed to the chair and back, I don’t care if you can’t guard me right now, that’s why I wanted you…”

“I care!” she snapped, ending Daenerys’s attempt at comfort. “I hate this,” she added throwing her hands up in frustration. The left she’d used to steady Daenerys earlier was empty, but in her right was a thick roll of bandages. Daenerys saw it and finally comprehended exactly what she’d walked in on. “I can’t do anything for myself.” 

“You’re hurt,” Daenerys reminded her as gently as she could, “it takes time to recover.”

“What if I don’t? What if I can never swing a sword again, what if I’m never fit to guard a shipment or you?” For the first time in their relationship Daenerys heard genuine fear in Arya’s voice. She was second guessing everything, her future, their relationship, her work, right down to her place in the world. It made Daenerys hate what happened that day in the throne room more than she already did. 

“You’re wrong,” she said, taking her consort’s left hand carefully. The callouses were slick with sweat. “You my love, can do anything.”

She scoffed and pulled away. “Everything except wrap a bandage apparently,” she complained. As if to prove it, she took the roll of white cloth she was holding and tossed it across the room. She sent it bouncing off the wall on the far side of the bed. On its way down it took a few random items along with it. 

Taking advantage of the fact that her right hand was now also empty Daenerys moved forward to try and claim it too. Arya backed up but couldn’t go far since she’d already retreated to the wall. “Don’t,” she cautioned. 

That lone word hurt more than Daenerys wanted to admit. She decided another strategy was in order. Reassurance from a lover wasn’t working, so she altered her course and tried to provide the soldier in her some relief. “It’s no different than if you were hurt in battle. You’ll be back to your old self soon.” 

“It is different,” the warrior countered, “war is different.”

“How?” the Princess asked dumbly. Arya was actually talking about it, and she wanted her to keep going. 

“In battle I’d go down with a sword in my hand,” she explained. “In combat you look your enemy in the eye until death comes to whoever is weaker, or slower, or less skilled. That wasn’t this,” she finished waving her hand over her body. “I was powerless again, just like when I was a girl.”

Daenerys’s heart broke as she listened. “You are not powerless,” she declared emphatically. Arya wasn’t convinced, so she reiterated. “You’re not. All your life people told you that you’d never be a soldier, that you couldn’t wear a sword, and armor and defend this Realm.” She knew it was true but summoned all her patience as she waited for Arya to respond. Nothing came. Daenerys nudged her a little. “Didn’t they?”

“Yes,” she confessed quietly. 

“That’s right. And all those recruits thought you were pitiful on your first day, and the instructors tried to make you quit, to make you give up, but you never did, why?”

There was another delay but not nearly as long as the last. “I didn’t want to, I belonged there.” 

Daenerys smiled. “Yes, you did, which is why you didn’t only complete your training, you excelled at it. You were right Arya. You were meant to be a soldier.”

“Maybe not,” Arya refuted sadly. 

“Really? Think about us and all it took to get us here,” she encouraged, “can you think of another situation where you’d be ordered to join my service? You needed to be a soldier, not only that you needed to be the best.”

“For what?”

“This,” Daenerys said with conviction. “Think about how unlikely we are. There was your training, my unwanted trip to Sunspear, your fight for my father, you protecting me from Viserys,” there were countless other things she could add to the list, but she left it there, satisfied Arya got the point. “After all we’ve been through, you and I, maybe the Gods felt they owed us one another.” Although she believed that. Daenerys never planned to say so to anyone, least of all Arya.

“Gods or luck,” the Stark shared, “I’m grateful.”

Daenerys grinned, that was the Arya she knew. Since her hands were still extended in Arya’s direction, Arya took them both. Daenerys weaved their fingers together to try and secure their bond. The familiar weight of Arya’s hand in hers was nice. Violet eyes flickered to the wounds on Arya’s arms briefly, but she looked away at once, not wanting to embarrass the woman she loved. “Me too,” she promised, “so why are you leaving? Even if the ship turned around in Sunspear, they won’t arrive tomorrow, we have time, more than a little if the weather slows them.” 

Arya chuckled. “It will, Oberyn told them to stop at every port along the way.” 

Daenerys laughed. Oberyn Martell really was one of a kind. “Remind me to thank him the next time I see him.” 

The light moment didn’t last. Arya was serious when she said, “That’s where I was going when…” she trailed off, looking down at herself. 

It was hard to avoid distracting herself with the delicious view. Her mind added a myriad of enjoyable but not particularly helpful memories of their most intimate moments together. “We’re in this together,” Daenerys stated, willing her voice not to crack. “That’s what we said. We said, we’d find a way to…”

“I meant it,” Arya assured her. “I did then, and I do now.” 

“Then why do this?”

“We don’t have long. Once I recover, I can start requesting assignments that bring me here, but for now I can barely hold a sword let alone swing it.” 

Daenerys was giving Arya her undivided attention, and still couldn’t make the connections. “So?”

“I’m not myself,” Arya said looking down again. She tried to free her hands, but Daenerys refused. It was telling that she didn’t look up when Daenerys squeezed her hands tightly and tugged. Whatever she was thinking, she didn’t want to look Daenerys in the eye when she said it. The room was deathly silent for a time before she finished. “I don’t want you to see me like this. Remember me as I was, before the throne room.” She used a set of their joined hands to wave to her battered frame. “Forget this. It’s not important. When I return it’ll be as if it never happened.” 

A good woman, a good lover probably would have tended to her partner’s emotions, but Daenerys was too overwhelmed by her own. “What in Seven Hells was that shit?” she roared angrily. “Look at me Arya Stark.” She waited until violet met grey. “I love you, I love you more than I have loved anyone or anything else, ever. If I’d known you were in Dorne, I would have wanted to go, I would have gotten there years sooner.” She knew logically the Arya she met, the one she loved wouldn’t have been the soldier or guard she needed until later, but Daenerys’s point remained. “Guard or not, injured or recovered, I love you, I’m in love with you and nothing can change that.”

“I love you too.”

“Where is all this coming from?” she needed to know. They’d been good or so she thought. They hadn’t had sex since before Arya was hurt but that was because she didn’t want to cause her pain. It had nothing to do with a lack of desire. They shared a bed every night since Arya left Pycelle’s room and while nightmares were common and the pain kept her restless, Daenerys never once regretted having her there. It never occurred to her that Arya didn’t know she was the best thing in Daenerys’s life, she assumed it didn’t need to be said, but perhaps Arya needed to hear that her injury hadn’t changed anything, hadn’t changed them. 

“I want you to be happy Daenerys,” Arya explained. “From the beginning, that was all I wanted.” 

A soft tug on the connected hands caused Arya’s arm to flex and Daenerys couldn’t help but notice the long angry gash that decorated the skin. She averted her gaze quickly, but not fast enough. “Arya, I’m so…”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” the Northerner countered. 

Daenerys swallowed down a handful of comments, not expecting that. She settled for, “What?”

“You met Sansa,” Arya clarified, confusing Daenerys even further. “She was always the pretty one. I was the one who preferred pants to dresses and swords to sewing. I was Horseface.”

Her heart clenched on Arya’s behalf. It hurt to know that was how Arya saw herself. It was miles from how the Princess saw her and Daenerys intended to tell her so, as many times as it took until she believed it. “You know, from the moment you took your helmet off, you were the single most beautiful woman I had ever laid my eyes on.”

“I was bloody and furious,” Arya recounted. 

“And gorgeous!” Arya managed a smile for her benefit but couldn’t hold it. “Nothing has changed,” she tried, willing Arya to really hear her. 

“Somethings have changed,” she retorted. It wasn’t hard, angry or bitter, worse it was resigned. 

“Not that,” Daenerys proclaimed. “I love you and the Gods know I want you. If Pycelle hadn’t told you to avoid s strenuous activity, I’d gladly show you how much.” 

She thought that would do the trick, and settle Arya’s nerves, but once again she looked at the floor between them. “You don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” she inquired warily. 

“My back,” she said slowly, “you haven’t seen it.” 

Oh, well that was true, but it wasn’t because Daenerys was avoiding it. The Maesters wrapped her back when she was with them, and since Arya said Oberyn had taken over the duties. He was a former Maester after all and much more qualified to help than she was. Daenerys offered of course, but Arya brushed it off and changed the subject, asking about her meetings and appointments. She thought Arya just needed time before she let Daenerys see, but maybe she’d been wrong, and time was merely giving Arya’s doubts the opportunity to fester. “I love you,” she said to make it abundantly clear, “and scars or not, injuries or not, that won’t change.” 

Arya wasn’t so sure. “You haven’t seen yet.” She paused and then all the sudden everything came pouring out in a rush of barely separated words. “I don’t want you to see me like this. That’s why I was going to leave, so you wouldn’t have to.”

Worry for Arya may have been her primary emotion, but she couldn’t deny she was becoming frustrated by the back and forth too. “Would you leave me if I got horribly burned tomorrow?” When the answer wasn’t immediate, she forged ahead. “If my face was scarred would you leave me, stop loving me?”

“Of course not!” Arya declared vehemently. “I’ll love you until the day they burn my body.” 

“I know, I can feel it, and I see it, because it looks exactly like the love I have for you.” She went slow, hoping it would allow Arya to absorb the information. “I don’t care if you’re whipped a hundred times, or if you can never serve as a guard again, I love you and I’m always going to want you.” She gave her a moment or two to think about that, then said, “Show me.”

Arya didn’t move but the slight twitch in her jaw erased all questions about whether or not she’d heard the request. She released her lover’s hands and flashed a bright smile before stepping away. “What are you doing?” Arya wondered. 

“I’m going to get the bandages, and then you’re going to teach me how to wrap your back,” she predicted. Daenerys hummed an affirmative sound when she spotted the roll and picked it up. She ran her thumb over the cloth lazily. Once Arya needed a bandage to cover a passionate mark Daenerys left on her neck. For days afterward she smiled each time she thought of it. This brought back no fond memories, no secret pleasures, this time Arya’s wounds came from hate and not love. 

The guard met her between the mirror and the bed. “You don’t have to do this,” she said simply. 

“I want to,” Daenerys noted, looking suggestively to the stool in front of the mirror. 

“Do you?” she pressed. “I will be gone in a few days. The next time we see one another, the tears will have healed. I’ll have scars, a lot of them, but nothing else. Isn’t that better than seeing them like this – held together by string, leaking blood and thick with bruises.” 

She almost gagged from Arya’s description alone. She knew what was happening, Arya was giving her a way out. She raised valid points. By her next visit to the Crownlands she would be fully healed. Her back would have scars, as her hands, arms and chest did, but Daenerys always felt those marks suited her lover well. Was she prepared to see the true extent of the damage, to witness with her own eyes the depths of her father’s depravity? Would she see Payne’s face from this day forward every time she unwound a bandage? She didn’t know but she knew she had to try. Arya needed tangible proof that she was lovable, even now, and Daenerys needed to face what was done to her. She couldn’t hide like a scared girl and wait until the worst was over. They had delayed too long already. 

Arya gave her all the time to think she needed, and Daenerys loved her for that. “Show me,” she said in a whisper, “please.” Arya gave her another moment to reconsider but she’d made her choice, she nodded. “Let me take care of you Arya, all of you.”

She wasn’t really thinking, she was just speaking, saying what came naturally. She hadn’t been sure if her nervous comments were helping or hurting until an expression of utter relief passed across Arya’s face. As she rotated to display her back to the Princess, Daenerys heard a sigh. Was that her or Arya? 

Whatever progress she thought she’d made recently, be it in reassuring Arya that she was still as beautiful as ever or planning out the best possible future for everyone she loved, none of that felt important when faced with the sight of Arya’s battered back. She’d never seen anything like it. Bruises were clearly visible across her shoulders and up the back of her neck until they were hidden by a mess of dark hair. 

Her memory took her to every mistake she made since the whipping, when she snuggled in too close, hugged too hard or made contact in her sleep. Each and every time Daenerys fucked up, it brought Arya very real pain. The guilt began anew, making her regret almost every decision. How had she let this happen? She was a Princess for fuck sakes, what was the point of being royalty if you couldn’t protect the one person you loved most? Arya had said it was fine, told her the pain wasn’t severe and that the blame wasn’t hers, but seeing it now, she didn’t think she agreed. There was more than enough to go around. 

With vivid clarity she could recall each and every meeting between Payne’s whip and Arya’s back. Even when her eyes were too clouded to truly see, she could hear, and the sounds of that day were things she’d never forget no matter how desperately she wished otherwise. 

It had weeks since the actual punishment and yet the wounds looked fresh and painful. They were red around the edges and held closed by tightly laced black thread. In more than one of the lashes she saw the stitching had loosened slightly and Daenerys could only wonder if it was her body weight against Arya’s that caused the Maester’s work to undo itself. She had always known Arya was brave and strong, but this… Being a female soldier in the Seven Kingdoms was no easy feat and she’d done it. While they were still in Dorne she remembered pondering one afternoon if there was something Arya couldn’t do. She knew a lot more about her now, about who Arya was and what made her that way, but Daenerys was no less impressed. Strong, didn’t even begin to describe what it would take to survive such a violent beating. How had she managed to endure and without milk of the poppy no less. She acted as if the injuries were minor and rapidly mending but staring at them directly it was evident how extensive they truly were. Recovery would be measured in weeks not days. 

She hadn’t realized she’d been crying until one of Arya’s fingers brushed the tear off her cheek. When had she turned around? Somehow Daenerys could still see every horrible wound. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. Daenerys wanted to hug her but with the injuries at the forefront of her mind she feared hurting her. Even the areas spared the whip were thick with colorful bruises. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Arya said looking into Daenerys’s glassy eyes. “I can summon help.”

Oh no, she was giving Arya the wrong impression. She needed to remedy this immediately. “I love you,” she declared almost desperately. “I meant what I said before. I don’t care if you wear bandages forever or sleep with a shirt on, I will always love you.”

“Maybe you just need time,” Arya proposed, using one of Daenerys arguments from earlier against her. 

“I don’t.” 

“You’re crying.”

Sniffing hard, she swatted at any left over traitorous tears. She dropped to her knees in front of her lover and wrapped her arms around her hips rather than her waist, hugging her lower body tightly so she could squeeze without hurting her. “I wasn’t crying because I don’t want you, I was crying because seeing your back brought back the memories.” 

“I’m sorry,” Arya supplied, nudging her arm in a blatant attempt to get her to stand but Daenerys wasn’t done, and she wouldn’t be for a while. She clung to Arya’s legs. “You don’t have to see this. In a few months, it’ll just be faded scars.” 

“From the day we met,” Daenerys began, “you protected me.” She looked up at her consort and could see those kissable lips parting. The Princess knew what she intended to say. “And don’t tell me it was because of your job, we both know it wasn’t only that. You took me into Sunspear, into the desert, to the port and the orphanage, my nameday celebration, my ship, you Arya Stark are so much more than I deserve.” 

With more restraint than Daenerys had on her best day, Arya waited until she was sure Daenerys was done before she responded. “How I feel won’t change if you can’t help me change a bandage or two. When you’re married to Loras Tyrell or someone else, no matter where you are or what you’re doing, my heart will still be yours.”

She was tempted to get swept away by the sweetness of the sentiment. Arya had said something similar when they spoke about her departure. Daenerys had learned if a message was important enough for Arya to repeat, it was one the guard didn’t want her to forget. She decided to go with brutal honesty, hoping she’d be able to dull some of Arya’s concerns with admissions of her own. “I want to be the same thing for you, to give you all the happiness, all the support, all the love you give me. If I could have one wish, it would be that.” She paused and steeled herself for the embarrassing second half of her confession. “I want to take care of you, but in moments like this I’m forced to admit I don’t know how. I’ve never…” She looked up into Arya’s eyes, pleading with her to understand. “I don’t know how to love someone like you.” 

Two strong arms gripped under her arms. Arya lifted her back into a standing position. “That’s better,” she said once Daenerys was no longer kneeling. “You are exactly what I need and if you’ve taught me one thing its that loving somebody isn’t something you need to learn. It’s something you feel.”

Daenerys looked at the roll of bandages she held between them. “I couldn’t stop it. I just stood there like a fool and let it happen. You got stuck in that awful dream and I couldn’t help then either and now you need to change a damn bandage and I’m equally useless.” 

She was still picking aimlessly at the cloth when Arya replied. “Hey,” she said with some venom in her tone, “don’t do that.” 

Daenerys looked up and saw Arya was angry. She was proven right when she snatched the bandages from her hand and threw them across the room for a second time. “Arya!” the Princess reprimanded. 

She turned to track the thrown object but didn’t get far. Arya grabbed her wrist and kept her where she was. “Do you think I give a shit if you can wrap a wound? What you do for me, what you are to me, is so much deeper than that.” 

Although she wanted to know, she wasn’t certain if she could or should ask. Curiosity won the day. “What do I do for you?” When Arya seemed incredulous, she threw out a few reminders, “I took you from your home and forced you into my service, I brought you here, to a place you hate and since then you’ve been attacked, you’re been falsely accused of a crime and most recently whipped, because I refused to learn what you tried to teach me.” The last point was the hardest to include. Contrary to Arya’s opinion on the subject, Daenerys was plagued by guilt over rejecting the lessons Arya offered. She behaved like a whining child until Arya gave up trying to train her. When it came time to settle that debt, it was Arya and not Daenerys who paid. By the end, her voice was broken and weak, she hated how it sounded. “Why don’t you hate me?” she asked just before she broke down. 

They collided hard in a hug that took the air from her. She definitely would have fallen had it not been for Arya’s arms keeping her up. “Shh.” She received soft kisses to the top of her head and softer words as Arya escorted her to the bed. They sat side by side until Daenerys’s crying was once again under control. The silence between them wasn’t strained, it was calm, a nice change considering Daenerys’s life lately. “I could never hate you, because I am madly in love with you Daenerys Targaryen,” Arya eventually explained. Her head snapped up so suddenly she was confident her neck would ache tomorrow. Arya was smiling kindly back at her. “I wouldn’t have survived my first week here, let alone all the months after, without you.” Her voice hardened a bit as she continued. “You don’t think you do anything for me, how about this; you gave me a relationship with Aemon, that only happened because of you. I saw Sansa again, because of you.” She stopped momentarily to collect her thoughts. “There is a certain calmness to combat,” she went on, taking an abrupt turn, “swinging a sword, thrusting a spear, I know what’s expected of me then. I know I belong in that world. It’s this one I’ve had trouble with.” She held out a hand and gestured to the opulence of the Princess’s bedchamber. “Winterfell or Sunspear I never felt like I fit there, nobleman’s daughter or foster, neither seemed right. I didn’t think that would ever change, that I’d find a place where the calm stayed when I laid my sword down, and I certainly didn’t think I’d find it here, with a Targaryen,” she smirked to take the sting out of the honest statement, “That’s what you do for me, that’s why I could never hate you. You’re my peace outside of battle.” 

New tears threatened and Daenerys hastily blinked them back. Crying now would only confuse Arya more than she already had. This time however the tears were different. She was joyous. She’d heard it said that love was about sacrifice and if that was true, Daenerys didn’t have a measure for Arya’s feelings. She’d given up so much, suffered so much, endured so much and she’d done it for Daenerys. Making it all the more meaningful, here she was sitting next to the royal, telling her she’d done it intentionally and would again. 

She walked in on Arya’s bag packed to leave. After their intense conversation Daenerys absolutely refused to let Arya out of her sight. “If I go get the bandage will you help me wrap you up?”

Her attempt at humor seemed to work and Arya relaxed slightly before she smirked. “Maybe.” 

Daenerys chuckled. “Better than nothing,” she remarked. Arya’s fast hand gripped her arm again, stopping her from straying. She turned to inquire about why but didn’t need too. The words died on her tongue as she saw the undisguised passion Arya felt for her. A sharp tug had her sinking into Arya’s lap. Their lips met first and then their bodies. Her last thought before she surrendered to Arya was that she’d find the bandages later, when they were done. 

R-C

It started in the middle as all dreams do and Daenerys was very definitely dreaming. She was in a field – a place she didn’t think she’d ever been before. She had a slow, look around. It was limitless in all directions, stretching farther than she could go in a hundred lifetimes. The tall grass around her ankles was soft and cool to the touch while the sky was a cloudless blue with a bright, warm sun. 

It happened fast, she was alone one instant and the next she wasn’t. Arya. She smiled and went to her, but the Princess’s consort didn’t smile or embrace her, she just stood there staring blankly ahead. 

Illyrio was the next to join them. He wasn’t alone. He came with Varys who made the same introduction speech he’d given on her nameday. When he summoned his slaves to bring in her gift, they did. Instead of the nameless slaves Illyrio brought with him, this time the faces were ones she recognized. Grey Worm and a handful of his men carried the box and set it at her feet, led there by Missandei. To Daenerys’s horror each of her friends were wearing a slave collar. 

As Grey Worm lifted the lid to show the Princess what lay inside, he spoke in a language Daenerys didn’t know. Missandei helpfully translated. “They are born in fire, Princess,” she said of the eggs. 

Daenerys reached out to take Missandei’s hand, to forceable remove the collar from her throat but it was pointless. Before her hand made contact, they were gone, all of them, it was just her and the field again. 

What was that? Her subconscious was quite unsettling if this was the sort of thing her mind cooked up. She spent some energy trying to make sense of the odd encounter before she gave up. It was peaceful and quiet for an untold stretch. She enjoyed it, no longer concerning herself with what it meant. 

Arya’s arrival announced the start of the next event. Like before Daenerys tried to talk to her, to go to her, but by the time she took a step she and her lover were no longer alone. This time it appeared she was placed in the center of a Council of Dragons, a Targaryen meeting of sorts. Aerys was there, Rhaegar, Aemon, and Viserys too along with Daenerys. Arya stood off to the side, as if watching. She wondered idly if the Northern woman knew Daenerys would much rather be standing next to her than her so-called family? 

“I can’t be King forever,” Aerys declared loudly. 

“I don’t want to be King,” Rhaegar and Aemon said together. As the father and son began to argue over their mutual disinterest in the throne they vanished, leaving Daenerys with only Aerys and Viserys. 

“That leaves only you,” Aerys said to Viserys. It was like she wasn’t there. “I always wanted it to be you, the son who is most like his father.” 

Something in Daenerys’s stomach lurched. With a wide grin Viserys nodded. “Thank you, Father. I will follow the example you gave me.” 

The decision seemingly made Aerys reached up to remove his crown. Dream or not, Daenerys couldn’t let this happen. Viserys would not be a good King, he wasn’t even a good man. “What about Aegon?” she shouted urgently. 

Aerys laughed darkly and Viserys joined in. “That boy and his sister aren’t true Targaryens. Their mother corrupted them, ruined them. I’d see you on my throne before I let any of my grandchildren claim it.” 

“Let me rule then!” she decided hastily. She couldn’t let Viserys become King, it wouldn’t be safe for her, for Arya or anyone else. “I’ll take your place Father.”

Viserys scoffed. “You’re a woman.”

“Something different is precisely what the Realm needs,” she told her brother. Turning slightly to address their father she said, “Please Father, give me a chance and allow me to make things better.” 

“Why should I choose you over your brother?” Aerys asked plainly. “He’s older, more experienced, and about to be married.” 

The tiny part of her that knew this was a dream searched frantically for an answer, some way to set herself above Viserys, but Aerys was right, Viserys was all of those things, so no words came. 

No one was more surprised than her when words she didn’t think left her mouth. Her father and brother were similarly unprepared. They had given up on her and were talking amongst themselves. “Dragons,” Daenerys announced. “I have dragons. I have the eggs and I will hatch them.”

Viserys protested, sensing he was losing ground, but it was already too late. She’d promised her father the one thing he wanted more than any other, the return of dragons. “How?” Aerys asked. 

Suddenly and without explanation the box of eggs, the man who gave them to her and her friends in slave collars were with her. “They are hatched in fire,” she said, repeating Missandei’s message. 

Rossart the King’s Pyromancer was summoned and in mere seconds there were towering green walls of flames surrounding them. Despite the intense heat it didn’t feel uncomfortable and she wasn’t afraid. While her father and the others watched she picked up the second egg from the center of the box. With care she moved the egg toward the fire. As she set the egg down a tendril of flame danced up her bare arm, but it didn’t hurt. She smiled as the fire burned hotter and the temperature rose. 

No one spoke and no one moved as they all waited to see what came next. The cracking of the shell was almost deafening to Daenerys. She ignored the leaping green flames and stepped through them to go and retrieve her dragon. Had it worked? 

Right before she reached the remanence of the egg, right before she laid eyes on a dragon and confirmed its existence everything disappeared. The fires were replaced by green grass again. There was no soot, no smoke, no ash, no evidence of the massive blaze that had been burning moments ago. 

She smiled when she saw Arya again, but this time she didn’t try to go to her. She wouldn’t make it. It all made sense. Why she’d seen Missandei, how she’d answer her father’s question, she understood. With no lingering doubts about the past, all she felt was curiosity about what would be next. 

That interest turned to something putrid when Ilyn Payne appeared behind Arya holding a whip. She shouted out a warning, but it was no use. The leather sliced through the air and after a distinct snapping sound, struck Arya’s back. She cursed her choice not to rush over. Could she have stopped this? She tried to go, to do what she couldn’t in reality, to throw herself between the weapon and the woman she loved, but a pair of arms kept her from getting close enough. 

Oberyn held her and together they watched as Payne beat Arya again and again. Daenerys had a new appreciation for how horrible it must’ve been for Arya to be trapped inside her nightmares. She didn’t have an excuse, she wasn’t medicated and yet it was an endless, undying agony. 

When it was over and Arya was prone on the ground, with her body partially hidden by the thick grass, Daenerys tried to pull away from Oberyn to get to her, but he wouldn’t release her. “It’s time for change,” he told her. He said it with such sincerity, such reverence it pulled Daenerys’s focus off Arya temporarily. She looked over her shoulder at the Dornish Prince. With his chin he directed her attention to a crowd of people mocking Arya’s suffering. She recognized most of them. The court, her father’s advisors, her brothers, Tywin, Cersei, Varys, Illyrio. None of them were doing a thing to help Arya, as if torturing an innocent woman were a spectator sport to be admired and wagered on. “Now!” Oberyn encouraged, releasing her unexpectedly. 

She stumbled as she was suddenly left to support herself. Daenerys made it two steps closer to Arya before she felt the need to look back and confirm that Oberyn was serious. He was standing where she left him, watching. She met his dark eyes, and he steered her gaze to her right shoulder. Something about it made him smile. She looked too and found the most incredible thing, a small, tiny really, black lizard. It wasn’t until she saw him stretch a wing that her brain made the connection to what he really was and where he came from. She checked with Oberyn again. He nodded stoically. 

Holding a hand out her dragon left her shoulder and scurried down her arm and into her palm. She touched the top of his head gently and he seemed to lean into the touch in reply. As it had been earlier, she heard the words spoken in her own voice like she was a witness and not the cause. “It’s time for a change,” she told the little guy. 

A peel of thunder shook everything, including her. What had been clear, and blue was now grey and cloudy. Along with the first flash of lightning came the realization that the dragon she’d been holding was no longer in her hand or on her arm. Terrified, she looked around, checking the grass afraid he’d fallen or gotten scared. She was busy looking down when a ferocious roar demanded her attention. She stretched her neck to look straight up. Gone was the newly hatched baby dragon and in his place was a massive beast that rivalled most of the legends Daenerys heard. Hanging in the air like a star he had his wings spread, his huge body angled toward her and his eyes locked on hers. She couldn’t say why, but she was certain he was waiting for her instruction. 

It took longer than it should’ve to understand the order she was meant to give. To comprehend why her father, her brothers, Tywin, Varys, and Payne were still there. She looked at the audience again and saw more faces she knew including Meryn Trant, Jorah, Daario, and dozens of others. All were vulnerable and utterly oblivious to the dragon looming overhead. 

She heard Oberyn in her mind but hesitated, nonetheless. It was time for a change and if the choice really was her as Queen or Viserys as King, she would ascend to the Iron Throne, but that didn’t mean she had to kill everyone who ever annoyed her. 

Just seconds away from arriving at a fair and merciful conclusion she remembered Arya. Arya who had been savagely attacked, who had been wronged by so many of the people on the other side of the field. 

She went to her lover and knelt down beside her, touching her face gently. “I’m so sorry,” she said kissing the nearest cheek. As she waited for any sign of life from the woman she loved, Daenerys filled with rage. It was outrageous to treat people this way. So what if Daenerys didn’t want to learn the sword, so what if she wasn’t learning as fast as the King would like? What about that made whipping Arya okay? They came hard and fast, the faces and names of all the others. The people her father executed, the ones he tortured, the ones he burned. Sometimes she was there, sometimes she only heard about it after. Even if the true tally was much higher, the fraction she knew about seemed to last forever. Included among them, Arya’s grandfather, her uncle, her parents and brothers. Face after face, name after name, her anger built, each death was a brick in a wall of disgust and resolve. Her father may have perpetrated the crimes, but everyone else allowed it, Rhaegar, Tywin, Varys, Jorah and so many more. They were just as guilty. If they had stopped him years ago maybe Arya could have grown up with a loving family in Winterfell. If her brother had been sincere in his efforts to replace the King, perhaps they could have put Rhaegar on the throne before Arya was whipped. Her eyes moved across the field, trying to remember what each person had done to earn their place. She noticed in the background for the first time the gate guards who attacked Arya on her first day in the capital. Perversely she was glad they were there. She wouldn’t want them to miss this. 

The dragon was nearly invisible in the darkened sky, but Daenerys knew he was there. “Dracarys,” she commanded. The sky was bright again, this time orange and red instead of blue. She knelt next to her lover and watched their enemies burn, stroking Arya’s hair softly while she whispered how much she loved her. 

When she woke, she couldn’t say how long she’d been asleep – a few hours or a few years. Unlike most dreams she had, she could remember this one with perfect clarity. The odd mix of memory and fantasy, the layered messages, the pain and final bloody retribution. 

She laid perfectly still for a long while. When she was brave enough to move, she felt the arm across her hip flex in a silent plea to stay where she was. Daenerys wouldn’t complain about that. She adjusted her position, so she was facing Arya in the dark. With a gentle touch she stroked her hair and whispered her affections, just as she’d done while her dragon roasted everyone who had ever wronged them. Without permission her eyes closed. She could speak to Oberyn in the morning. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: It wasn’t my intention to have this whole chapter be from Daenerys’s point of view or to have so much of it occur within Daenerys’s head, but as I was editing, I liked it. She had a lot to work through. I didn’t want to minimize that. 
> 
> Neither Daenerys nor Arya are particularly in touch with their feelings, so I felt it was important to give them both some doubt. Arya doubted Daenerys could still love her after the whipping and Daenerys doubted everything but her love for Arya. 
> 
> In this universe, it didn’t seem right to have Daenerys eager to seize the throne. She grew up believing it wasn’t meant for her. As such she needed a catalyst to motivate her to take such a big step. Naturally, it was Arya. Even in the dream, she was inclined to show mercy until she remembered that all of the people had not only wronged her but Arya too, only then was she ready to burn the world down. 
> 
> The next chapter will have all the things we’ve been working toward for the last few. Daenerys and Arya discuss Daenerys’s plan, Daenerys recruits some friends to help and then of course the outstanding clashes between Daenerys and Varys as well as her score being settled with Payne. I hope that is enough to keep everyone interested. 
> 
> See you then,
> 
> RC


End file.
